In Queer Street

Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Haithi Trust Org. images digitized by Google
(original from University of Wisconsin)

IN QUEER STREET

BY

FERGUS HUME

AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "THE PINK SHOP,"
"ACROSS THE FOOTLIGHTS," "SEEN IN THE SHADOW,"
ETC., ETC.

LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO., LTD.
17, BUCKINGHAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1913

IN QUEER STREET

IN QUEER STREET

[CHAPTER I]

THE BOARDING-HOUSE

"Here," explained the landlady, "we are not wildly gay, as the serious aspect of life prevents our indulging in unrestrained mirth. Each one of us is devoted to an ideal, Mr. Spruce."

"And what is the ideal, Mrs. Tesk?" asked the twinkling little man who was proposing himself as a boarder.

"The intention of gaining wealth in virtuous ways, by exercising the various talents with which we have been endowed by an All-seeing Providence."

"If you eliminate the word 'virtuous,' most people have some such ideal," was the dry reply of Mr. Spruce. "I want money myself, or I shouldn't come to live here. A Bethnal Green lodging-house isn't my idea of luxury."

"Boarding-house, if you please," said Mrs. Tesk, drawing up her thin figure. "I would point out that my establishment is most superior. Brought up in scholastic circles, I assisted my father and my husband for many years in teaching the young idea how to shoot, and----"

"In plain English, you kept a school."

"Crudely put, it is as you say, Mr. Spruce," assented the landlady; "but habit has accustomed me to express myself in a more elegant way. My husband and my father having been long numbered with the angelic host, I was unable to continue successfully as a teacher of youth. A learned friend suggested to me that an excellent income might be derived from a high-class boarding-house. Therefore I rented this mansion for the purpose of entertaining a select number of paying guests."

"Paying guests! How admirably you express yourself, Mrs. Tesk."

"It has always been my custom to do full justice to our beautiful language, Mr. Spruce. Even my establishment has a name redolent of classic times. It is called--and not unfittingly I think--The Home of the Muses."

"So I observed in your advertisement. Why not call this place Parnassus? Then one word would serve for five."

"The suggestion is not without merit," said the former school-mistress. "I perceive, Mr. Spruce, that you have some knowledge of the classics."

"I was educated at Winchester and Cambridge, Mrs. Tesk. The Home of the Muses--what a delightful name and how very appropriate."

Poor Mrs. Tesk having no sense of humour, did not understand that this last remark was ironical, and smiled gravely in full approval. Spruce screwed in his eye-glass, and glanced with a shrug at his surroundings. These were scarcely calculated to satisfy a sybarite, being extremely ugly, inartistic, well-worn and dingy. The room, of no great size, was over-crowded with clumsy furniture made in the early years of the nineteenth century, when solidity was much more valued than beauty. What with six ordinary chairs, two armchairs, a horse-hair sofa to match, a sideboard, a bookcase, and a fender-stool all of mahogany, to say nothing of an Indian screen and a rosewood piano, there was scarcely room to move. And everywhere appeared patterns;--on the carpet, on the wall-paper, on the curtains and on the table-cloth: the eye ached to find some plain spot, which was not striped, or spotted, or scrolled, or dotted. The sole redeeming feature of the dreadful apartment was that many years and constant use had mellowed everything into a sober congruity, so that the whole looked comfortable and homely. As the Home of the Muses, it was an entire failure; as the sanctum of the sedate middle-aged woman in the worn black silk gown, it was quite successful. And as there were many out-of-date educational volumes in the bookcase, and as the walls were decorated with samplers, water-coloured drawings, geographical maps, and even with framed specimens of hand-writing, it could be easily guessed that the apartment belonged to a retired school-mistress. There was something quite pathetic in Mrs. Tesk's flotsam and jetsam, which she had saved from the dire wreck of her superior fortunes.

And the landlady was as suited to the room as her visitor was unsuited, for there could not be a greater contrast than the two presented to one another. Mrs. Tesk belonged to a bygone age, while Spruce had to do with the very immediate present. In her shabby-genteel gown, which clothed a thin bony figure, and with a severe parchment-coloured face, the former teacher of the young looked very respectable indeed. Her mittens, her be-ribboned cap, her long gold chain, her large brooch containing locks of hair, and her cloth boots suggested the stories of Emma Jane Worboise and Mrs. Henry Wood. She was prim, pedantic and eminently genteel, the survival of an epoch when women wore full skirts and believed that their duty was to keep house, rather than to smash windows. Spruce stared at her through his eye-glass as he would have done at a prehistoric animal.

The would-be boarder was the last expression of man, as representing the lily of the fields which toils not. He resembled a cherub and was dressed like a Nut, that last variety of the masher, the swell, the dandy and the buck. With his clean-shaven pink and white face, his mild blue eyes, his smooth fair hair, little hands, little feet, and general well-groomed aspect, he looked like a good boy thoroughly acquainted with the Church Catechism. But his extravagant attire suggested Piccadilly, music-halls, the Park and afternoon teas. He wore a pale-green suit, the coat of which was made to show his waist, and turned-up trousers, which revealed purple socks and brogues of russia leather. His waistcoat was cut low, revealing a lavender-hued shirt and a purple scarf painted with a portrait of a famous dancer; and he held a green Trilby hat in his gloved hands, together with a gold-headed cane and an unlighted cigarette, which he did not dare to smoke in the severe presence of Mrs. Tesk. On the whole, Mr. Cuthbert Spruce was a thing of beauty, and wore as many colours as Joseph did when he put on his famous coat. He was the kind of male doll that virile men long to kick but dare not lest they should smash the thing.

When he had completed his survey of the room and of Mrs. Tesk, the Nut explained himself glibly. "I have come down here for a few months in order to study character for a book. Until I write that book I am rather hard up, so I should like to know if your terms are----"

"Twenty-five shillings a week," interrupted Mrs. Tesk solemnly. "No one, not even the most captious, can call such terms expensive or prohibitive."

"I certainly don't. In fact you ask so little that I am not sure if you can make me comfortable at the price."

"Good food, a good bed and genteel society, Mr. Spruce. What more does mortal man require, save a fire, which is not necessary, seeing that summer is with us in all its annual glory?"

"I don't think much of its annual glory comes to Bethnal Green, Mrs. Tesk. However, your terms will suit me, and I'll bring my boxes this afternoon. I can have a bath, I suppose?"

"Sixpence extra if cold and one shilling if warm."

"A cold bath will suit me as it is summer. Have you a valet in the house?"

"No, Mr. Spruce. Such a menial is only to be found in the houses of the rich, as I understand from the perusal of novels read for recreation. Here you will find plain living and high thinking. My cook is an old servant, who is able to roast and boil healthy viands. Amelia, who is sixteen, attends to the house-work, and there is the boy, Simon Jedd--commonly called Bottles, which is a facetious appellation given to him by a paying guest inclined to merriment. Such is my staff."

"And the paying guests?" asked Spruce, who began to think that five and twenty shillings was quite the top price to ask for such board and lodging.

Mrs. Tesk coughed. "Our circle is limited at present to a chosen few, as London is rather empty just now, on account of the summer season, which attracts people to the green woods and the sounding sea. There is Madame Alpenny, who is of Hungarian extraction, but who married an Englishman; together with her daughter, Zara, a dancer of repute at the Bijou Music-hall. I hesitated to accept the daughter as a paying guest," added Mrs. Tesk loftily, "as my education scarcely permits me to approve of the profession of Terpsichore."

"She was one of the Muses, you know," Spruce reminded her; "and as this is the Home of those ladies----"

"Quite so," interrupted Mrs. Tesk in her most stately fashion. "That fact may have biassed me in my permitting her to reside under my roof. Also, not having many paying guests at present, the money was a consideration, and humanity interdicted me from parting mother and child; although I am bound to say that Madame Alpenny refused to come if I did not take her daughter also. Finally I consented, and since seeing Zara dance I have not regretted my yielding. She exhibits the poetry of motion in a high degree and is quite respectable."

"Any other paying guests?"

"Mr. Edward Bracken--ordinarily termed Ned,--who plays the violin in the Bijou orchestra with great delicacy, and Mr. Owain Hench, who is at present absent, and will not return for a week."

Spruce rose and looked surprised. "Owain Hench. Will you spell his first name, Mrs. Tesk? I fancy I know him."

Mrs. Tesk spelt the name slowly. "It is a Welsh title!" she said as if Hench was a member of the House of Lords, "and the spelling is peculiar. In history we are told of Owen Tudor, and Owen Glendower, who signed their Christian appellations somewhat differently."

"It is the proper Welsh spelling," said Spruce, smiling. "He must be the same fellow I used to know at Winchester. We used to rag him about the queer way in which he spelt his name. Fancy Hench in this galley"--and he looked disdainfully round the shabby room--"I thought he was rich."

"I am not acquainted with the financial affairs of Mr. Hench," said the landlady stiffly; "but I am quite certain that he is by no means endowed largely with specie. Nevertheless he is a kind-hearted and estimable young man, who will yet achieve fame and fortune, although in what particular direction it is at present hard to say. He has resided here for six months, so I can speak of his qualities with some knowledge."

Spruce walked to the door. "I shall be glad to see Hench again," he remarked lightly. "Well, Mrs. Tesk, you may expect me and my luggage by four o'clock."

"I understand." Mrs. Tesk folded her hands and bowed graciously. "You will be in time for afternoon tea, when I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to Madame Alpenny, Mademoiselle Zara, and to Mr. Edward Bracken. You will find us a happy family, Mr. Spruce, and I trust you will never regret coming to stay in The Home of the Muses."

Spruce stifled a laugh and went out, lighting his cigarette and putting his hat on in the hall. He was immensely amused with the stately old-fashioned airs of the ex-school-mistress, and promised himself some fun in drawing her out. He did not anticipate a rosy time in the boarding-house, which was much too shabby and poor and sordid for one of his pleasure-loving nature; but he felt that the companionship of his old schoolfellow would enable him to pass the time fairly pleasantly. In his explanation to Mrs. Tesk as to his reason for coming to Bethnal Green, Mr. Spruce had not been entirely truthful, but the excuse of gathering material for a book would serve his purpose. The truth was that the Nut had been mixed up in a gambling affair with which cheating had been connected, so he had wisely determined to obliterate himself for a few months. Not being able to go abroad or into the country by reason of a lean purse, he had made up his mind to rusticate in Bethnal Green, and hoped that when the scandal was ended he could return to the West End. In the meantime, he was safe from observation, as no one would ever suspect that he was in London, so near and yet so far from civilization. He intended to give to Hench the same excuse as he had already given to Mrs. Tesk, and had no doubt but what it would be accepted. Hench, as he considered, was smart in many ways and the reverse in a few. While at Winchester he had been considered clever, but always over-confident that others were as honourable as himself, a belief which led to his being taken advantage of on many occasions. Spruce had never been intimate with Hench, as he belonged to a different set, but he was quite ready to be intimate with him now in such a dull locality as Bethnal Green. The cherubic little man by no means cared for the plain living and high thinking to which Mrs. Tesk had alluded, as he preferred high living and plain thinking, the latter having to do with thoughts of how to kill time by amusing himself. It was not likely that Hench would be of the same opinion, as from what Spruce remembered he had always been a solid sort of chap. Of course, it was eight years since the Nut had seen the young man, but if living in The Home of the Muses denoted his status, it was probable that he would be more solid than ever. And solid in the opinion of Mr. Spruce meant woeful dullness and pronounced common-sense. Therefore he scarcely anticipated that Hench would prove to be an ideal companion.

However, owing to the trouble in the West End, Spruce had to make the best of things, and duly arrived at the appointed time with his five boxes. People did not usually come to Mrs. Tesk's establishment with so much luggage, but Spruce being a Nut, and eminently fashionable, required many clothes to set off his rather mean little person. Amelia, the maid-of-all-work, and Jedd, who was facetiously called "Bottles," helped the cabman to carry up the many trunks to the new-comer's bedroom, and looked upon him with awe as the owner of such costly paraphernalia. Mrs. Tesk was also pleased in her stately fashion, as the arrival of such a quantity of luggage imparted dignity in some mysterious way to her establishment. By four o'clock the new paying guest had taken possession of his new abode, and was on his way to the drawing-room to meet those already assembled under Mrs. Tesk's hospitable roof. To do honour to the occasion, and to produce a good impression, Spruce had changed into a brand-new suit, and looked like Solomon-in-all-his-glory when he entered the stuffy apartment grandiloquently termed the drawing-room. It was tolerably large and less crowded with furniture than the sanctum of the landlady, but the windows being closed and the day being warm, Spruce gasped when he ventured in. It was like entering the coolest room of a Turkish bath.

"Allow me," said Mrs. Tesk in her deepest and most genteel voice. "Mr. Spruce, permit me to introduce you to Madame Alpenny, to Mademoiselle Zara Alpenny and to Mr. Edward Bracken. Madame Alpenny, Mademoiselle Alpenny and Mr. Edward Bracken, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Spruce, our new companion."

During the landlady's long-winded introduction the Nut bowed to the several people mentioned and swiftly noted their outward looks. The Hungarian lady, who had married an Englishman, was a very stout woman, slightly taller than Spruce himself, which was not saying much, and the remains of former beauty were apparent in her face if not in her figure. It is true that her complexion was sallow and her hair an unpleasant red, but she had finely-cut features and splendid eyes, dark, eloquent and alluring. She wore a dark dress spotted with orange circles, a loose black velvet mantle trimmed with beads, and a large floppy picture-hat, together with many costly bracelets, rings, chains, brooches and lockets. Evidently she carried her fortune on her person for security, and looked like a walking jeweller's shop. Spruce saw at a glance that she was a lady, although why she should wear such shabby clothes and live in such a shabby place when she possessed such valuable ornaments he could not say. Privately he decided that she looked interesting, and determined to find out all about her during his stay in the boarding-house.

"You will find us very quiet here," observed Madame Alpenny in excellent English, and smiling with very white teeth at the new-comer's resplendent appearance; "it will be dull in these parts for a young gentleman."

"Oh, I can make myself at home anywhere, Madame," replied Spruce, accepting a cup of very weak tea from Mrs. Tesk. "My visit here is only to collect material for a novel."

"I read the stories of my countryman, Maurus Jokai," said Madame with a nod. "You write like him. Is it not so?"

"By no means. I know nothing of Maurus Jokai."

"Gaszynski! Morzycka! Zmorski! Mukulitch! Riedl! Vehse?" the foreign lady ran off these difficult names of Polish, Russian and Hungarian authors still smiling; "you know them. Eh? What?"

"Never heard of them Madame. They sound like names out of the Book of Numbers to me. I am a very ignorant person, as you will find."

"Ah, say not so, Mr. Spruce. You like amusement perhaps. The dance, the cricket, the five o'clock tea? Tell me."

"All those things are more in my line. I hear from Mrs. Tesk that your daughter dances?"

"Ah, yes. Zara?"

"I am at the Bijou Music-hall just now in a Fire-dance," said the girl in an indifferent manner, for Spruce had not made the same impression on her as he had on her mother; "and Mr. Bracken here is in the orchestra."

"Second-violin," growled Bracken, who was paying great attention to the thin bread and butter. "Hard work and bad pay"--he stole a glance at the dancer--"but I have my compensations."

The look was sufficient to make Spruce understand that the young man was in love with Zara, just as the frown of Madame Alpenny, who had intercepted the look, showed him the mother's disapproval. The dancer was a tall and rather gaunt girl, handsome in a bold gipsy flamboyant way, with flashing dark eyes and a somewhat defiant manner, while the violinist was roughly good-looking, and seemed to pay very little attention to his dress. Evidently a romance was in progress here, and Spruce promised himself some amusement in watching the efforts--which he was sure were being made--of the mother to keep the lovers apart.

"You see," said Mrs. Tesk complacently, "we have many talents assembled here, Mr. Spruce. Mademoiselle Zara indulges in the light fantastic toe; Mr. Bracken is devoted to the noble art of music, and Madame Alpenny is conversant with the literature of foreign nations, which is natural considering her nationality. In my own person, I represent the English element of letters, and if you enjoy heart to heart talks, I am prepared to discuss poetry with you from Dan Chaucer down to Robert Browning."

"Thanks very much," said the new guest hastily and scarcely relishing the prospect; "but my doctor won't let me read much, as my health is not very good. But I daresay," he added, glancing round at the queer set he found himself amongst, "we can get up a game of bridge occasionally."

"Ah, but certainly," cried Madame with vivacity and her splendid eyes flashed; "for my part I delight in cards!"

"My preference is for Patience," said Mrs. Tesk solemnly. "I find it relieves the strain on my mind. So long as the stakes are not very high, Mr. Spruce, I shall be delighted to join you and Madame and Mademoiselle Zara in a friendly game. Oh, you will not find us dull, I think. And when Mr. Owain Hench returns he will be able to inform you about many parts of the world not usually accessible to the ordinary person."

Spruce rather resented Mrs. Tesk calling him an ordinary person, as he considered that he was head and shoulders above the assembled company. However, he did not allow any sign of annoyance at her density to escape him, but uttered a little chuckling laugh of acquiescence. "I'll be glad to see Hench again. He was always a good chap."

"Ah!" Madame glanced at her defiant daughter and then at Spruce; "it appears, then, that you know Mr. Hench?"

"We were at school together."

"So! He is a charming young man."

Zara laughed meaningly. "With money mamma thinks that he would be still more charming," she said significantly, and the sallow face of Madame grew red.

"It is true," she admitted frankly. "When one has a daughter, one must be careful of charming young men who are not rich. What do you say, Mr. Spruce?"

"Well, I never had a daughter, so I can't say anything," replied the little man, who was rapidly understanding many things. "And your opinion, Mr. Bracken, if I may ask it?" He put the question advisedly, as the mention of Hench's name had brought a scowl to the face of the violinist.

"Money isn't everything," growled Bracken, passing his hand through his rough hair, which he wore a trifle long, after the fashion of musicians. "Hench is a good fellow, and being clever will be rich some day."

"Ah! no"--Madame Alpenny shook her head vehemently--"he is too--what you call--careless of money. He is idle; he is a mystery."

Spruce opened his pale blue eyes at the last word, and put in his monocle to stare at the Hungarian lady. "There never was any mystery about Hench at school," he observed rather puzzled. "He was always rather a commonplace sort of chap."

"There is a mystery," insisted Madame more vehemently than ever. "I have seen him before, but where--no, it is impossible to say."

"You don't mean to say that he is wanted by the police?" asked Bracken.

"Don't speak like that!" cried Zara with a frown. "Mr. Hench is the most honourable man in the world. There is nothing mean about him."

"He is all that is agreeable and polite," said her mother gravely; "and but for one thing I have no fault to find with him. Still, I have seen him somewhere, that young gentleman; he has a history!"

"History! mystery! You jump to conclusions, mamma."

"Zara, my father was a diplomatist, and I am observant."

"Suspicious, I should say," remarked Bracken under his breath.

But low as he spoke the woman heard him. "Of some people I am," she said with a dark glance, which revealed that she was not so good-humoured as she looked.

Zara rose with a swing of her skirts and looked as graceful and as dangerous as a pantheress. "I am going to lie down," she observed rather irrelevantly. "I always lie down, Mr. Spruce, so as to prepare for the fatigues of the night. If you ask Mr. Bracken he will take you to the smoking-room."

"Oh, thanks," gasped Spruce, who did not wish to remain in the company of the violinist, whom he privately termed a bounder; "but I am going to my room to write letters."

"Fancy staying in to write letters on this beautiful day. Mr. Bracken will be wiser, I am sure, and take a walk."

"You've hit it," said Mr. Bracken, taking out a well-worn briar pipe. "I'm off for a breather." And he escorted Zara out of the room without noticing Spruce, to whom he had taken a dislike.

Madame Alpenny half arose when she saw the two departing in company, but sat down again with a frown. In a few minutes she walked to the window and drew a sigh of relief on seeing Bracken standing on the pavement lighting his pipe. Spruce guessed by this by-play that she did not approve of the violinist being with her daughter, and became more certain than ever that the romance he had conjectured existed. Zara had got rid of Bracken, it was evident, so as not to leave him in the company of her mother. Hence her mention that the violinist would show Spruce the smoking-room, and her suggestion of a walk for Bracken when the new guest refused the offer of tobacco. However, Madame now seeing that the two were parted, returned to her seat satisfied, and resumed her talk about Mr. Hench.

"You must tell me of your old schoolfellow," she said graciously; "he is a young man I greatly admire. I study his character."

"An admirable character," said Mrs. Tesk loftily.

"I cannot help you, Madame, as I haven't seen Hench for years," said Spruce.

"Ah indeed! You will find him very mysterious!" And she nodded significantly.

[CHAPTER II]

OLD SCHOOL-FELLOWS

Mr. Spruce found The Home of the Muses less dull than he expected it to be, in spite of its ridiculous name. For six days he amused himself very tolerably in contemplating the novelty of his surroundings, and in getting what amusement he could out of the same. Desiring "something new," after the fashion of the Athenians, he explored Bethnal Green more or less thoroughly, and learned that the seamy side of life here exhibited had attractions for a keen-witted observer, as he truly was. People in the West End were always on the look-out for money with which to indulge their fancies; people in this neighbourhood hunted likewise for the nimble shilling, but used it when obtained to keep a roof over their heads and bread in their mouths. But the excitement of the money-chase was always the same, and Spruce watched the same with great interest. In fact he took part in the hunt for dollars himself, as he also had to live in such comfort as his depleted purse could command.

That Destiny had not dealt lavishly with Spruce was due to his own crooked way of propitiating the whimsical goddess, since he disliked honest toil. On leaving college and entering the great world, he had enjoyed a fair fortune nursed for years by jealous guardians, which ought to have kept him in luxury for the whole of his useless life. But the Nut, thinking he possessed the purse of Fortunatus, dipped into it too freely, and like the earthen pot at once smashed when the brass pots dashed against him. He entered a fast set, fascinating and expensive, whose members gambled heavily, who flirted freely with free-lance ladies and who ran up bills on every occasion. A few years of this life reduced Spruce to living on his wits, and as these were sharp enough, he managed to scramble along somehow and keep his head above water.

But not making money fast enough honestly, he attempted to cheat at cards, and therefore was expelled from his profligate paradise. For this reason he had come to rusticate in Bethnal Green, and intended to return as soon as he could make sure of being tolerated in his former haunts and by his former associates. But as he had committed the one crime which society, however rapid, will never condone, the prospect of his being whitewashed was not very promising. However, the little man knew that money covers a multitude of sins, and would go far to excuse the particular sin of cheating, which had ruined him. He therefore looked here, there and everywhere during his retirement in the hope of making money, so that he could return with full pockets to the West End. But it must be admitted that Bethnal Green was not exactly Tom Tiddler's ground, and little gold and silver did Spruce pick up.

The Nut certainly won a certain amount of money from Madame Alpenny, who was a born gambler, and staked her jewellery when coin was wanting. She was always hard up, as she frankly informed Spruce when she came to know him better, and had long since turned what money she possessed into the costly ornaments she wore. Zara earned enough to keep her mother and herself at the boarding-house, but otherwise spent her earnings on herself, knowing, as she did, that Madame Alpenny would only gamble away what was given her. Therefore the old woman sometimes had to sell a brooch or a bracelet in order to get funds for her gambling. She was clever at cards, but scarcely so clever, and it may be added unscrupulous, as Spruce, so by the end of the week her person was not quite so lavishly decorated with jewellery as it had been when the Nut first set eyes on her. But in spite of her bad luck, the Hungarian lady always behaved amiably towards Spruce, as she took him at his own valuation and believed him to be a rich young man indulging in the fantastic whim of living in Mrs. Tesk's house. It did not take much time for the Nut to see that Madame Alpenny's agreeable demeanour was due to the hope she entertained that he would make love to Zara, and perhaps become her son-in-law. Spruce had about as much idea of courting the dancer as of flying, but he allowed the lady to think that he admired her daughter so that she might continue to gamble. Being quite deceived as to his real status and his real intentions, she did; so Spruce found himself much better off in pocket by the end of the week, and about the time when Owain Hench was expected back.

The little man was waiting for Hench, as he greatly desired to see if any money could be made out of him. People who travelled about the world, as Hench apparently did, often found gold-mines, or knew of some hidden treasure, or had an idea of how to make money in large quantities. Spruce was very vague as to how he could exploit Hench to his own advantage, as he had not seen him for eight years and did not know his possibilities. However, he was assured that while residing under the same roof as Hench he would soon be able to learn if he was worth making a friend of, and so waited anxiously for the young man's return. Meanwhile he gambled with Madame Alpenny; made himself agreeable to the ex-school-mistress, whom he found a frightful bore; and went several times to the Bijou Music-hall to see Mademoiselle Zara dance. To his surprise he found that she was really a very brilliant artist, who was entirely thrown away on a Bethnal Green audience, and asked himself quite seriously if it would not be worth while to marry her and secure for her an engagement at the West End. If she made a success there--as he was sure she would do--then she could support him in luxury and the old woman could be got rid of somehow. Oh, Spruce found many ideas in The Home of the Muses which might result in the gain of money, although he saw plainly that to bring the same to fruition time was necessary. At all events, he was making a living out of Madame Alpenny; foresaw possibilities in Zara's dancing with the chance of profit to himself, and always kept in his scheming little mind that Hench might prove to be a valuable acquaintance. Therefore, the six days prior to the young man's return proved to be amusing and profitable and promising. As Spruce had become an adventurer and a picker-up of unconsidered trifles, after the fashion of Autolycus, he was quite content with the progress he had made so far in his new camping-ground. For that it was, since Spruce had no idea of having a home, and disliked domesticity.

It was on Sunday afternoon that Hench returned. Madame Alpenny was lying down for a rest, as she always did on the seventh day; Zara had slipped out for a walk with Bracken; and Mrs. Tesk was laboriously reading a religious book, which she found extremely dull, but considered the correct thing to peruse on the Sabbath. Spruce being left very much to his own devices, had amused himself by sorting his wardrobe, and towards five o'clock was beginning to find time hang heavy on his hands. With a yawn he descended to the smoking-room to idle away an hour with a cigarette and the Sunday papers. In the bleak little apartment devoted to the goddess Nicotine--a goddess unknown to the Olympians, it may be remarked--he came suddenly upon a tall young man who was puffing his pipe and listlessly staring out of the window. Rather from intuition than from positive knowledge, the Nut guessed that this was the returned wanderer.

"Hullo, Hench, and how are you?" was his greeting, and he advanced with a gracious smile and an outstretched hand.

The young man rose slowly, looking very much astonished, but mechanically accepted the proferred grasp. Apparently he did not recognize that this resplendent being was his old schoolfellow, and hinted as much in a rough and ready fashion. "Who the deuce are you?" he demanded with a puzzled expression.

"Cuthbert Spruce!" replied the Nut, nettled as a vain man would be by the want of recognition.

"Cuthbert Spruce! Well?" Hench still appeared to be ignorant and waited for some light to be cast upon the subject of this hearty greeting.

"Oh, come now, you are an ass, Hench. Don't you remember Winchester, and the day you picked me up when I got lost during the hare and hounds run?"

Hench stared at the pink and white cherubic face and a smile broke over his face, as he shook the little man's hand heartily. "Of course. Little Spruce, isn't it?"

"I have already said as much," retorted the mortified Nut dryly.

"Well, I didn't see much of you at Winchester, you know," confessed the stalwart young man, sitting down for a chat; "you were in a different set, anyhow. And I don't fancy I cared much for your set, such as it was. H'm!" Hench stared hard at the other and pulled hard at his pipe. "Yes. Little Spruce, of course, commonly called The Cherub. And by gad, Spruce, you're a cherub still."

"No one could call you so, Hench," said Spruce affably, sitting down and producing a dainty cigarette-case; "you are more like Hercules, big and stolid and dull and honest."

"What a mixture of depreciation and compliment," said Hench coolly. "Well, I am glad to see you, in spite of your somewhat free speech. After all, one's heart warms to a chap from the old school."

"Rather!" agreed the Nut, whose heart never warmed towards any one or anything. "It's queer meeting you here. Let's have a look at you."

Hench laughed and shifted his position, so that the light from the window fell full upon him. A woman would have thought, as women did think, that he was well worth looking at, since he was tall and stalwart, undeniably handsome and possessed of great strength. With his well-built figure and upright carriage he looked more like a soldier than anything else. His hair, closely cropped, was brown, as were his eyes, and he had a full spade-shaped beard which added to his virile looks. The two men formed a marked contrast, and the small, dainty, over-dressed Nut looked like a doll beside the big, handsome, carelessly attired man. And it was on this attire that Spruce's eyes were fixed, as it hinted at many things. A well-worn blue-serge suit, a woollen shirt and mended brown boots did not suggest money, any more than the presence of Hench in this cheap boarding house intimated a good income. The Nut began to think that his dreams of making use of Hench were purely visionary. There was no wealth to be extracted from such an obvious pauper. Nevertheless, Spruce, who never threw away a chance, behaved very cordially and paid compliments.

"But for that beard you are just the same as you were at Winchester," he remarked. "You were always big and heroic-looking. What are you doing here?"

"Marking time!" said Hench laconically.

"In the hopes of what?"

"Of making my fortune."

"Hum!" Spruce looked dissatisfied, as he did not care about meeting old schoolfellows who required help; "you do look down on your luck."

"Not more than usual. I always make sufficient to keep my head above water by writing articles and stories for cheap newspapers and journals. But that is a poor state of things for a man of twenty-five."

"There isn't much pie-crust about it, I admit, Hench. Why, I thought you were rich. I know at school the fellows always talked about your father being a Duke of sorts constantly on the move."

"My father travelled a great deal on the Continent, certainly, and when I left school I joined him. But he died five or six years ago and left me with very little money. Since then I have been voyaging round the terrestrial globe to find money, and so far have not achieved success. But I say"--Hench broke off to re-fill his pipe--"why make me egotistical? My affairs don't interest you."

"Oh yes, they do," Spruce protested, then baited his hook with a minnow to catch a possible whale. "And if you will allow me to be your banker----"

"No! No! It's awfully good of you. But I have enough for my needs."

"Well, when you haven't, come to me. Old schoolfellows, you know, should help one another at a pinch."

"You're a good chap, Spruce," said the big man, gratefully.

Spruce smiled graciously in response to the compliment, and privately considered that Hench was as trusting as he always had been, taking men at their own valuation, instead of putting a price on them himself. However, he had gained the good-will of the man by his delicate offer--which he by no means intended should be accepted--and therefore hoped, should Hench prove to be worth powder and shot, to benefit by his artful diplomacy. "Oh, that's all right, old fellow," he said airily and blowing rings of smoke; "since we're in the same galley we may as well renew our old friendship."

"Begin a friendship, you mean," said Hench very directly. "We weren't pals at school, so far as I can recollect."

"No! that's true enough. But you picked me up out of that ditch and played the part of a Good Samaritan, so I have reason to be friendly."

"Thanks! I'm with you, Spruce. While we camp here I daresay we'll see a lot of one another, and I shan't forget your kind offer to help. I'm not quick to make friends, you know, as I find most people jolly well look after themselves to the exclusion of every one else."

"I do, myself," said the Nut coolly. "Don't think that I go about playing the part of the Good Samaritan haphazard. But an old schoolfellow, you know----"

"Yes! I understand. There's something in having been at the same desk, isn't there. But I say, Spruce, what are you doing here? Now that I cast my memory back, you were supposed to be very well off."

"Oh, I am still," lied the Nut in a most brazen way; "that is I have enough money on which to live comfortably, although not a millionaire. But the fact is, I have literary ambitions, and wish to write a book. Some fellow said that Bethnal Green had never been written up since the time of the celebrated beggar, so I thought I'd come down and gather material. I spotted Mrs. Tesk's advertisement in the papers and the name of the house attracted me."

Hench laughed. "The Home of the Muses! It's rather a queer title to give a house in this poverty-stricken neighbourhood; but then Mrs. Tesk, bless her, is queer herself. She's a good sort though, all the same. Well, you've come to the right place to get material for a sort of Charles Dickens book. We all live in Queer Street here, Spruce."

"Queer Street, which, like Bohemia, is nowhere and yet is everywhere, Hench."

"You are epigrammatic. That won't do for a book of the Dickens type."

The Nut shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what sort of book I'll write, and that's a fact. In Queer Street, which I take it comprises the whole of Bethnal Green, there are many interesting people, for I have been walking about and have kept my eyes open. But those I find most interesting are under this roof."

"Madame Alpenny?"

"Yes! She's quite a character with her jewellery and her gambling. By the way, you won't find her so decked out Hindoo fashion as hitherto. During the week of my stay here, I have won two bracelets, several rings and a pair of ear-rings."

Hench looked displeased. "You shouldn't encourage her love of gambling," he said strongly. "I'm not a saint, but it doesn't seem right for a well-to-do man such as you are to win Madame Alpenny's jewellery."

"Why not? She has the same chance of winning my money. We play quite fairly, you know, Hench, and one must pass the time somehow. But I quite understand why you don't wish me to loot the lady."

"Oh, do you." Hench grew red and smoothed his beard. "Well?"

"I have listened and looked and questioned and considered while I have been here," explained the Nut coolly, "and by doing so I have found out your romance."

"My romance!"--the big man bit his nether lip and thought that it was like the cheek of this finicky little devil to meddle with what did not in any way concern him--"what the deuce are you talking about?"

"About your romance; about Bracken's romance; and about Mademoiselle Zara, who is the subject of both romances."

"You are talking through your hat, Spruce."

"By no means. I can give you chapter and verse for my surmises. Zara Alpenny is a handsome gipsy, although to my fancy she is a trifle gaunt and fierce, as any one can see. Her mother being poor, intends that her daughter shall be the wife of a wealthy man. You have fallen in love with this divinity of the Bijou Music-hall, and so has that bounder of a violinist. Madame Alpenny, knowing your circumstances, will have nothing to do with either of you as sons-in-law, preferring yours truly."

"You!" Hench sat up and stared indignantly at the smooth speaker. "Now what the dickens do you mean by that rubbish?"

"What I say. You understand King's English, I take it. But you need have no fear so far as I am concerned. Mademoiselle Zara is not my sort, and I have no intention of forwarding Madame Alpenny's matrimonial aims. But you----"

Hench rose, looking considerably irritated. "I wish you would mind your own business," he said sharply. "You have found a mare's nest."

"Oh, well," observed Spruce lazily, "if that is the case I may as well change my mind and become a suitor for Zara's hand."

"You shall do nothing of the sort."

"Why not? You don't love her, if I am to credit your mare's nest parable."

Hench found that the Nut was too sharp for him and sat down with a defeated air. "I admire the girl, rather than love her," he admitted reluctantly. "She's a good sort and would make a good wife--something of a comrade, you know."

"I don't think that fierce-eyed girl would care for a marriage of the comrade sort, Hench. She wants love of the most pronounced and romantic kind, and that kind she is getting from Bracken. He worships her, and will carry off the prize if all you can give is cautious admiration."

"It's none of your business, anyway," fumed the big man.

"No. I admit that! But suppose I make it my business by asking Madame Alpenny for her daughter's hand. She believes me to be rich and----"

"And you are not. Come, be honest."

Spruce saw that he had overshot the mark and retreated dexterously. "I have already been honest, as I told you that I was not a millionaire but only well off. Anyhow, I am a better husband for Zara so far as money is concerned than you or that bounder."

"But hang it, man, you can't love her. You've only known her a week."

"I never said that I did love her, or could possibly come to love her. Still, Zara is handsome and clever, so why shouldn't I make her my comrade-wife, since you suggested the same kind of half-baked alliance with yourself."

"Look here, Spruce," stated the other very seriously, and irritated by the nimble wit of his schoolfellow, "you have proved yourself to be a decent sort by offering to help me. For that offer I thank you, and because of it I am willing that we should be friends. But if you make love to Zara we are sure to quarrel."

"Aren't you rather a dog-in-the-manger, Hench?"

"No. I admire the girl."

"She wants love, which you evidently can't give her," retorted Spruce in an emphatic manner. "Now, if I can love her----"

"You said that she wasn't your sort."

"She isn't. Still, she is handsome, and one might pick up a worse wife."

"But not a worse mother-in-law. So far as I am concerned it doesn't matter, as I have neither kith nor kin to my knowledge, and, moreover, I am a vagabond upon the face of the earth. But with your family connections and position and money, the marriage would not be a success, seeing that it entails your taking Madame Alpenny to the West End. There she would scarcely do you credit."

Spruce rocked with laughter, and wondered what Hench would say if he knew the true position of affairs which had been so carefully withheld from him. "I give in, old fellow," he said, wiping his eyes with a mauve silk handkerchief and wafting a perfume about the room. "I was only codding you. I don't want to marry the girl. But Bracken does."

"And so do I," rejoined Hench tartly.

"H'm! I'm not so sure of that. Yours is a cold-blooded wooing. The girl asks you for the bread of love and you give her the stone of admiration."

"She doesn't ask me for love," said the tall young man with a sigh. "I am not so blind but what I can see that she loves Bracken."

"Then why don't you sheer off?"

"I don't like any man to get the better of me."

"There speaks the buccaneer, the cave-man, the prehistoric grabber. Lord! what a weird state of things, and how simple you are, Hench, to place all your cards on the table. I can teach you a thing or two."

"I am quite sure you can," said Hench dryly, and disliking the wit of this effeminate little creature, which was so extremely keen; "but I go my own way, thank you, and dree my own weird. It is probable that I will ask Madame Alpenny if I can marry Zara, and if Zara is agreeable----"

"Which by your own showing she won't be," put in Spruce parenthetically.

"----I'll marry her. If not, I'll go away and let Bracken make her his wife."

Spruce rose with a yawn. "I fancy Madame Alpenny will have a word or two to say to that, my dear fellow. Why don't you skip now?"

"Because I admire Zara and mean to give her the chance of accepting or rejecting me," said Hench doggedly. "Also, I can't leave London for a few weeks, as I have to interview my father's lawyers."

"What about?"

"I can't tell you. My father left certain papers with his lawyers which were to be given to me when I attained the age of twenty-five. My birthday arrives shortly, and then I'll see what is to be done."

"It sounds like a mystery," yawned Spruce, apparently in a listless manner, but secretly all agog to learn what the lawyers of his friend knew; "Madame Alpenny says you are a mystery."

"Me!" Hench laughed scornfully; "why, there's nothing mysterious about me. As you said just now, I am a simple person who places all his cards on the table."

"Yes"--Spruce nodded--"more fool you. Now, if you will only allow that old woman to think that there really is a mystery connected with you--and there seems to be so far as this legal interview is concerned--she may give you a chance of becoming her daughter's husband."

"Perhaps! But why does she think me a mystery?"

"I can't tell you. She was very vague about the matter. She declares that she has seen you somewhere and that you have a history."

"History be hanged. My father had sufficient money to travel about and put me to school at Winchester. When I left I joined him, and we went through Europe to this place and that until he died and was buried in Paris. What mystery is there about that?"

"None. But your family----?"

"I haven't got any save my father, who is dead. And he told me very little about himself or his belongings. We are a Welsh family, I believe."

"Hench isn't a Welsh name."

"Owain is, anyhow, and the spelling is old Welsh," retorted the other.

"True. We used to rag you about the spelling at school. Well, with such a name as that, you might find out the truth about your family."

"I'm not curious."

"You should be then, as I would be if I were in your shoes. For all you know there may be a title and money waiting for you."

"Oh, rubbish! Well, you can tell Madame Alpenny what I have told you. No. On second thoughts, I'll tell her myself. She and her mystery, indeed!" and with a scornful nod Hench left the bleak smoking-room.

Spruce reflected that Hench was a simpleton to be so frank about his private affairs, and had not changed, so far as trusting people went, since his school-days. "Also there is a mystery," he mused. "I'll search it out."

[CHAPTER III]

MAN PROPOSES

Everyone, without exception, was glad that Hench had returned, for he appeared to be a favourite with all. And not the least pleased to see him was the boy Simon Jedd, commonly called "Bottles." He was a freckled, red-haired, laughing youngster of fifteen, with a wide mouth and a snub nose, not by any manner of means handsome, but genial and cheerful and extremely honest. He helped Amelia with the house-work, ran errands, waited at table, cleaned the boots of the paying guests, and earned his scanty wages by making himself uncommonly useful on all and every occasion. But being a restless youth, and much given at odd moments to reading books of highly-coloured adventure in the form of penny stories, he had a soul above his drudgery, and longed with all his heart to face dangers of the most pronounced kind. Such a lad was bound to have some sort of actual hero to worship and adore.

In Hench, Bottles saw exactly the pioneering type, which was his ideal of perfect manhood, and he looked upon the young man as the model of all the virtues which most appealed to him. This being the case, he never could do enough to prove his devotion. No bed was so well made as that of Hench; no room was kept so spotlessly clean, and no boots were so highly polished. Half amused and half touched by this genuine hero-worship, Hench lent the boy books of travel, told him about his adventures in far lands, gave him odd shillings to patronize the local picture palace and music-hall, and generally treated him in a way which made the heart of the boy swell with pride. It was no wonder that Bottles adored him and could never do enough for him.

On the morning after his return, Hench found his clothes well brushed, his bath ready, and a cup of tea at his elbow, while Bottles hovered round the room wondering what else he could do to show his rejoicing spirit. In his shabby patched clothes, and wearing an apron of green baize, Bottles grinned respectfully when Hench sat up in bed to drink his tea. He also supplied him with small-beer chronicles concerning events which had taken place in The Home of the Muses during his hero's absence. Hench cared very little for such gossip, but allowed Bottles to prattle on because it pleased the lad. And certainly Master Jedd might have been a detective, so full and clever was his report. In the course of his narrative he arrived at Spruce. Then Hench really did listen, for, simple as he was, he began to wonder if the Nut had given his true reason for this visit to Bethnal Green.

"Such a swell as he is, ain't he?" babbled Bottles, who was now slipping links and studs into Hench's shirt. "I never did see a cove come with so many boxes, sir. Must be rich, I think, though he ain't free with his money. Says he knew you at school, sir, he does. True, ain't it?"

"Quite true, Bottles!" replied Hench, nodding. "I haven't seen him for eight or more years."

"And you don't like him now you do see him, do you, sir?"

"Why should you say that?"

"Well, sir"--Bottles scratched his scarlet poll--"he don't seem to me to be quite your style. There ain't no Buffalo Bill, Pathfinder business about him. If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I don't think it's cricket his winning all that foreign lady's jewellery at cards, nohow."

"That's none of your business, Bottles."

"Sorry, sir. But I can't help seeing and thinking when I do see. And what's a swell like him doing down here, I'd like to know?"

"You'd better ask him."

"And get a clip on the ears for my pains, sir. Not me. Though I dessay he ain't the cove to hit out."

"Too kind-hearted?" asked Hench, amused.

"Well," said Bottles slowly, "I shouldn't use them words myself. Mr. Spruce is the kind of feller who'd trip you up when you wasn't looking; but I don't think he'd meet any one's eye straight. Seems to me as he might have done a glide, if you take me, sir."

"I don't take you, Bottles?"

"Bolted, mizzled, cut away," explained the boy earnestly. "Swells don't come to this place for fun."

"Don't be a fool, boy. Mr. Spruce has only come here to gather material for a book he is writing."

"Oh, he says that, do he, sir? Well, I don't think! Ho! I'll keep my eye on all the illustrated papers and see if his picture's in 'em."

"Why should his picture be in them?"

Bottles shook his head mysteriously and skipped lightly towards the door. He saw that Hench did not approve of his groundless suspicions, so made up his mind to say no more. All the same, having got the idea that Spruce had "done something" into his head, which came from reading too many penny-dreadful romances, he made up his mind to watch the Nut. This he did not tell his hero lest he should be forbidden to "follow the trail," as he put it. Therefore he held his tongue and removed himself swiftly.

While Hench took his bath and dressed slowly, he wondered if by chance the boy had hit the mark. It did appear to be strange that a well-to-do and fashionable young man should come and live amidst such sordid surroundings. Spruce's story of gathering material for a novel was plausible enough, yet somehow it did not ring true. Hench, as the Nut thought with some degree of truth, was a very simple and unsuspicious person, but he was not quite such a fool as Mr. Spruce imagined him to be. Affable as the young man had been, and pleased as he was with his old schoolfellow's offer of pecuniary aid, he could not bring himself to like the Cherub. His dandified dress, his mincing ways, his gorgeous array and use of perfume, irritated the rough-and-ready manhood of Hench. He sensed something poisonous about the little man, and resolved very rightly to be wary in his dealings with him. Moreover, Spruce was altogether too curious about matters which did not concern him, though why he should be so Hench was unable to say. The Nut had made himself acquainted with the affairs of every one in the house since his arrival, and knew much which could not possibly interest him. However, if he had come to Bethnal Green to plot and contrive, it would be a case of diamond cut diamond, for Hench guessed that Bottles would keep his eye on the little man's doings. And the eye of Bottles was sharp, while the brain of Bottles was keen; so the schemes of Mr. Spruce would be baffled in the end, always presuming that he really had any.

"But it's all bosh," said Hench aloud to himself, as he made ready to go down to breakfast. "Spruce has come here to write a book, and it's silly of me to make a mountain out of a molehill. I daresay he'll grow tired of this dull life here and cut away back to the West End. Upon my word I shan't be sorry when he goes. Strange that Bottles should dislike him so thoroughly. He's a sharp lad, is Bottles, and doesn't usually make mistakes."

Having unloaded his mind in this soliloquy, Hench descended to breakfast and enjoyed that meal all alone, as he was late and every one was out. Spruce, indeed, was having breakfast in his room, and of this Hench was glad, as he always liked to read the newspaper while drinking his coffee. This would have been impossible had such a chattering magpie as the Nut been present. But he did not escape the attentions of his old schoolfellow entirely, for Spruce made his appearance just as he finished eating. The Nut wore a suit of cream-coloured serge with a black necktie, black boots, black gloves, and a black hat of soft felt. Hench stared.

"I say, you look like a negative," he remonstrated. "Don't go out in that get-up or you'll be mobbed."

"Oh, no," said Spruce smoothly; "only pointed at. I'm accustomed to that, as I have put on a different suit every day since coming here. It must be a pleasure for these Bethnal Green rotters to see a well-dressed man."

"I don't mind a fellow being well dressed," retorted Hench with emphasis, "but I do object to over-dressing."

Spruce shrugged his shoulders. "You never did care to look decent."

"I'm decent enough; confound your impudence!"

"What with that shaggy beard and shabby clothes, and----"

"There! There! Keep off the grass, Spruce. My clothes are well enough, although I do admit my beard is a trifle out of place. But when I returned from South America six months ago I never bothered to shave. Too much trouble."

"Well, if I were a good-looking chap such as you are, I would pay more attention to my appearance. Coming out for a walk?"

"No. Not with you in that get-up!"

Spruce laughed. "Rum sort of chap you are to object to a fellow dressing decently. However, have it your own way. I'll see you this afternoon."

Hench nodded absently and filled his pipe, while Spruce departed to delight the jeering inhabitants of Bethnal Green. And they did jeer, in what Spruce considered their coarse, common, vulgar way, but did not manage to upset him in the least. He was much too conceited to think that he could possibly be wrong in his selection of clothes. And it must be confessed that, as the day was hot even for July, he looked wonderfully cool and comfortable in his white garb. The men jeered, but for the most part the women admired him, and so long as he gained admiration from the fair sex Spruce was wholly content. So he screwed in his eye-glass and strutted and smiled, and made a progress through the main streets of Bethnal Green with a heroism worthy of a better cause. And it was heroism in a way to venture amongst the great unwashed in such fantastic clothes, although in Spruce it took the form of absolute vanity, and a certainty that he was "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever."

As the day was warm and sunny the Nut did not return to luncheon, but enjoyed that meal in a City restaurant. He did not risk travelling beyond Fleet Street, lest he should stumble against some former friend who certainly would not be amiably disposed. Like the Peri, Spruce stood at the Gates of Paradise, but did not dare to venture in, so after a long look up the Strand, which was closed to him, he returned gloomily to Bethnal Green. But by the time he reached The Home of the Muses, he felt much better, as his nature was too shallow for him to be impressed strongly by any emotion--sorrowful or joyful. It was late in the afternoon when he entered the dingy drawing-room, and here he found Hench and Madame Alpenny enjoying the regulation tea. Zara, it appeared, was lying down to refresh herself for the evening's performance, and Bracken was attending a rehearsal. As for Mrs. Tesk, her mind was engaged with the approaching dinner, and she was consulting the cook in the kitchen.

As soon as Bottles, who was attending to the meal, saw Spruce stepping in he became at once upon the alert, and devoured him with his light blue eyes. Hench, noticing this espionage, sent the lad away to get fresh tea, as he did not approve of Bottles watching and listening to what did not concern him. Madame Alpenny smiled blandly when Spruce entered and complimented him on his cool looks. She was hot herself, and this was little to be wondered at, as she wore her constant black dress with the orange spots, her picture hat and her heavy bead mantle. The Nut wondered if she had any other clothes, as she never seemed to wear another garb.

"You are just in time, Mr. Spruce," said Madame Alpenny in her lively way, and after she had paid her compliment. "Tell me what you know of Mr. Hench here."

Spruce stared. "Why do you ask me that?"

"Indeed you may well ask," said Hench with a frown, "as you cannot answer the question. But Madame here will not permit me to pay attention to Mademoiselle Zara until she knows more about me."

"I am a good mother, you see, and must consider my daughter's happiness," was the reply of the Hungarian lady, as she took the freshly filled teapot from Bottles and sent him out of the room again.

"If that is the case," said Spruce politely, "then you must allow her to become Mrs. Bracken."

"Certainly I shall not. Ah, but you are smiling."

"Indeed, I think your daughter will only be happy with Bracken," insisted the Nut lightly. "He loves her, and I think that she loves him."

"In that case," commented Madame with a shrug and glancing at Hench, "there is no chance for you."

"I admire Mademoiselle Zara and wish to make her my wife," said Hench steadily. "I am young and strong, and will soon make a fortune."

"So far you have been unsuccessful," she replied dryly; "and for my daughter I prefer a ready-made fortune." Her eyes rested on Spruce as she spoke. The little man did not take the hint, but chuckled softly in his hateful fashion, so she was obliged to go on. "Tell me, Mr. Spruce, what do you know of Mr. Hench?"

"Only that he is the best fellow in the world."

Hench frowned. "I don't see how you can swear to that, seeing we have not met for eight years."

"Oh, you were always a good sort of chap," said Spruce gaily. "If you don't mind my saying so, you haven't enough brains to be wicked. It takes a clever person to sin properly."

"Ah, but you will amuse yourself with this talk," broke in Madame, smiling. "I want a good man for my daughter."

"Take Bracken, then. He's a bit of a bounder, but decent enough."

The old woman pursed up her lips and shook her head. After a few moments of reflection she spoke freely. "My daughter must marry money, and neither you, Mr. Hench, nor Mr. Bracken have any money. I will not allow you to pay your addresses to her. Nor will Zara receive them. She is a good girl and loves her old mother."

"Well, Hench," said Spruce, when this speech was ended, "now you know. Are you not heart-broken?"

"No!" retorted Hench sharply. "Nor am I defeated. Zara will decide."

"She will decide what I order her to decide!" cried Madame Alpenny furiously. "And my daughter is not for you, Mr. Hench!"

"I should prefer to discuss that question privately," said the young man in a stiff, haughty way; "there is no need for Mr. Spruce to be present."

"Oh, don't say that," chimed in the Nut reproachfully; "I may be able to help you, old fellow. You don't go the right way to work."

"It's my own way," snapped Hench restlessly, and objecting to interference.

"Then it's the wrong way," snapped Spruce in his turn. "Remember that Madame Alpenny thinks you are a mystery. Use that to help you."

"In what way?" Hench opened his brown eyes.

"Mysterious persons are always interesting, and if Madame here finds that you may turn out to be some one great, who knows but what she may change her mind?"

"Are you something great?" asked the lady, addressing Hench quickly.

"No. I am nobody, and will remain nobody. Why should you think that I am, what you call, a mystery?"

"It is hard to say," she answered dreamily and staring hard at him. "I have seen eyes like yours somewhere. They are connected with a story--a kind of family mystery. But I can't remember to whom those eyes belonged."

"Perhaps you have met our friend here before," suggested the Nut eagerly.

"No!" said Madame positively, and Hench also shook his head. "I met him here for the first time. The person who had eyes like him I met--or I fancy I met--some twenty years ago. But it is all vague and uncertain. Yet I feel that the story I allude to is here"--she touched her forehead--"a mere word will bring it back to my memory."

"Then let us try and find the magic word," cried the irrepressible Spruce. "I am desperately curious myself to fathom a mystery which the person concerned in it does not guess."

"Meaning me," said Hench tartly. "You are talking rubbish."

"Sense, sense, common-sense. When the mystery is discovered you may be able to marry Mademoiselle Zara."

"There is no mystery about me, I tell you."

"Well, I am not so sure of that," remarked the little man, in spite of his friend's frown. "You don't know anything about your family, as you admitted to me. Yet I dare swear that those papers you are to inspect at your lawyers' in a few weeks, when you arrive at the age of twenty-five, may contain a history which will astonish you."

"Papers at your lawyers'," echoed Madame Alpenny, looking excited; "is that so?" Hench reluctantly admitted that such was the case. "But I don't suppose that anything I don't know will come to my knowledge."

"Who knows," observed the old lady thoughtfully. "Mr. Spruce is right. This hint of mystery interests me in you and makes me more ready to entertain your proposal to marry Zara. If you turned out to be wealthy----"

"I never will, I tell you," insisted Hench crossly.

"Then why are these mysterious papers in existence? No! believe me, they have a story to tell. I am better disposed towards you because of those papers, as who knows to what they may lead. Mr. Spruce is right about a mystery interesting me, and I congratulate Mr. Spruce. He ought to be in the diplomatic service. His knowledge of human nature does him credit."

Evidently both Madame and the Cherub were bent upon building a castle in the air, as Hench could not think that the papers in question were likely to make him a rich man. His father had never been rich, and knowing the sybaritism of his deceased parent, the young man was pretty certain that if there had been any money about, the elder Hench would have obtained it to waste. "You are both wrong," he said gloomily. "There is not likely to be a fortune waiting for me when I read those papers. My name is a commonplace one, and I have every reason to believe that my family is commonplace also. My father never gave me any information about his parents. All I know is that his name was Owain Hench, as mine is, and that he once or twice remarked that his youth had been passed in some Welsh place, called Rhaiadr!"

The effect of this last word on Madame was astonishing. She turned quite pale with sudden emotion, her large dark eyes blazed into vivid life and she clapped her hands loudly. "Rhaiadr! Owain of Rhaiadr! The word means water tumbling over a rock--a waterfall. Ah, yes, and so they call a torrent in the barbarous country of Wales."

Hench stared at her, not understanding this outburst, but Spruce, much more alive to what was meant, laughed and nodded. "We have hit upon the magic word, it seems," he observed, all on the alert for knowledge. "Tell us who was the owner of the eyes which were like those of Hench's, Madame?"

"Your father had such eyes," said Madame, turning to the astonished man.

"My father!"--Hench started to his feet--"you have never met my father. Why, he died about five years ago."

Madame nodded complacently and signed that he should seat himself again. "Ah, is that so? He is dead, then. Oh, but I did meet him, Mr. Hench. Some twenty years back--it was in Buda Pesth. I remember it all"--she pressed her jewelled fingers to her forehead--"it all comes back to me."

"Tell us about it, then," suggested Spruce eagerly. "Bah!" said Hench rather rudely, "it's all imagination."

"Indeed it is not," protested Madame, gesticulating. "If it were so, how would I know that Rhaiadr meant a waterfall and was in Wales, a country I know nothing about? Owain of Rhaiadr!--that is what your father called himself."

"Owain is my Christian name, and was my father's before me. But we don't live in the Middle Ages, when a man was known by his first name being connected with a town, or village, or county, or country. Owain Hench of Rhaiadr, if you like, Madame."

The woman shook her head and her eyes sparkled like diamonds. "Ah, but it is not so. Owain of Rhaiadr was what your father said. I remember we were sitting on the terrace of the hotel, and feeling ill, he sought my sympathy. Ah, my friend, and more than my sympathy. He wished to marry me."

"Marry you!" Hench stared at the withered old woman in amazement.

"Why not? I was a handsome young widow in those days and had some money. Afterwards I lost it, being unlucky at cards."

"Well, let us hope that to make up for your loss you were lucky in love," said Spruce affably.

"No! I did not wish to marry again, as I was devoted to the memory of my English husband. But I liked your father, Mr. Hench, even though I refused to become his wife. He was not rich, you understand, so it was useless for me to marry a poor man. But I liked him because he was well-bred and sympathetic in many ways. How it all comes back to me. I told him of my daughter, who was with her nurse in the gardens below the terrace, and he informed me that he had a son of four or five, who was in England being looked after by strangers."

"By strangers," echoed Hench bitterly; "that is true. All my life I have had to do with strangers."

"Ah, but, my friend, it was not the fault of your good father," said Madame in a hurried tone. "His young wife--your mother--died early, and it was impossible for your father to travel about the Continent with a baby--as you were."

"A baby of over four years old could have travelled well enough," said Hench in a sombre tone; "but my father never cared about me over-much. He----" here the young man checked himself, as he did not wish to discuss his father in the presence of Spruce, although he might have done so with Madame Alpenny, since he desired to marry her daughter. After a pause he continued: "Well, did my father tell you his family history?"

It was quite one minute before the old lady answered this question. She reflected deeply, with her eyes searching his handsome face, then shook her head sadly. "No! We were not so confidential as that. We met several times again, but as I refused to marry him, your father went away to Paris. I never saw him again, but the memory of his eyes remained, and those same eyes you now use to look at me suggested my old romance."

"They would not have done so but for the magic word Rhaiadr," said Spruce in brisk tones. "Well, Hench, you see that there is a mystery."

"There is not," declared the young man sharply and much vexed. "Your mystery resolves itself into what Madame here calls her romance. My father asked her to marry him and she refused. Very wisely, I think," he added, as if to himself--"she would never have been happy."

Madame overheard him, shrugged her shoulders, and rose, looking more shapeless in figure and more untidy in dress than ever. "In any case, I have never been happy," she said sadly, "so it does not matter. But I am now inclined to consider your proposal to pay attentions to Zara."

"He is not yet rich, remember," put in Spruce, grinning.

"Mind your own business," said Hench vehemently.

"No"--Madame's tone was peculiar--"and perhaps he never may be rich. But if Zara likes you, I am not sure but what I will not allow you to marry her. No, I have not yet quite made up my mind. Give me time to think"--she moved ponderously towards the door. "Owain of Rhaiadr! Ah, if you were only able to call yourself that. Well, who knows," and with a mysterious nod she disappeared.

"Queer thing, coming across an old flame of your father's in Queer Street," said the Nut affably. "What do you think?"

"I think," said Hench in anything but an amiable tone, "that you had better mind your own damned business."

Spruce was by no means offended. "As you will, although you should be sensible enough to use my brains to help you with your family mystery."

"There is no mystery. How often am I to repeat that?" And Hench walked away fuming with rage at the little man's persistence.

[CHAPTER IV]

THE ADVERTISEMENT

Hench felt annoyed with himself for talking so freely about his private affairs in the presence of Spruce, yet he could not see how he could have done otherwise. Madame Alpenny, disregarding the obvious fact that his proposal for her daughter's hand was not for public discussion, had appealed to the little man for information concerning the suitor, and in this way the Nut had been drawn into the conversation. If was not that Hench affected reticence, as he was a singularly frank man; or that there was anything to conceal in his past life, since that was free from punishable misdeeds. But it irritated him that Spruce should meddle, as the man appeared to have a finger in everybody's pie, and Hench saw no reason why he should have anything to do with this particular pastry. For this reason he gave his old schoolfellow the cold shoulder.

Spruce objected to this, as it was his aim to ingratiate himself, with a view to possible happenings which would place him in possession of money. At the outset Hench's friendship had not appeared to be worth cultivating, as he was poor, aggressively honest, and not at all a man to be exploited by the unscrupulous. But after Hench's confidence regarding the papers at the lawyers', Spruce scented a mystery which might be profitable. His suspicions, which at the outset were of the very faintest description, received colour and were rendered more substantial by the knowledge that Madame Alpenny had been acquainted with the young man's father. Spruce had noted her hesitation in replying to the question concerning the telling of the family history, and was satisfied in his own mind that she knew more than she would admit. The fact that after the conversation in the drawing-room she was willing to consider the proposal of marriage to Zara, implied that there was something in the wind. Having regard to Madame Alpenny's poverty and to her desire that Zara should marry a wealthy man, that something undoubtedly had to do with money. As yet Spruce was very vague about the whole matter, as his information was not accurate enough to enable him to act. But the key to the mystery, whatever it might be, was in the possession of Madame Alpenny, therefore the Nut watched her carefully. If she was agreeable that Zara should become the wife of Hench, there was certainly money to be gained by her as the result of the marriage; and if Hench was likely to possess riches, Spruce made up his mind to share in the same.

For this reason he ignored the young man's bearish manner and scant civility, which otherwise he would not have tolerated. Spruce was amiability itself, and went out of his way to amuse the paying guests, so that Mrs. Tesk looked upon him as quite an acquisition. He played the piano, he sang songs, he performed conjuring tricks, and made himself generally agreeable. Also he escorted Zara to the Bijou Music-hall and there became acquainted with the management, with the stage hands, and with the hangers-on of the profession. In a week he was quite at home behind the scenes, and even became friendly with Mrs. Jedd, who was the mother of Bottles, and the wardrobe mistress. In fact, he ingratiated himself with every one and was highly popular; meantime watching Madame Alpenny with the ardour of a cat at a mouse-hole, and giving his best attentions to Hench. These were so coldly received that finally he remonstrated in a most plaintive manner.

"I don't see why you should be so confoundedly disagreeable," he said after seven days of hard work to be polite; "we are two gentlemen who are stranded here, and may as well chum up for the sake of company."

"I don't wish to chum up, as you call it, with any one," retorted Hench coldly.

"Not with Zara?" Spruce could not help giving his friend the dig.

"That is my business."

"I never suggested otherwise. But I would point out that Madame Alpenny's resolve to consider your marriage proposition favourably is due to me. Had I not guided the conversation as I did, she would never have remembered her meeting with your father. It is the romance of that which has inclined her to permit your wooing."

"Madame Alpenny would have remembered without your help."

"I think not. You have been here along with her for six months and have had endless conversations. But until I made a third----"

"An inconvenient third."

"Oh, as you will. But until I made a third, she did not recollect the adventure of her youth which has softened her towards you. This being the case, I don't see why you should hold me at arm's length."

"I am not taking the trouble to consider you in any way," said Hench in his most freezing manner. "We were never chums at school, and I see nothing in you to make me more friendly now. It is true that you offered to help me with money, but as I don't require your help in that way, I lie under no obligation to you. Why the dickens can't you go back to the West End?"

"I shall go back," lied Spruce, "when I gather sufficient material for my proposed book. Meanwhile, my friend----"

"Meanwhile," repeated Hench, cutting him short, "suppose you mind your own business and leave mine alone."

"Had I left your business alone, Madame Alpenny would not now be so agreeable to you, old fellow," said Spruce, persistently polite. "However, since you object, I shall meddle no more. All the same, if I can do you a good turn I am perfectly willing to do so."

"Don't be worthy and pose as a bed-rock Christian!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," sighed the little man, who knew perfectly well what was implied; "but as you are bent upon making yourself disagreeable, you will be pleased to hear that I am returning to the West End to-morrow for a few days."

"I hope you'll stay there," growled Hench wrathfully, and quite unable to get rid of this gadfly. "I prefer to be alone."

"You will be more alone than you think," retorted Spruce tartly. "Madame Alpenny is going away also for a few days. She told Mrs. Tesk, who told me."

"Just like you, to go interfering with other people's business, Spruce. Madame Alpenny can go away without the world coming to an end." He paused, then asked a question which he immediately regretted having put. "Where's she going?"

"Ah!" Spruce chuckled cynically, "you are curious in spite of your pretended dislike to meddle with what doesn't concern you. Well, she is going to see if any West End manager will come to see Zara dancing at the Bijou Music-hall, with a view to getting her daughter a better engagement."

"I hope she will succeed," said Hench heartily. "Zara is a rare dancer and well deserves better luck."

"If she goes, you will be parted."

"Oh, hang your interference!" cried Hench, and walked out of the smoking-room.

"Better make hay while the sun shines," Spruce called out after him, and, after his usual manner, chuckled when the door banged by way of reply.

There appeared to be a perfect exodus from The Home of the Muses, for Bracken also became conspicuous by his absence. He went to see his mother at Folkestone, who was a widow, as news came that her health was not what it might be. But the greatest surprise was when Bottles came to Hench on the morning of the exodus, dressed in his best clothes and smiling all over his freckled face. He was blushing also, which was a rare thing for the imp to do, and made a request which accounted for the same.

"Would you mind, sir--I mean, am I asking too much--that is, if you won't think it sauce on my part," he stumbled amongst his words and blushed deeper.

"Out with it, Bottles! What is it? Speak straight and to the point."

Jedd did so and very bluntly. "I want you to lend me five shillings, sir. Oh, I'll pay it back out of my wages at sixpence a week, see if I don't"--the boy went through a pantomine--"that wet; that dry; cut my throat if I tell a lie."

Hench, who had every reason to trust Bottles, and who considered him to be a lad with a future if clever wits went for anything, produced a couple of half-crowns from his slender resources. "There you are! You needn't pay me back."

"Oh, but I will, sir, thanking you all the same," said Bottles, pocketing the cash. "Mother's brought me up proper, she has, and always told me never to borrer. But I can't help borrering this time; it's business."

"What business?"

"Private," said the lad stiffly; "but the five bob shall be paid back, honest, Mr. Hench."

"Well, Bottles, I admire your principles and will accept the sixpence a week repayment. But why are you so excited and why this splendour of dress?"

"I'm going down the country to see my brother, sir."

"Your brother. I never knew you had a brother."

"Oh, yes sir, please. We're twins, we are, and I'm the elder by half an hour, as mother always says. Peter's a page in a lady's house in the country, and Mrs. Tesk allows me to go and see him sometimes. I asked her if I could go to-day, and she said that as Mr. Spruce and Mr. Bracken and Madame Alpenny were away for a few days, and there wouldn't be much work, that she would let me go."

"Well," said Hench with a good-natured laugh, "I hope you'll enjoy yourself, my lad. So you are Simon and your brother is Peter. Eh?"

"Yes, sir. Called after the Chief Apostle, sir. Mother reads her Bible even though she's only looking after the clothes at the Bijour Music-hall. I'm going to stay away for two days, Mr. Hench, and p'raps three. But I won't waste my time; oh no, not much, you bet, sir."

"What do you mean?" asked his patron, considerably mystified.

"I'll tell you some day, sir, as you've a right to know."

"Know what?"

"What I've got up my sleeve. It may be rot, and it may be something else. All I can tell you, sir, is, that when the time comes, you'll know. S'elp me Bob, I'll tell you everything," and Bottles panted with excitement.

"Bottles, you've muddled your brain with your adventure and detective penny-dreadful yarns. Well, go on your Sexton Blake errand, and mind you have a good time. I shall miss your attentions, though," ended Hench kindly.

"I hope you won't miss 'em very much, sir. I've told Amelia to see as you get everything you want. She's only a gal, but she'll do her best for my sake, sir," ended Bottles grandly. "She and me's going to marry when we're rich."

"Go away, you precocious imp, and don't talk nonsense."

"There's many a true word spoke in nonsense, as mother says, sir. She's great on proverbs, is mother!" and with this parting shot Bottles rapidly disappeared, grinning amiably and very much excited. Hench wondered at the boy's mysterious hints and could not for the life of him see how they could have anything to do with his own affairs. However, thinking that Bottles was merely drawing on his imagination, he dismissed the matter from his mind.

And, indeed, for the next few days, and until the return of the absent, the young man found his hands full enough. Zara being alone, with neither her mother nor Bracken at her elbow, Hench thought that he might as well take advantage of the opportunity to carry on an uninterrupted wooing. He escorted Zara to the music-hall and escorted her home again. He took her sundry walks, gave her sundry meals in restaurants, and provided her with cheap amusements in the form of cinematograph entertainments. Zara, who really liked Hench, was very grateful for his attentions, but she resolutely refused to allow him to make love to her. With the dexterity of a woman she managed to keep him at arm's length; but one evening while he conducted her to business the young man managed to get nearer to his divinity. Certainly the crowded streets, flaring with gas-lights, were unfit surroundings for love-making. But Hench had to carry on his romance as best he could, since Zara was so clever in throwing obstacles in his way. On this occasion, however, he broke through them.

"You are very cruel to me," he remarked, after many minutes of desultory conversation, and seizing the opportunity when the pair turned down into a quiet side street, "very cruel indeed."

The handsome girl was silent for a moment or so. "It's no use my pretending to misunderstand you, Mr. Hench," she said at length. "What's the time?"

Rather surprised by the irrelevance of the question, Hench looked at his very cheap watch. "Eight o'clock."

"Well, I'm not on until a quarter to nine, and although I do take a long time to dress, I can give you ten minutes."

"Oh, thank you, Zara. You are----"

"Don't make any mistake, Mr. Hench. I won't have those ten minutes spent in love-making, which would bore me and waste your time."

"No time spent upon you is wasted, Zara."

"There you are wrong. It is time we had an explanation. So long as mother objected to you as she does to Ned----"

"To Ned?"

"I mean to Mr. Bracken," said Zara, colouring and wincing. "Well then, so long as she was in that frame of mind, I let things slide. But now mother seems inclined to consider you as a possible son-in--law, and I must appeal to you."

"Command me in any way."

"Then don't worry me with attentions. Oh, I don't mind your behaving like a gentleman, as you have been doing, to pass the time while mother is away. I am very grateful to you for the amusement you have given me. But"--added the girl, leaning against the railings of a convenient dwelling-house--"I am not in love with you, no more than you are with me."

"I do love you," said Hench, frowning; "what's the use of saying otherwise?"

"You don't love me, I tell you," insisted Zara petulantly. "Trust a woman to understand the exact state of a man's heart. You like me, you admire me, you think me a good sort, but love"--she shook her head--"you don't understand love as Ned--I mean, Mr. Bracken--does."

"Oh, call him Ned by all means," said Hench quietly. "I see you are friendly enough with him to do so."

"I am engaged to him."

"With your mother's consent?"

"No. You know very well that mother wants me to marry a rich man, and Ned is poor, although he does hope to get a few hundred pounds now that his mother is dying. I love him and I intend somehow to marry him."

"That is unpleasant hearing for me, Zara."

"Indeed, it isn't, Mr. Hench. I know quite well what has led you to propose marriage to me----"

"I never have proposed as yet," interpolated Hench quickly.

"No. But you intended to. If I had not prevented you from going too far these last few days you would have proposed. Come now, isn't that the truth?"

"Yes! And to make you understand me fully I ask you now to be my wife."

"Then I refuse. I love Ned, and Ned only, even though he's but a poor violinist in the orchestra and earns little money. He loves me also, and in a way which you cannot comprehend."

"Why not?"

"Because your heart has never been touched either by me or by any other woman. It's no use your saying that it has been. I know you better than you do yourself, Mr. Hench."

The young man felt slightly mortified. "You appear to have a bad opinion of me, Mademoiselle."

"Indeed, I have a most excellent opinion of you. Make no mistake about that, Mr. Hench. You are an honourable gentleman; you are extremely kind-hearted and you will be an admirable husband--to the woman you love."

"You are the woman, believe me!" cried Hench impetuously.

Zara shook her proud head, smiling, and looked less fierce than usual. "Oh, what children men are. They want a toy and cry when they don't get it, yet break it when it is in their possession. I am the toy, Mr. Hench, and you are the child who wants it."

"And if I got the toy I would break it. Eh?"

"Yes," said the dancer frankly, and began to walk on slowly, as the ten minutes were nearly up, "and I'll tell you why. You are a lonely man, who has no home, no relations, no centre in life, if I may put it so. Having an intensely domestic nature--that nature which makes an admirable husband, a devoted father, and which is domestic in its essence--you want a wife to create a centre round which you can revolve. I happen to be passably good-looking, to have some good qualities, and to be an agreeable companion. Therefore, liking me, you mistake that liking for love, and offer me a respectable but dull future. Any other woman, decently kind and presentable, would suit you just as well as I would, and with her you would believe yourself to be in love as you think you are with me. But a happy marriage is not built up upon such a foundation, Mr. Hench, believe me. A woman wants love, she wants a heart. You can give me neither."

"And Mr. Bracken can?"

"Yes! Otherwise I wouldn't marry him. If mother is successful and can get me a West End engagement, I daresay I'll have plenty of men fluttering about me, and can pick and choose amongst lovers of higher rank and with more money than poor Ned has. But I won't find one who loves me as he does."

"I don't quite understand the kind of love you mean," murmured Hench, perplexed.

"Of course you don't, for the very simple reason that you require an explanation. True love comes from within and not from without. When you really feel the passion you require no explanation. Come and tell me when you really fall in love, Mr. Hench, if I am not right."

"Where did you learn how to talk in this way?" asked Hench, who was beginning to see that she was right.

"Experience has taught me, and experience is a great teacher. I am older than you think, Mr. Hench."

"You are only three and twenty. Your mother told me so."

"I am older in experience, for you know that a woman is always twice as old as a man in the ways of the world. However, here is the Bijou, and I must go in to get ready for my work. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

"Yes. I daresay my love is of a very feeble quality."

"Don't be bitter and don't pity yourself, Mr. Hench. Your liking for me is perfectly honourable, and I am sure you would make a kind husband. But love--you know nothing of love. I said that before, I fancy, and I say it again." She offered her gloved hand. "Come! Let us be friends, nothing nearer, nothing dearer. Otherwise you will make me unhappy."

Round the corner of the music-hall, where no one was about, Hench bent over Zara's hand and kissed it. "Let it be as you say," he said firmly; "all the same, I envy Bracken his future wife."

"You will meet a woman who will suit you better than I will," Zara assured him, and her great black eyes shone. "When you do, come and tell me how wholly correct I have been. And another thing, Mr. Hench, don't let mother bully me about you."

"There's no chance. I am too poor to be your husband so far as Madame Alpenny is concerned, even though she likes me better than she did."

Zara looked at him curiously. "Are you sure that you are poor?" she asked in an enigmatic tone, and then ran into the music-hall, through the dark stage door, before he could reply.

Hench strolled home leisurely, wondering what she meant by her last speech. Of course he was poor. She knew it; so did Madame Alpenny; so did every one in the boarding-house. Yet she implied a doubt. Resolving to ask for an explanation when occasion served, the young man dismissed this particular matter from his mind, and thought of his misfortune in losing Zara. He had always admired her, and now that she had spoken to him so eloquently he admired her more than ever. Hitherto more or less silent, she had never displayed the common-sense qualities of her mind before. Therefore Hench saw that she was not only a handsome woman and an accomplished girl, but had considerable mental powers. Otherwise she could scarcely have placed the truth so plainly before him as she had done. And with a sigh the pseudo-lover confessed that it was the truth. What he felt was not love, for, although he regretted his dismissal from the wooing of a noble woman, he by no means felt broken-hearted, as Bracken would have done. Hench recognized that his desire for Zara was only a strong wish for a home and a wife and a family, and--as she put it--for a centre round which his life could revolve. Having arrived at this conclusion he decided to leave the girl alone, and wait until fortune brought him to the feet of his true mate. "And I must have some sort of mate in the world, anyhow," added Hench to himself, by way of comfort.

Henceforth the relations of the two were much more unembarrassed, for it was a brother and sister connection--frank and markedly comfortable. During the remainder of Madame Alpenny's absence, Hench took Zara about as usual, and she confided in him her love for Bracken, her plans for the accomplishment of that love, and her many difficulties with her mother. Madame Alpenny, it seemed, was by no means an angel, as she possessed a furious temper, and wasted all her money in gambling. She was an ill woman to cross, since her nature was vindictive and eminently determined to have its own way. Zara gave Hench to understand that if she could marry Bracken and pension her mother she would be truly happy. At present she was very miserable, and only the hope of escaping from her mother's clutches in the manner described enabled her to endure trouble. Hench, in his new character of her brother, consoled her, and promised to do what he could to forward her aims. But he did not see at the present moment how he could do anything.

Madame Alpenny returned on the third day, but the other absentees still remained away. The old woman looked very satisfied with herself, and hinted that she had done good business which would improve Zara's position. She was markedly civil to Hench, and encouraged him greatly to pay attentions to her daughter. As the two now understood one another, to do this was easy--both for Hench to pay them and for Zara to receive them--but Madame Alpenny remained in the dark as to the true meaning of their comedy. Then, on the second day after her return, a surprising thing happened, with which she had to do. What it was Hench learned while sitting at a lonely breakfast. Madame Alpenny, who always took that meal in her own room, came down unexpectedly arrayed in a greasy dressing-gown and flourishing a newspaper in her hand. "Rhaiadr! Rhaiadr!" she called out excitedly. "What does it mean?" Hench looked at her in surprise. "Tumbling water, you told me," he said, after an astonished pause. "Don't you remember----?"

"No! No! I don't mean that." She clapped The Express on the table before him, and pointed with one chubby finger at an advertisement. "I mean, what do you make of that? Rhaiadr! No one can have anything to do with that word but your father--and you."

Hench, more puzzled than ever by her excitement, read the advertisement upon which her finger rested. "If Rhaiadr," he read aloud, "will come to the Gipsy Stile at Cookley, Essex, at eight o'clock on the 1st of July, he will hear of something greatly to his advantage."

"There!" said Madame Alpenny triumphantly, and looking more shapeless than ever in her dressing-gown; "what do you think of that?"

"It has nothing to do with me," said Hench, with a shrug.

"Nothing to do with you!" she screamed. "Why, the name Rhaiadr shows that it has everything to do with you. Go there and see what it means. Ah, I always said that you were a mystery; now I am sure of it." And she rubbed her hands.

[CHAPTER V]

THE NEXT STEP

Hench could not help admitting that the mention of the peculiar Welsh word "Rhaiadr" in the newspaper had something to do with him. Undoubtedly he was the person whom the unknown advertiser wished to meet; but the whole matter was so strange and unexpected that he determined to think it over carefully before taking any steps. For this reason he said little to the excited Hungarian lady, who was rather annoyed by his reticence. But he did not take any notice of her hints, and retired as speedily as possible to his own room. There he lighted his pipe, sat by the window and read the advertisement twice and thrice again, after which he laid down the newspaper so that he might think more freely. And his thoughts had to do with his past life when travelling with his father.

The record of earlier days was bare enough, as Hench decided when he recalled the same. His father had paid strangers to look after him immediately after the death of Mrs. Hench, and when Owain was only five years of age. For years the lad saw very little of his parent, who was always moving from one place to another after the fashion of the Wandering Jew. Then came his education at a private school, and afterwards the wider training at Winchester. Later, Owain had expected to go to Oxford, but his father, finding the need of some one to lean upon in his old age, had summoned the boy to Berlin unexpectedly. Owain's mysterious parent proved to be an aristocratic-looking gentleman, perfectly dressed, perfectly acquainted with the motley Continental world, and perfectly heartless. Hench senior frankly acknowledged that he cared for no one but himself, and turned his son into a kind of superior servant. The two travelled all over Europe in moderately good style, as Mr. Hench always seemed to have enough to keep him in comfort if not in luxury. But this last he also obtained by gambling, as he frequently won large sums of money, which were always squandered in extravagant whims and fancies. If Owain had not possessed a sterling thoughtful nature he would have been ruined by this hand-to-mouth existence, which was distinguished by continual ups and downs. But the young man had his own views of leading a decent life, and when unhampered by his spendthrift father determined to carry them out. The opportunity did not come to him until he was twenty years of age, when Mr. Hench died in Paris and was buried without parade in Pere La Chaise. Cold-hearted and selfish to the end, he passed away without suggesting how his son, to whom he had given no profession, was to exist. He simply told him to go to Gilberry & Gilberry, solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, on his twenty-fifth birthday, when certain papers would be handed to him. Thus it can be seen that the young man had little reason to regret the demise of so egotistic a parent, who had been a curse rather than a blessing.

What the papers in charge of Gilberry & Gilberry might contain, Owain could not guess, nor had his dying father enlightened him, but he fancied that they might have something to do with proving the identity of the dead man. Owain had always suspected, from the strict silence preserved by his father about his past, that Hench was an assumed name, and hoped that the mysterious documents might afford some clue to the family history. The sole clue which the young man had to guide him to knowledge of any sort or description was the mention of his father of Rhaiadr as the place where he had passed his youthful days. Yet the word had proved to be of some value, for its mention had evoked a memory of Madame Alpenny's early romance, although that story had proved to be more interesting than useful. Now it appeared that the talismanic word was being used to lure him to meet a stranger, who--as the advertisement put it--would tell him of something greatly to his advantage.

Owain, having reached this point of his meditations, rose to pace the room and consider the position. He was of two minds about answering the summons, since an open-air meeting seemed scarcely business-like or even reasonable. Also it was now the last week in June, and the appointment was arranged for the first day of July. But on the tenth day of that month came Owain's birthday, when he would be placed in possession of the papers for which he had waited so long. The young man considered, prudently enough, that it would be just as well to curb his curiosity for nine days, as the documents might throw some light on the admittedly odd advertisement. If he obeyed the summons to the Gipsy Stile, Cookley, Essex, on the first of July, he would be at the disadvantage of being in the dark, since he would know nothing, while the person who met him would know much. The rough-and-tumble life which he had led since the death of his father inclined Owain to prudence, as he knew from dire experience what tricky people there were in the world. Therefore he determined to take no notice of the advertisement--at all events for the present, since he had a week to think over the matter--and calmly wait until he became possessed of the papers on his twenty-fifth birthday. Finally, he resolved to say nothing to Spruce, who, luckily, had not yet returned, and to ask Madame Alpenny to keep the Nut in ignorance of the advertisement. He certainly would have to be more or less frank with the Hungarian lady, since she had drawn his attention to the notice in The Express.

Madame Alpenny was full of curiosity when she met Hench at afternoon tea, and, as they had the room to themselves, she immediately proceeded to ask questions. Hench baffled her as well as he could, but found it difficult to do so. She appeared to be certain that he was more of a mystery than ever, and insisted upon scenting a fortune in the same. Naturally, as Zara's mother, she was anxious to know if her belief was correct, as then Hench could make the girl his wife and supply a meritorious mother-in-law with ample funds. As usual, she wore her eternal orange-spotted dress, her shabby bead mantle and her flamboyant picture hat, looking quite a merry old blackguard of an adventuress. Hench had long since decided that she was such a one.

"Of course you'll keep this appointment," said Madame Alpenny eagerly, when she handed Hench his tea.

"I'm not sure. You see, I may not be the person wanted."

"Pfui!" said the woman contemptuously, and her large, dark eyes sparkled. "Why, the word Rhaiadr proves conclusively that you are the person. It is strange, Mr. Hench," she continued with great vivacity, "that I should have heard the word from you only a few days before this advertisement appeared."

"It's very strange," assented the young man, with his eyes searching her face. "You know nothing about the advertisement, I suppose?"

"Eh, but why should I?" she asked in amazement. "Only by chance did I see the name Rhaiadr, and immediately brought the paper to you, remembering our conversation of some days back. I presume, sir," she went on, with a shrug, "that you do not think I put in the advertisement?"

"Oh, no; by no means," said Owain hastily; "but you might have mentioned the Welsh name to some one else."

"No," said Madame Alpenny decidedly. "That is, I mentioned it only to Zara, and she took little notice of what I mentioned. Of course, there was Mr. Spruce, who was in this room when we talked about my meeting with your father. But he is not likely to have asked you to meet him in Essex, when he can see you here any day; also he probably has not seen the advertisement."

"Oh, I don't suspect Spruce, Madame; and that reminds me, it will be as well to say nothing to Spruce about the matter."

"Am I a chatter-box, or a fool?" asked Madame fiercely, and with a lowering look on her face. "Certainly I will say nothing to Mr. Spruce. But you must tell me all that takes place when you meet whosoever you are to meet."

"I am going to meet no one," retorted Hench resolutely; "there is no need for me to do so."

"But, my friend, you will hear of something greatly to your advantage, as it said in the newspaper," expostulated the woman, frowning.

"I mean to wait until I get the papers from my lawyers on the tenth of July, Madame. They may tell me of the something greatly to my advantage without my going on a wild-goose chase into Essex."

"But I don't understand your objection."

"It is this. If I go now, I am quite in ignorance of my family history with which this appointment has to do, as I shrewdly suspect. If I go after the tenth of July I will be in a better position to deal with the matter, as I think the papers at my lawyers' will tell me much about my father."

Madame Alpenny nodded. "There is something in that. All the same, this advertisement concerns you and not your father, who is dead and buried."

"It and the papers also concern my father's past life, and therefore concern my present," argued Hench seriously. "And I have waited so long for light to be thrown on the past that I can easily wait a few days longer."

"You have made no attempt to get at the past up till now?"

"Oh, yes. After my father's death I went to my lawyers"--Hench did not intend to tell Madame Alpenny the name of the firm--"and asked about the papers. They admitted that they had them, and promised to deliver them on my twenty-fifth birthday. Otherwise they would say nothing."

"And you--what did you do?"

"What could I do save go away and do my best to keep myself alive for five years. I went as a sailor on a tramp vessel and met with many adventures. I found that I had a talent for writing, and in San Francisco I managed to get a short story of mine accepted, printed and paid for. Then I went to Peru, and afterwards to the South Seas, coming back to England through Australia, China, India and Persia. Rather a roundabout way of progression, I admit. But I was like a leaf blown by the winds of fortune--and bitter winds they were. In one way and another, chiefly by writing short adventure tales, I managed to keep myself afloat. This year I came here, six months ago, to wait for the tenth of July. Here I met you----"

"And Zara," said Madame quickly.

Hench looked at her with a peculiar expression, and raked his brown beard with outspread fingers. It was on the tip of his tongue to relate how he had been refused by the girl, but on second thoughts he refrained. According to Zara her mother had a quick temper, and if all was told the girl might suffer from that temper. Also Madame Alpenny, being given a clue, might learn that Zara and Bracken were engaged, which knowledge would assuredly lead to trouble. On the whole, therefore, Hench decided to be silent, and replied evasively. "Ah, yes, I met your charming daughter, of course."

"And admired her?" persisted Madame, not finding his speech sufficiently ardent in tone.

"And admired her to the extent of asking your permission to propose to her. But, of course, when you refused me that, because I am poor, I have changed my mind. As a gentleman I can do no less."

"As a lover you can do much more," retorted the old woman, with a look of annoyance. "And remember that I was favourable to your proposal when I learned that you were the son of the man who wished to marry me so long ago."

"Yet I am still poor," said Hench ironically.

"That has yet to be proved," rejoined Madame bluntly. "Oh, don't look so astonished, my friend. I am old and I am shrewd, and I have learned by experience that two and two make four. Those papers you mention, together with this advertisement which plainly refers to you, appear to me proof that you will inherit money."

"I don't see that, Madame, unless, of course, my father gave you some hint that there was money in the family."

"Mr. Hench gave me no hint," said the lady sharply and hastily. "He explained that he had a small income, and frequently won large sums at cards. On the whole, he gave me to understand that if I married him there would be no lack of money. But he never said a word about a fortune coming to him."

"Then why should you think that a fortune is likely to come to me?" asked Hench very naturally.

"I have intuition, my friend, and intuition tells me that those papers and that advertisement mean money." Madame Alpenny paused, and then continued after some thought: "You say that you had great difficulty in getting money after your father's death?"

"That is so. I had to earn every penny."

"Strange, when he had a sufficient income to keep him comfortable."

"That was an annuity. He told me so shortly before he died."

"And told you that the papers with your lawyers would place you in possession of money?"

"No." Hench shook his head. "He never even hinted at such a thing."

Madame Alpenny nursed her pointed chin and frowned at the carpet. "I am sure there is money," she mused, loud enough for the young man to overhear. "Your father gave you no profession or trade with which to earn money, and it is not likely that he would have behaved so unless he knew that the future held a fortune in store for you."

Hench's lip curled. "I am sorry to destroy any illusion about my father," he said with a shrug; "but I don't think he cared two straws about my future."

"Then why should he tell you about the papers?" asked Madame, as sharp as a needle. "Believe me, those papers refer to a fortune."

"Well"--Hench rose and stretched himself--"I shall know all about that when I see the lawyers on the tenth of July."

"Or when you meet this unknown person in Essex on the first of July."

"I am not going to meet the person," said Hench coldly; "and I have given my reasons for not meeting him."

"Him!" Madame Alpenny laughed. "It may be a woman, for all you know."

Hench wheeled round to face her searchingly. "Why do you think it is a woman?"

"Oh," she answered smoothly, "I only surmise. I don't say that the person is a woman, for I know no more about the matter than you do. All I do say is, that if you wish to marry my daughter you will have to learn about this fortune as quickly as possible. I hope that I have managed to get an engagement for Zara in the West End, and there she may meet with some one wealthy who will make her his wife."

"You don't appear to take Mademoiselle Zara's feelings into consideration."

"Feelings!" echoed Madame Alpenny vehemently. "What are feelings of any sort compared with poverty? I have little money myself, and what I have is all in these things." She touched her rings, bracelets and brooches. "Zara does not earn what her talents demand. We want money, and the sole way in which we can get it is for her to marry money. Failing you there are others."

"Quite so," said Hench, thinking of Bracken, and smiling slightly. "But a man who has no wealth may wish to marry her."

"Referring to yourself, I suppose," said Madame Alpenny dryly, and quite mistaking his meaning. "Well, you won't marry her unless you prove through those papers and that advertisement to be possessed of a fortune. Until then, I hope you will be circumspect with regard to Zara. Don't be too attentive to her, and turn the poor child's head."

"There is no fear of my doing that," said Hench equally dryly, "but to make things safe I propose to remove myself from temptation. To-morrow I shall leave this place."

"For how long?"

"For ever."

"Oh,"--Madame Alpenny looked as black as thunder, as this proposal by no means suited her scheme of getting a rich son-in-law,--"don't do that."

"Why not? After all, there is nothing to keep me here."

"Zara!"

"But you will not let me pay attention to Zara with a view to matrimony." Madame Alpenny looked uneasy and puzzled. "You place me on the horns of a dilemma, Mr. Hench. I can't let you become engaged to my daughter until I am sure you have money. But of course"--she brightened up--"if what I suspect is true, and money comes, you can return and marry her."

This frank suggestion placed Hench on the horns of a dilemma, but he managed to evade binding himself in a most dexterous way. "If Mademoiselle Zara is really able to return my love, and thinks that she will be happy as my wife, I shall certainly return and renew my suit. But remember, Madame, she must become my wife of her own free will, and not because you insist."

"Oh, that's all right," said the old lady easily. "Zara is a good girl and will obey her mother to whom she owes so much."

"That is the very thing I don't wish her to do," insisted Hench, sharply; "it is no question of filial obedience. If she accepts me of her own free will, and without coercion from you, I marry her; otherwise I will not."

"I am not in the habit of coercing my daughter," said Madame Alpenny loftily, and, as usual, evading the main point; "and I shall expect you to return with all information about your family. Then we can talk. I look upon you as a man of honour, Mr. Hench, so much so that I do not even ask you to give me any address. If you get money you will marry Zara."

"And if I do not?"

Madame Alpenny shrugged her fat shoulders. "In that case she will marry another person who has money."

"You are very business-like," said Hench, highly disapproving of this mercantile way of looking at things.

"I always am," she assured him coolly; "it saves trouble!"

Owain said no more at the moment, nor did he have any conversation on the subject again with the Hungarian lady prior to his departure. Madame Alpenny evidently had full confidence in his love for her daughter, and believed that Zara's beauty would lure him back again with gold in his pockets. Had she had any idea of the interview between the two young people, and the new relationship of brother and sister which that interview had suggested, she might have been less easy in her scheming mind. But Hench held his tongue and so did Zara, therefore Madame Alpenny was kept in a kind of fool's paradise. The young man reported the conversation hurriedly to the girl, and being clever, she knew exactly how to act so as to keep her mother in ignorance, until such time as she could declare her own mind and choose her own mate.

Meanwhile; Hench got to work expeditiously and packed his scanty luggage, after paying Mrs. Tesk what he owed her. The ex-school-mistress was very sorry to lose him, not only from a financial point of view but because she really had a regard for him. Still, as she intimated, they were both leaves floating on the river of life, and the currents of circumstances were parting them. She hoped that he would enjoy himself and prosper wherever he was going, but if Fortune proved unkind, he was to remember that a refined abode always waited for him as a haven in adversity. All this and much more said Mrs. Tesk, who had a warm heart and hospitable nature. Hench was quite sorry to leave her, as he liked the quaint old lady and her odd ways. And just when Owain finished his business in her sanctum he emerged to run against Spruce, who looked more like a fashion-plate and less like a man than ever.

"Just got back," said the Nut airily; "had a topping time. Wish you had been with me, instead of wasting your sweetness on the desert air hereabouts."

"I was not going to waste it any longer," said Hench dryly. "I am leaving this house this afternoon."

"Oh, I say,"--Spruce looked disappointed and uneasy,--"for how long?"

"For ever! There is nothing to keep me here that I know of, and as I told you long ago, I am more or less of a bird of passage."

"What about Mademoiselle Zara?"

"Oh, that's all right; and may I remind you it's none of your business?"

"Well, don't get in a wax," protested Spruce amiably. "I never saw such a chap for jumping on a fellow."

"If you think so, you must be glad that I am going away."

"No, I'm not," confessed the Nut frankly. "You're a gentleman and so am I, and in this hole you're the only chap I can chum up with."

"We have not chummed up, as you put it," said Hench frigidly. "Well, that isn't my fault. I am always willing to be friendly, and if you won't be it's your loss, not mine. Where are you going?"

"That, again, is my business. I may be going abroad, or I may stay in London, or I may be going to the moon."

"You're crazy enough for that last, anyhow, if lunatics live there as some one said," fumed Spruce, who was growing angry. "And you're silly to make an enemy of me, you know."

"I don't want you as a friend, and I don't care if you are my enemy five times over," said Hench very straightly. "What the deuce do you mean by that threat? What harm can you do me?"

"I never said that I could or would do you any harm," protested Spruce, feeling uncomfortable; "but some day I may be able to do you a good turn."

Hench looked at the spic and span little man, and felt rather sorry for him, as he seemed to mean well, in spite of his irritating curiosity. "Let us part friends," he said, holding out his hand. "After all, you are an old schoolfellow and have got your good points. But oil and water don't mix. See?"

Spruce gave the extended hand a feeble shake and dropped it. "I can't help seeing, when you put things so straightly. It's a difference of temperament, I suppose--you're clay and I'm china. But I tell you what," cried Spruce, with his pale blue eyes flashing maliciously, "you'll be glad enough some day for me to come and help you!"

"I always make a point of seeking no one's assistance," said Hench coldly, and walked up to his room, wondering what Spruce meant, since there was a significance in his tone which intimated that he quite expected to meet his enemy again.

Spruce looked after the tall, straight form of the young man, and bit his nether lip with anything but an amiable look. He greatly regretted that Hench should go away thus suddenly, as the unexpected departure upset his plans for making money out of him. He still clung to the idea that the mysterious papers at the lawyers' had something to do with a fortune, and determined not to lose sight of Hench, come what may. Therefore he also retired to his own room to plot and plan and devise schemes whereby he could entangle his prey in invisible nets. But this he could not do without the aid of Madame Alpenny, since she was the mother of Zara, whom Hench loved. So to Madame Alpenny the Nut went and had quite a long conversation with her, which conversation resulted in his quitting the house at the hour of Hench's departure. Owain was relieved when the time came for him to go to find that Spruce was not at his elbow with his disagreeable civilities. He never could bring himself to like Spruce.

It was Bottles who helped the taxi-cab driver to carry down the trunk and portmanteau which formed his hero's luggage. The boy had returned on the morning of the day when Hench departed and was desperately sorry to hear of the exit. Hench gave him a sovereign and comforted him with a promise that on some future occasion they would meet again. Then Bottles proffered a request that Hench would give him some address to write to, and strange to say, the young man supplied him with the information he asked for. He felt that he could wholly trust Bottles.

"But you won't have anything to write to me about," he said, when the written address was handed over.

Bottles looked up with a shrewd smile on his freckled face. "The mouse helped the lion, sir, as mother told me, and I may help you."

"What do you mean by that? How can you help me?"

"Least said is soonest mended, as mother says," retorted Bottles wisely. "And it ain't for nothing as I've read detective stories. I won't give any one the address, sir. I'm yours till death!" and he folded his arms with a noble air.

Hench drove away rather bewildered. "The boy is mad," he said. But the boy was not.

[CHAPTER VI]

SEEKING TROUBLE

It was for two reasons that Hench left The Home of the Muses and vanished--so far as the paying guests were concerned--into the unknown. In the first place, he wished to render Zara's position more easy; in the second he desired to have nothing more to do with Madame Alpenny; and also there was a third and less important reason, which had to do with Cuthbert Spruce. While Owain drove westward in the taxi, he amused himself by surveying his position.

With regard to the girl, Hench was beginning to grasp the fact that he really did not love her, or he would have been more moved by her frank confession of love for Bracken. What she had said was quite true, as he now acknowledged. He admired her, and being lonely, wished for a companion, so as to make a centre in life round which he could revolve. It was an odd comparison but a very true one. Any other woman, handsome, kind-hearted and affectionate, would have done as well as Zara to bring about the desired end, and Owain confessed to himself that to propose such a business-like scheme to a girl was rather a cold-blooded way of looking at love. She was--he confessed this also--quite right to refuse him, and to accept the offer of a man who adored her. This being the case, Hench decided that it only remained for him to go away, since his presence would more or less embarrass her, in spite of the brother-and-sister compact. Finally, being very human, Owain felt that it was impossible to stay, and witnessing Bracken triumphing where he had failed. On the whole, therefore, he was well pleased to escape from Bethnal Green, and his feelings suffered very little from the exile.

The second reason, which had Madame Alpenny for its excuse, was also connected more or less indirectly with Zara's refusal. Since the idea of money coming to him had occurred to the Hungarian lady, she had been more amiably disposed towards Hench with regard to his half-hearted wooing of her daughter. Yet, as she was still uncertain that Owain would be rich, she had not--according to the slang phrase--forced the pace. But if fancy became fact and the mysterious papers really did place him in possession of a fortune, Hench felt tolerably convinced that Madame Alpenny would worry him and worry Zara until she brought about the marriage. Under the circumstances this was not to be thought of, as apart from the fact of his readjusted relations with the girl, Madame Alpenny was by no means desirable as a mother-in-law. She was poor, inquisitive, scheming and decidedly dangerous; always on the alert to make what she could out of others, and--as Hench believed--unscrupulous in her methods of gaining what she desired. Already he had told her more about his private affairs than was altogether wise, more or less against his will, as it would seem, since she had wormed her way into his confidence with remarkable dexterity. It struck him forcibly that he was wise to avoid her by leaving the boarding-house, and he congratulated himself on his promptitude in dealing with the situation. And as he had done so judiciously, it was unlikely that Madame Alpenny would ever trouble him again.

It was when the taxi was sweeping down a quiet street near the British Museum that Owain came to the third and minor reason, which concerned Spruce. The Nut, also, was much too curious about affairs which nothing to do with him in any way, and seemed to take a pleasure in meddling. He was just the kind of person to read other people's letters, give unasked advice and take a thousand liberties out of pretended good-nature. All the same, Hench firmly believed that all this interference was intended, in the end, to benefit Spruce himself. But Owain could not see how his old school-friend could in any way make capital out of him. Nevertheless, instinct warned him to avoid the man as something dangerous. By leaving Mrs. Tesk's establishment he had avoided him, and he was as unlikely to meet him again as he was to meet with Madame Alpenny. Taking everything into consideration, Hench alighted at his new abode with the conviction that he had escaped from some danger--he could not put a name to it--just in time.

Owing to some unexpected good fortune in connection with gold-mining shares, Hench possessed quite one hundred pounds, which was sufficient to keep him in comfort and even in luxury until he could call on Gilberry & Gilberry. That visit he expected would result in throwing light on his somewhat dark path, and perhaps would bring him wealth. Yet, being cautious, he husbanded his resources lest his expectations should be disappointed. Therefore the hotel he came to was a quiet and cheap hostel in Burney Street, Bloomsbury, chiefly patronized by country people. It was a much better class establishment than that of Mrs. Tesk, and Hench found it very comfortable. He had been there on a former occasion when in England, and found very little change. The manageress was the same, the staff had not been altered, and on the whole Owain felt that the place was more home-like than any he had been in. Also, having risen out of the submerged tenth, the young man brushed up his apparel, had his hair cut and his beard trimmed, and got out his scarcely-worn suit of dress clothes. For the next week he amused himself in a quiet way, generally sauntering in the Park, exploring the Museum, enjoying the theatres and music-halls, and taking what quiet inexpensive pleasures came in his way. All he wished to do was to pass the time pleasantly until his twenty-fifth birthday, when he intended to call on Gilberry & Gilberry. Then he would learn his fate, and his future career would be ordained by the contents of the papers.

But all the time Hench was haunted by an uneasy feeling regarding the advertisement brought to his notice by Madame Alpenny. Had he stayed at the boarding-house, he assuredly would not have obeyed the request for a meeting, as the woman would have become aware that he had done so. This he did not wish her to do, since he regarded her as dangerous, and did not know what the result of his errand to Cookley would be. But now that Madame Alpenny belonged to the past, Owain was inclined out of sheer curiosity to keep the appointment for the 1st of July, and learn why the word "Rhaiadr" had been used. Of course, as he had already recognized, the papers at Gilberry & Gilberry's might place him in possession of details which would enable him to deal more openly with the person who wished to meet him at the Gipsy Stile. But it wanted ten days to his birthday, and by brooding over the advertisement Hench became so curious that he finally decided to take the journey into Essex. There was a spice of adventure about the matter, which appealed to his pioneering spirit, and, moreover, as he had nothing to do, he thought that he might as well employ his mind and time in satisfying his curiosity. According to Dr. Watts, "Satan finds some mischief still, for idle hands to do," and never was the line so exemplified as by Hench's action. Although he did not know it, he was going out to seek trouble, when he left the hotel for Liverpool Street Station.

Besides being haunted by the advertisement, Hench during his week in Bloomsbury had been also haunted by a feeling that Madame Alpenny was somewhere in his vicinity. Twice or thrice he had fancied she was at his elbow, and had as many times made sure that he had caught a glimpse in the distance of her orange-spotted frock, her bead mantle and picture hat. As he walked to the railway station this feeling was insistently strong, and Hench found himself searching the crowds here, there and everywhere for the sinister face and red hair of the old woman. But he saw no one who resembled her, until he was descending the stairs after taking his ticket to Cookley. Then he was positive that in the throng moving below he recognized her shabby garb. Of course, he did not find her when he mingled with the mob, and laughed at the trick which his eyesight had played him. Why he should be so haunted by the woman--in his thoughts that is, as he did not believe that there was any ground for his suspicions--he could not say. But it was not until he was seated in a third-class smoking compartment that he shook off the feeling of her near presence. It was all a case of nerves, he assured himself, and by the time he was well on his journey he thoroughly convinced himself of this fact. At all events, as the train gradually left London behind, Owain quite got rid of his nightmare.

Cookley is slightly over thirty miles from the metropolis, so Hench, having left the latter at five o'clock, arrived at his destination somewhere about half-past six o'clock. The appointment at the Gipsy Stile was precisely at eight, So he had an hour and a half to wait. This time he employed in learning the whereabouts of the rendezvous, as he had not the least idea of the direction in which it lay. As there was no hurry, he took things easy and sauntered leisurely out of the local station and down the long road which led to the village. After a lengthy period spent in a smoky city, the pure air and rural sights of the country were exceedingly pleasant.

The village was not large, but decidedly picturesque, being one of those somnolent old-world hamlets beloved of artists and wondered at by tourists. Formerly no strangers came near it, but since the advent of the ubiquitous motor-car it had become quite a centre of interest. This was mainly owing to its squared-towered Norman church, a venerable and stately structure, which was much too large for so small a place. Also there was a Saxon cross on the village green and sundry Roman remains in an adjacent field. Archæologists and antiquarians, together with tourists, chiefly American, frequently came to inspect these objects of interest, and artists often took up their quarters in the Bull Inn to paint the church, the ancient cottages and the surrounding country. It was quite the nook which a student would have loved, but much too quiet for a restless young man such as Owain Hench assuredly was. The quicksilver in his veins never allowed him to remain long in one place, yet even he confessed to feeling the charm of Cookley.

No one took much notice of him, for which slight he was thankful. In his shabby suit of blue serge, his woollen shirt and ragged Panama hat, he looked like an ordinary tramp, and those gentry of the road were much too common in Cookley to be even glanced at. Also the night was closing in, and in the soft warm twilight the young man passed almost unheeded, a fact upon which he afterwards had reason to congratulate himself. After wandering through several crooked streets, he emerged into the gracious spaces of the village green and made for the Bull Inn--easily recognized by its gigantic sign--where he treated himself to a tankard of beer in the tap-room. Owain really did not require the drink, but ordered it so as to give some excuse for his questions. The ancients of the village were already gathered for their evening symposium, and the room was filled with the blue haze of tobacco-smoke. It was none too well lighted by a solitary oil lamp, and Hench sat down in a secluded corner to enjoy his briar and sip his ale. Also, when occasion served, he asked the buxom wench who attended to thirsty customers where the Gipsy Stile was to be found. She looked at him in surprise.

"Why, every one hereabouts knows where that be."

"I am a stranger here."

"One of them tramps, ain't you?" said the girl, tossing her head. "Well, you can't miss the Gipsy Stile. There's a path leading out of the churchyard, across the meadows, and that takes you into the heart of the wood, where you'll find it right in your way."

"Oh, it's in a wood, is it?" questioned Owain, secretly wondering again, as he had wondered before, why such a rendezvous had been chosen.

"Why, yes. Parley Wood, it is called, and lies long-side Squire Evans' old house. There's only a red brick wall divides the wood from the park."

"Thank you," said Hench politely, and attended to his beer and pipe, while the villagers talked politics and crops and local gossip, and he amused himself by listening to their crude views.

In the old days and before Cookley had been brought into near contact with the outer world, the stranger would have been more closely observed and the conversation would have been listened to. But so many tourists now came to the village that the inhabitants paid little attention to them. In his dark corner Owain sat for close upon an hour, wondering at the narrow limits of the Cookley intellect. Still, he was interested in the old-fashioned views of the labourers, and time passed quicker than he noticed. A glance at his watch showed him to his surprise that it was a few minutes to eight, so he rose hastily to seek his destination. As he had already paid for his beer, there was nothing to detain him, and he was speedily passing through the green on his way to the square tower of the church, which stood up blackly in the luminous twilight. So far as Owain could guess there was no danger of his losing his way.

A narrow lane, sloping slightly upward to the lychgate, conducted him to the churchyard, and he soon found himself surrounded by tombstones old and new, dotted irregularly amongst the long grass of the enclosure. Keeping to the gravelled path, he made a circuit of the vast church, and finally came to a stile set in the stone wall girdling the place. On climbing over this, he found his feet treading a well-defined path, which meandered across a wide meadow to enter into Parley Wood, which was visible some distance away. Owain, with the aid of a match, found that it was eight o'clock, and the chimes of the church again assured him of the fact. Fearing lest he should be late, he hurried quickly, and his long legs soon took him under the shade of ancient trees. Here it was somewhat dark, but Hench had eyes like a cat, and could very easily follow the path, which wound deviously through the woodland. Around him, in the fragrant dark, life was stirring, and he heard the piercing song of the nightingale, the occasional hoot of an owl, and became aware that sundry creatures were moving more or less noiselessly amongst the undergrowth. At times he moved across a dell where the light was stronger, and then again he would plunge into the gloom of the trees. The young man enjoyed the adventure apart from the reason which had led him to undertake it, as he had a great love of Nature, and enjoyed her beauty.

At length he emerged into a wide clearing across which ran a ragged fence of time-stained wood overgrown with woodbine and more or less buried in nettles, darnels, shrubs and young trees. In the centre of this there was an old-fashioned stile, which Owain took to be the place of meeting. Beyond the open ground stretched for some distance, and faintly in the warm twilight he could see a tall wall and beyond it the thick foliage of oaks, beeches and elms. This was undoubtedly the place, as he remembered how the girl at the Bull Inn had assured him that the wood lay long-side the park of the squire, and no great distance from a red brick wall. Therefore Owain walked briskly up to the stile, taking off his straw hat for the sake of coolness, and looked all round the place to see if the person who had advertised was waiting. He saw no one.

A glance at his watch after lighting a match showed him that he had been fifteen minutes walking from the church to the stile, so he wondered if the person had grown tired of waiting. But that was unlikely, since he was not so very much behind his time. The man--he presumed that it was a man--who had advertised would certainly wait longer when he had taken so much trouble to bring about the meeting. Hench therefore believed that something had detained the person in question, and sat down on the stile to wait. Already the moon was well up in the cloudless sky and her silver radiance flooded the whole solemn woodland. Owain admired the mingled beauty of light and shade, listened to the distant nightingale singing triumphantly, and stared every now and then round about to make sure that he would not miss his man, since he did not know from which quarter he would appear. Then came a surprise, and a highly unpleasant one.

In the course of his glancing here, there and everywhere, he became aware that in the long grass some distance beyond the stile, and some distance away from the meandering path, lay a dark object. At first Hench thought it was merely the trunk of a tree, but as the moonlight grew stronger and the outlines of the object more distinct, he began to believe that it was a man. Doubtless, as he concluded hastily, some tramp had thrown himself down to sleep in the safe cover of the wood, where no policeman would rouse him from his slumbers. But Hench knew that it was scarcely wise to sleep in the moonbeams, so clambered over the stile and walked towards the man with the intention of awakening him. Shortly he was bending over the presumably sleeping tramp, and then became aware with a shock of surprise that the man was clothed in evening-dress, over which a dark, loose cloak had been thrown. With a vivid feeling of fear Hench turned the man over--he was lying on his face--and started back with an ejaculation of horror. The stiff white shirt-front was red with blood, and in the man's heart was buried a knife with a horn handle. Owain struck a match to assure himself of the truth, although the moonlight was so strong that he scarcely needed to take such trouble. But while he held the match with shaking hand over the dead face, its wavering light showed him very plainly that he was right. The man was dead--the man had been murdered--and there he lay mysteriously done to death in the heart of a lonely wood.

Of course, Hench's first impulse, which was the impulse of an ordinary human being when brought face to face with crime, was to run back to Cookley village and give the alarm. But even as he turned to fly, he halted, struck with a sudden thought which made the blood freeze in his young veins. He had been lured to this place by means of the advertisement, and here he found the dead body of a man not long stabbed to the heart. Was it a trap? Had he been brought to this solitary spot to be entangled in a crime? It seemed very like it, and swiftly thinking over the matter, Hench did not see how he could exonerate himself should he give the alarm. With a feeling of absolute terror, he bent over the dead so as to make himself acquainted with the appearance of the poor creature. There was no doubt that the man was a gentleman, since he was in evening-dress and was wearing studs and sleeve-links of gold, together with a silk-lined overcoat, or rather cloak. His face was clean-shaven, with an aquiline nose and thin compressed lips, decidedly that of a handsome man. From his lined countenance and white hair, Owain took him to be about sixty years of age, although being dead there was an astonishing look of youth about him. Even as Hench stared, the lines on the old face seemed to fade away and leave it young and smooth. Yes, he was a gentleman, as was apparent from the well-bred, disdainful face. It did not need the evening-dress, the silk-lined cloak, the silk socks or the patent-leather shoes to show the man's station in the world. Here, as it occurred to Owain, was a gentleman, who had strolled into the wood after dinner, there to meet with a terrible death at the hands of some unknown person.

Starting to his feet, the young man remembered how the girl at the inn had talked of Squire Evans' estate lying long-side the wood and divided therefrom by a brick wall. Here was the wood, yonder the wall in question; so it came strongly into Hench's mind that the dead man was Squire Evans. But who had killed him and why had he been killed? Hench looked round searchingly into the shadow of the trees, but could see no lurking form. Whosoever had struck the blow had done so shortly before Hench arrived, as the body was still warm and still supple. After all, the man was dead, sure enough, and it would be useless to run to the village for succour. In fact it would be dangerous, as Owain thought with fear knocking at his heart, for how could he prove his innocence of the crime. There was no motive for him to kill this unknown man, certainly; not even the motive of robbery, as the studs and sleeve-links had not been taken by the assassin. Hench wavered between a desire to consult his own safety by flight and a wish to rouse the village and hunt hot-footed for the murderer. For two long, long minutes he pondered over the horrible situation, then, without a backward glance, raced at top speed along the unknown path leading into the further recesses of the wood. And while he ran his heart beat tumultuously, the perspiration beaded his forehead, and his body shivered with cold, in spite of the warm night. Safety was what he made for, and he tore onward as if the officers of justice were already on his track. An innocent man--yes, he was an innocent man--yet the circumstantial evidence might hang him in spite of that same innocence.

Instinct led Hench to avoid returning to London by passing through the village and boarding the train at Cookley Station. Already--and he thought of the possibility with terror--his face and figure might be remembered by some keen-sighted yokel. There was the conversation with the girl in the tap-room. He had talked long enough with her to be remembered, even though the atmosphere, hazy with smoke, had only been illuminated by one dingy lamp. Then, again, he had spoken about the Gipsy Stile; he had asked where it was, and at the Gipsy Stile the murder had taken place. Then there was the advertisement; the police would be sure to find that out, and if there was any reward offered, Madame Alpenny might speak to the authorities about the same. Then he would be linked with the crime, and run the risk of arrest. When confronted with the girl at the inn, she would probably recognize him. Then what possible defence could he make to an accusation of murder?

These and many other thoughts buzzed like distracting bees through Owain's brain as he fled from that awful place. All his idea was to get away, to reach some other railway station, to hide in London, and remain quiet until he saw what the police would do. But on the face of it, he would be safe nowhere; yet with the instinct of self-preservation he plunged onward through the wood in the hope of escape. Hench was a brave man, and had faced many dangers, but to be hanged for a crime which he had not committed, to be entangled in circumstances over which he had no control, made him choose the least of two evils. Once or twice he halted in his headlong flight wondering if it would not be best to return and give himself up to the village policeman, as, after all, he had no motive to kill the man and moreover could produce the advertisement. But the resolution was momentary. He simply could not face the trouble, even though he did his best to screw up his courage to the sticking point. Wiping his forehead, he drew a long breath and strode onward. It was too late now to think of returning, as the body might already have been found. All he could do was to walk on and on and on, in the hope of leaving terror behind.

After leaving the wood, Hench found himself traversing other meadows similar to that near Cookley church, These bordered a narrow lane, into which a stile afforded him access. From this lane he gained the high-road, and from a sign-post learned that it would conduct him to London. At first Owain intended to walk on until he arrived at the nearest railway station, for there was yet time to catch a late train to town. But on reflection he decided to use his legs, as there would be less danger in solitary pedestrianism than in venturing to ask for a ticket at a local station, where his appearance might be observed. Also the night was warm, the moon gave her full light, and the journey to London would be more pleasurable on foot than it would be were he cooped up in a train. Besides, he was much too agitated by what he had gone through to sit quiet under the gaze of fellow-travellers. Innocent though he was, conscience made a coward of him, and he knew that every careless eye cast upon him would make him wince. He was safer to walk, so walk he did.

Owain never forgot that thirty odd miles tramp through the lovely summer night, when--as the saying goes--he saw a bird in every bush. Certainly he was guiltless of any crime, yet fate had connected him with one, and he felt like Cain, so strong was the power of his imagination. Again and again he asked himself if it would not have been wiser to dare the worst, trusting in God's justice and his own innocence. But again and again came the reply that innocent men have been hanged ere now on purely circumstantial evidence, and that he had done right to fly the danger of a judicial death. Hench cursed himself for not having waited until his twenty-fifth birthday. Had he taken no notice of the advertisement, as he originally intended to do, he would not now be in this plight. But it was too late to blame himself now. He had come to the rendezvous, he had found a dead body, he had fled like a true criminal from the spot, so it was no use crying over spilt milk. Whatever was in store for him he would have to face it. As he had sown, so would he have to reap.

[CHAPTER VII]

AN AMAZING DISCOVERY

Owain reached his hotel in the early hours of the morning, and finding no one about but the sleepy night-porter, who was just leaving, had no difficulty in getting to his bedroom almost unobserved. Once in that haven he drew a long breath of relief, and wearied by his long tramp, threw himself on his bed without undressing. Notwithstanding his anxiety, which had increased instead of lessening, he speedily fell fast asleep into a heavy dreamless slumber, which resembled lethargy rather than natural repose. It was high noon when he woke, feeling much refreshed and as hungry as the proverbial hunter. Considering the trouble in which he was involved, it was fortunate that travel had steadied his nerves to face the worst, if needs be. The result of his experience of danger led him to prepare for possibilities. He therefore took a cold bath to brace himself, dressed more carefully than usual with great deliberation, and went down to make an excellent breakfast. As yet the hue and cry was not out against him, so he had ample time to consider his position.

Over a pipe in the smoking-room, he glanced at several of the daily papers, but naturally found therein nothing about the murder in Parley Wood at Cookley. It was more than probable that the evening news would contain an account of the finding of the body, and--for all Hench knew--a description of himself as the criminal. Of this, however, he was uncertain, since he had not been noticed closely in the twilight, and his conversation with the girl of the Bull Inn had taken place in a darkish and smoky room, dimly lighted by a solitary lamp. Of course the girl would say that a man had asked her where the Gipsy Stile was to be found, and the person she had conversed with would be suspected. But the questioner assuredly could not be described, unless the serving-wench was sharper than Owain gave her credit for being. Only a very inquisitive and observant person would have examined him closely enough to give a fair word-picture of him to the authorities. And Owain's experience led him to believe that few people ever did observe with much degree of accuracy. So far as the girl at the inn and the inhabitants of Cookley were concerned he felt tolerably safe. But there was another person to consider in connection with his adventure, and that was Madame Alpenny. The Hungarian lady certainly knew that he was the man required to meet the advertiser at Cookley, as the use of the word "Rhaiadr" had enlightened her on that point. Therefore it was probable that, when the details of the murder were made public, she would inform the police about the matter. But the woman did not know that he had kept the appointment, as he had given her to understand very plainly that he did not intend to do so. Assuredly the feeling that she was at his elbow had haunted him when he had set forth on his errand, and he had fancied that she had been lurking about Liverpool Street Station. But even then he had set down the faint belief to imagination, so there was no reason why he should conclude that she actually had been spying on him. In fact he did not see how she possibly could have done so, since he had not given her his address. Only Bottles knew that, and Bottles--as Hench felt sure--was to be thoroughly trusted.

So far the young man could see no cause for alarm, but an hour's reflection made him resolve to make things doubly sure against discovery. Thanks to the twilight and the dimly-lighted tap-room, Hench made sure that any description given of his appearance would be more or less vague, and was not likely to be recognized by any one in the hotel when it appeared in the newspapers. Nevertheless, so as to place the matter beyond all doubt, he paid his bill, packed his luggage and took his departure late in the afternoon for Victoria Station. Here he left his box and portmanteau in the cloak-room, and went down to South Kensington in search of quiet lodgings. But before venturing to inquire for the same, Owain sought out a barber's shop in Brampton Road and had his heavy brown beard removed. He would rather have shaved himself, so as to do away with the possibility of the barber noticing any description in the newspapers, even though the same was vague and inaccurate. But to do this was impossible. He could not change his appearance before leaving the Bloomsbury Hotel without exciting remark, and he did not wish to present himself at his new lodgings in any degree like his old self, as it was known to the paying guests of Mrs. Tesk's establishment. Therefore he was obliged to risk a barber's razor and a barber's curiosity.

One thing was certain, that when he emerged from the shop, no one would have recognized him for the man who had entered. The removal of his beard altered him wonderfully, making him look years younger, and improving his good looks in a marked degree. Owain sat in the barber's chair a bearded colonist of the type dear to penny fiction, he rose from it looking like the Hermes of the Vatican. Even the hairdresser exclaimed at the extraordinary transformation and complimented him on his improved appearance. Hench was rather annoyed that the man should take so much notice, and paying him hurriedly, departed as swiftly as he could without exciting suspicion. Then he walked down the Brompton Road and sought out a quiet side street in South Kensington, where he knew there were rooms to be let. The place was already known to him, during the last six months, as under the same roof lived an old school-friend, with whom Hench had kept up a correspondence. On returning to England he had looked up this friend, and they had renewed their acquaintanceship with uncommon fervour. Therefore Owain deemed it best to live near him, so that he might make use of him should any trouble ensue from his adventure. It may be remarked that the friend was a barrister, and as such--so Hench considered--would be able to attend to legal details if necessary.

The rooms in question were still to be had, as a voluble landlady assured Mr. Hench, so he engaged them for a month, paying the rent in advance. Then he left a message for his friend, and returned to get his luggage from the cloak-room in Victoria Station. By seven o'clock, Owain was installed in a tolerably comfortable bedroom and sitting-room, and was dawdling over a hurriedly provided meal. His friend, he was informed, was not expected back until nine o'clock, so Hench passed the time in reading the evening papers. These he had bought at the railway station when getting his luggage, and in two of them he found what he sought.

The account of the Parley Wood crime was necessarily meagre, as so short a time had elapsed since the discovery of the body that the police were not in possession of much information. It appeared, from the scanty details, that the dead man was--as Hench suspected--Squire Madoc Evans, the Lord of the Manor and the owner of Cookley Grange. He had gone for a stroll in the woods shortly after dinner, and not having returned, search had been made, with the result that the poor old gentleman was found stabbed to the heart near the Gipsy Stile. The weapon used to execute the murder was a common carving-knife with a horn handle, and the medical examination showed that Evans had met with his violent death about half-past seven. The account ended with the information that the police were making all inquiries in the hope of tracing the criminal, but as yet had been unsuccessful.

Owain breathed more freely, as there was no word of the girl at the Bull Inn or of her conversation with himself. Still, it was early days yet, and the young man felt very sure that shortly she would speak out. An account of the man who had inquired where the Gipsy Stile was to be found would assuredly appear in print; then it would depend entirely upon the memory and acuteness of the girl whether he would be traced. And, of course, if Madame Alpenny became suspicious--and Owain was positive that she would become so--her story to the police would certainly result in his arrest. Then, when confronted with the girl of the inn, there would be small chance of denying his identity with the tramp who had made those fatal inquiries. Hench felt extremely uncomfortable in spite of his innocence, and longed to have some one to whom he could talk freely. Later on in the evening, and while gloomily smoking in an armchair, the young man thought that he could trust his old school-friend. James Vane was quite a different man to Spruce, who also had been at the same school, and was as true as the Nut was false. After much reflection and some hesitation, Hench decided to unbosom himself to the barrister, since the dangers which environed him were so great that he could not deal with them unaided.

At nine o'clock precisely, a sharp knock came to the door of the sitting-room, and Hench sprang up to greet his visitor. Vane was a tall, slim man, with a lean, hatchet face, keen dark eyes, and thin dark hair, touched already with grey although he was only thirty years of age. He was perfectly dressed and perfectly well-groomed, quick in his movements and a trifle saturnine in his manner. Some people were rather afraid of him, as he was always cold and cautious. But Owain knew that this frigid exterior concealed a truly warm heart, and that--as the saying goes--Vane's bark was worse than his bite. To his old school-chum he showed himself as he really was, and few would have recognized the chilly barrister in the smiling friend. It was as though ice had melted on a mountain-top to reveal a green sward.

"Well, I am glad to see you again, Owain," said Vane, after shaking hands warmly; "it is quite six months since I set eyes on you. Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing with yourself? And where is that patriarchal beard which made you look like Abraham? H'm! You're in love."

Hench stared and made his friend comfortable in an armchair. "What on earth makes you say that?" he inquired with a puzzled look.

"No girl could possibly love a man with a beard which made him look one hundred and ten years old. You have met with a girl--with the girl--and are in love. Therefore have you shaved your chin, reduced your age, and made yourself look like a young Greek god."

"I don't feel like a Greek god, Jim," said Hench, taking a seat and glancing round to see that windows and doors were closed. "I'm worried."

"Poor old chap," said Vane with quick sympathy; "rely on me to help. We always were pals at school, you know. Is it money?"

"No. I have enough to keep me going. By the way, your mention of our being pals at school reminds me that I met another chap who was with us at Winchester ages ago."

"Don't make us out to be as old as the hills, Owain. We're young yet, and the wine of life still sparkles in the bowl. Who is this chap?"

"Spruce. He is----"

"Oh Lord!" Vane removed his cigarette from his thin lips with an air of disgust. "I know what he is; you needn't tell me anything about him. You don't mean to say that you look upon him as a pal?"

"No! He wanted me to but I couldn't stomach him and his dandified airs. If you want my opinion of him," continued Hench frankly, "he's a sickening little beast, as arrogant as they make them."

"He's all that and more--one of the Gadarene swine. Where did you meet him?"

"At a boarding-house in Bethnal Green."

"Oh! That's the fox's hole, is it. I thought he would go further afield."

"Has he any reason to go afield at all?" asked Hench, staring. "You bet he has, old fellow. Mr. Cuthbert Spruce has been a man on the market for quite a long time."

"What is a man on the market?"

"A chap who gets his living by his wits," explained the barrister leisurely, "and Spruce has been at that sort of game for ever so long. He started with a decent income but got rid of it at cards. Cards queered his pitch ultimately, as he was caught cheating and had to clear out. H'm! He's ruralizing at Bethnal Green, is he? I expect he will stay there until his little bad wind blows away. Then he'll try and return. But it's all of no use, Owain, as no one will have the little beast at any price."

"He told me quite a different story."

"Oh, he would, naturally. Spruce is very good at telling stories. He ought to be a novelist by rights."

"That's exactly what he claims to be," retorted Owain, opening his eyes widely. "He said that he had come to Bethnal Green to gather material for a yarn."

"Pretty thin," commented Vane, with a shrug, "considering he can't write a single paragraph of King's English without a dozen mistakes. I credited him with sufficient imagination to manufacture a better lie. However, it's useless for us to waste time over Spruce and his shady doings. Cheating at cards has finished him, and now he'll go under altogether. R.I.P. and be hanged to him. But what were you doing at Bethnal Green, old son?"

"I thought that a cheap boarding-house down there would suit my pocket."

"H'm! You explained that much before, even though I offered to share my pennies with you."

"Very good of you, Jim," said Hench hastily and colouring, "but I don't care about shoving my burden on to another man's shoulders. However, a gold mine I had a few shares in turned up trumps, and I have a hundred pounds more or less at my back."

"And for that reason you have come West?"

"Well, not exactly. If you don't mind being bored with my----"

"Nothing you tell me will ever bore me, Owain," interrupted Vane quickly. "It's a girl, I swear. Come, be honest."

"Well, there was a girl, but there isn't now," confessed Owain, and while Vane chuckled at his own perspicuity he related what had taken place at The Home of the Muses in connection with Zara, Bracken, Madame Alpenny and Spruce. Vane listened intently, and when Hench ended made his first remark in connection with the Nut, for whom he seemed to have no great love.

"The sordid little animal wished to make money out of you, Owain," he said in his shrewd way, "and for that reason made up to you and kept his eye on you."

"But he knew that I had no money," protested Hench, puzzled.

"These papers at the lawyers' may mean money," retorted the barrister. "I am inclined to agree with that old lady you mention so far. Well, it's only about nine days until your birthday, so you haven't long to wait. And now that you've cut the place--very wisely, I think--Spruce won't be able to line his pockets at your expense. As to the girl--you never did love her."

"Well, perhaps you are right. But I admired her."

"That's nothing. I admire scores of girls, but that doesn't mean matrimony, my son. You are at that age, Owain, when any woman could collar you. I'm glad that this Zara girl had enough sense to cotton to the other man. Madame Alpenny----"

Hench rose restlessly. "I'm afraid of her," he interrupted bluntly.

"Pooh! Why should you be? She can't force you to marry her daughter."

"No." Owain spoke slowly. "It's not that. But the advertisement----"

"Well, it had to do with you, certainly, going by the mention of the place where your father passed his youth. But you told her that you did not intend to keep the appointment."

"Yes. All the same, I did keep the appointment."

"The deuce!" Vane looked surprised. "Well?"

"I'm coming to my trouble now," said Hench, picking up one of the newspapers nervously; "read that paragraph."

Vane looked at his friend in surprise, and then swiftly made himself acquainted with the information about the Parley Wood murder. He started when he first grasped what the paragraph was about, but afterwards read on slowly to the end. When he knew all about the matter he threw aside the newspaper and looked inquiringly at Hench. "Well?"

"Well," repeated Owain, sitting down with his hands in his pockets, "can't you see, Jim? I went to the Gipsy Stile and----"

"And murdered this man," finished Vane derisively. "Do you expect me to believe that, you fool?"

"No. I'm not given to behaving in that way. But I kept the appointment and I found the corpse."

"Oh, the devil!" Vane sat up.

"So I said at the time," remarked Hench dryly.

"And when Madame Alpenny reads about the crime, she will put two and two together."

"They won't make four in her calculations," said Vane swiftly. "After all, you are innocent. She can't prove you to be guilty."

"Well, I don't know. The circumstantial evidence is rather strong."

"The circumstantial evidence!" Vane stared and reflected. "You had a beard when I saw you last, now----"

"I shaved to-day, so that there might be no chance of my being discovered by any description that girl at the Bull Inn might give."

"Girl at the Bull Inn? What do you mean?"

Hench lost no time but promptly gave a full account of his adventures from the time he left Liverpool Street Station to the moment that he sat down to dinner in the very room in which the two were speaking. Vane interrupted him frequently, and his face grew grave as he recognized that Hench was in a woeful plight. "Of course, I've acted like an ass," confessed Owain in a rueful manner; "but how would you have acted, Jim?"

"Sitting in this chair and being wise after the event, I should have faced the thing out," said Vane slowly. "But had I been in your shoes in that wood I should probably have run away as you did." He paused, shook his head, stared at the carpet. "Damn!" he muttered emphatically.

"I thought it best to speak to you," murmured Owain anxiously.

Vane nodded. "Quite right. What's the use of a pal if he doesn't rise to the occasion. After all, if Madame Alpenny does speak to the police she can't prove you to be guilty. You had no motive to murder this Evans. He was quite a stranger to you."

"Quite. All the same----"

"All the same, hold your confounded tongue!" insisted the barrister. "My advice to you is to sit tight and wait events."

"Madame Alpenny?"

"Exactly. If she is the old adventuress you think she is, and which from your description she certainly appears to be, I don't think you need have any fear for the moment."

"Why not?"

"Because she will wait until you are in possession of those papers on your twenty-fifth birthday. If they place you in possession of money she will be silent on condition that you marry her daughter."

"I won't. Nothing would induce me to marry a girl who loves another man."

"Oh, I don't say that you would marry her, but that Madame Alpenny would try and make you marry her. Until all hope fails in that direction she'll say nothing about the advertisement. Of course, if there is no money the old hag will split, especially if there is a reward. As this Squire Evans seems to be a landowner and a rich man, I expect there will be a reward."

"I see. Then the best thing for me to do is to wait."

"Exactly. I'll support you, and you can talk your heart out to me."

"You're a good fellow, Jim. Why, I half believed you would think me----"

"Don't talk bosh!" Vane jumped up irritably. "Why, you're the whitest man I know, and my old school-pal. I'd as soon believe myself guilty as you. Now I'm off to bed; go thou and do likewise and don't worry." After which speech he shook hands with Hench and the two parted for the night.

For the next nine days they had many such talks, and kept themselves well informed of the progress which the case was making so far as they could learn in print. Of course, the girl at the Bull Inn did tell the police about the interview in the tap-room, and of course great capital was made out of this. But as Owain had suspected, the girl being inobservant, and not having seen him very clearly in the smoky dimly-lighted atmosphere, gave a most incoherent account of his appearance. All she could say was that the questioner was a rough-looking tramp with a bushy black beard, who spoke civilly enough, but who was not a gentleman. Vane chuckled when he read this unflattering description, which was sufficiently wrong and vague to preserve Hench from suspicions. And, indeed, if the girl had been confronted with Hench she would never have recognized in this handsome clean-shaven young gentleman, fashionably dressed, the rough tramp who had drank his beer in the tap-room. It was Vane who made Owain dress fashionably, so as to make him look as unlike his old bearded self as possible. He took him to his tailor, to his haberdasher, to his bootmaker, and to various other tradesmen, with the result that Owain's new wardrobe did full justice to his handsome looks. Hench, being of the pioneering legion, rather kicked against being thus civilized, but he recognized that Vane was right to insist upon the transformation.

Whatever Madame Alpenny might have thought she did not put her thoughts into action, for nothing appeared in the papers likely to show that Hench was suspected by the police. The inquest on Squire Madoc Evans' body was duly held, and the verdict was brought in of "Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown," although every one was pretty certain that the shabby tramp who had inquired the way to the Gipsy Stile was the culprit. But he had vanished, and--thanks to Madame Alpenny's silence--no word came to the police suggesting his identity with Owain Hench. The funeral took place in due time, and it gave Owain a thrill when he read that the body had been taken to Rhaiadr in Wales for burial. It was said that Evans came from that place, and that all his ancestors were buried there. Incidentally, it was mentioned that the dead man had left a daughter who inherited Cookley Grange, and by her father's death became the Lady of the Manor.

"I think it's all right now," said Vane when matters reached this pitch. "After the nine days' wonder the excitement will gradually die away. And, by Jupiter!" cried the barrister, "it is exactly nine days. Owain, old son, this is your birthday. Off with you and call on Gilberry & Gilberry."

"Won't you come also, Jim?"

"No, I won't. You can't get into trouble in a respectable legal office, and you are so changed that no one is likely to spot you as the man who is wanted for Squire Madoc Evans' death."

Owain was content to go alone, although he felt slightly nervous. His strongest card, should anything come out, was that he had not known Evans, and therefore had no reason to kill him. And by this time he was growing used to the situation, since Madame Alpenny was holding her tongue. Why she acted in this kind way he could not understand, but accepted the explanation provided by Vane. However, if he came into money she probably would find him out and move in the matter. Therefore it was with some reluctance that Hench went to Gilberry & Gilberry's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, and was unwilling to become rich, as by doing so he would certainly bring Madame Alpenny down on his head. All the same, Hench felt very curious when he faced the white-headed old gentleman who was the head of the firm, and was rather astonished by the warmth of the greeting he received.

"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Gilberry heartily. "You come in the nick of time, my dear young friend."

"To do what, sir?"

"To inherit ten thousand a year."

"What?" Owain became pale with amazement.

Gilberry chuckled. "Oh yes. It is as I say, Mr. Evans."

"What?" cried Owain again, and this time louder, with a quavering voice.

"Of course; of course," the old man chuckled once more. "You think that your name is Hench. Not so; not so. You are Owain Evans of Rhaiadr, the heir of Squire Madoc Evans, of Cookley Grange, in Essex."

"And--and--what relation am I to--to--to----"

"Oh, yes. You don't know. Why, my dear sir, Madoc Evans was your uncle."

Owain gasped, and turned as white as the corpse he had seen in Parley Wood.

[CHAPTER VIII]

FAMILY HISTORY

Like M. Jourdain in Moliere's comedy, Vane was only surprised when he found virtue in unexpected places, but he certainly was astonished in another direction when Hench stumbled into his chambers white-faced, wild-eyed and trembling. The barrister hastily arose and supported his friend to a chair, and as hastily produced a glass of brandy to hold to his lips.

"Drink this, Owain," he commanded, wondering what had happened to put his visitor in such a state. "Don't say a word until you feel better."

Hench drank the whole glassful of fiery liquor, and the colour began to return to his wan cheeks. He did not speak, as requested, but sat in the chair with a broken-down look, which startled Vane more than he showed. Looking anxiously at his friend he came to the sole conclusion he could come to, seeing what he knew in connection with Hench's adventure. "Madame Alpenny has found you out?"

Hench shook his head. "It's worse than that," he muttered faintly.

"Then the worse it is the better you should brace yourself up to face it," was Vane's irritable retort. "Have another glass of brandy, although I don't approve of Dutch courage myself."

"No. No more brandy. Wait a bit. I'll soon pull round."

Vane nodded approvingly, and turned his back so as to give the man time to recover himself. He went to the window and looked at the busy traffic of Chancery Lane, in which thoroughfare his chambers were situated. The same were directly opposite that gateway which leads into Lincoln's Inn Fields, through the highways and byeways of pleasant grounds sacred to the goddess Themis. Hench had evidently come straight in this way from the offices of Gilberry & Gilberry. Vane wondered how he had managed to arrive without attracting observation and being stopped, so wild had been his looks when he entered the chambers. The journey was very short, truly, but the appearance of the man was sufficient to warrant interference. Evidently the unexpected had happened to throw Hench into this abnormal state, and with a shrug of his shoulders Vane turned to see how he was getting on. Hench smiled faintly as he met the inquiring gaze of the barrister and wiped his forehead, which was wet with perspiration. Then he essayed to speak and apologize, succeeding after one or two desperate attempts.

"Sorry, Jim, but I couldn't help myself."

"Seems like it," snapped Vane, trying to bully him into calmness. He had never before seen Hench so upset, as the man was usually very quiet and self-controlled. Something very bad must have happened to unnerve him in this way. "I should like to know what is the meaning of all this," went on Vane crossly. "Upon my Sam, Owain, if I didn't know you were a sober chap I should have believed that you were drunk when you came in. I wonder some policeman didn't run you in between here and Lincoln's Inn Fields."

"I did see people staring at me," replied Hench in a stronger voice, as the brandy had done its work and he was rapidly recovering his balance. "Perhaps if I had come by a longer way I might have got into trouble. But you see, Jim, the distance----"

"Yes! Yes!" Vane dropped into his own favourite chair. "I know all about that, old son. Come to the point. What's up?"

"I've had a shock."

"Oh Lord! as if the most stupid person--which I am not--couldn't see as much. I can only conclude that Madame Alpenny has told the police and you are in danger of arrest. Yet you deny that such is the case."

"I do. Madame Alpenny has nothing to do with this particular matter. Yes, I have had a shock, but I'm all right now." Hench shook himself like a dog coming out of a pond and drew a long breath, then continued to talk calmly. His first remark was a question. "If I did get arrested, Jim, I suppose my best line of defence would be to say that, not knowing the dead man, I had no motive to kill him."

"That is my opinion," admitted the barrister. "Well?"

"Well, there is no chance of my taking up that line of defence."

"Why not? You told me that you did not know Squire Evans."

"I did. I don't contradict my admission."

"Then why can't you defend yourself, if necessary, on that score?"

"I'll answer that question by asking you another? Who am I?"

Vane stared and looked wholly bewildered. "Owain Hench!"

"So I thought. Now I learn from Gilberry & Gilberry that I am Owain Evans."

"What?" Vane uttered the ejaculation in as astonished a tone as Hench had done in the solicitor's office. "Are you a relative of the dead man?"

"Yes. I am his nephew."

"Well, the unexpected is always happening," commented Vane, after a pause of sheer surprise. "But even so, as you did not know your uncle and never met him, you can still say, if necessary, that you had no motive to murder him."

"I can't." Owain rose and began to pace the room. "I can't; and that's the worst of it, Jim. As you say, I did not know him and I never met him, but evil tongues might give me the lie, seeing what I stood to gain."

"What did you stand to gain?"

"Ten thousand a year."

"Ten thousand a year!" Vane echoed the words with a gasp of astonishment. "I say, Owain, those mysterious papers left by your father did mean a fortune after all, as Madame Alpenny suspected?"

Hench nodded, and sat down again with a disconsolate air. "It is a dangerous position that I am in. Owain Evans of Rhaiadr with ten thousand a year, which comes to me now that Uncle Madoc is dead----that is who I am."

"But you knew nothing about such an inheritance?"

"Who will believe that?" asked Owain derisively. "Already, as the tramp who asked the way to the Gipsy Stile, I am accused of the crime. Should the truth of my keeping that appointment become known, the motive of gaining ten thousand a year will be imputed to me as an excuse for committing the deed."

"Don't go too fast, Owain," said Vane sharply; "remember only Gilberry & Gilberry had this information. They can prove that you knew nothing about the same on the first of July when the man was murdered."

"True enough. All the same I kept the appointment," persisted Hench stubbornly. "Who is to prove that I did not have a long interview with my uncle in Parley Wood; who is to declare that he did not admit I was his heir and that his death would place me in possession of so large an income? And, remember, Jim, that I am poor. A man would do much to gain ten thousand a year."

"A man like you, Owain, would do nothing mean or dishonourable or cruel to gain double the sum," said Vane sharply. "Don't be a fool."

"Am I a fool? You know me, Jim, but other people don't. Supposing Madame Alpenny tells what she knows to the police and sets them on my track----"

"She doesn't know your address. You told me so."

"I told you truly. She doesn't. But seeing that I have given my usual name both at the hotel I stayed at and to the landlady of my lodgings in South Kensington, there won't be much difficulty in the police finding me. People will talk, you know. I have shaved off my beard too, and that might be quoted against me as a sign of my guilt."

"It might," assented Vane restlessly, for he recognized that the position was a dangerous one. "But it all depends upon Madame Alpenny. So far she has made no move, and now that you really are rich she will hold her tongue."

"Provided I marry her daughter, I suppose?" inquired Owain dryly.

"Of course. The woman is an adventuress, as you say, and means to make money out of you. Marry her daughter and supply her with funds, and you will place yourself in the power of a possible blackmailer."

Hench's face became dour and obstinate in its looks. "Even if Madame Alpenny placed me in the dock at the New Bailey, I won't marry Zara, or give the old woman a single penny."

"I'm with you, old son." Vane leaned forward and shook his friend's hand. "You can depend upon me to do all I can to pull you through."

"You're a good sort, Jim, to stand by me," said Hench, much moved.

"Pooh! Pooh! Pooh! I take a right view of friendship, that's all," said Vane cheerfully. "Come, old man, let us discuss the situation. We have ample time, as Madame Alpenny will hold her tongue until you openly refuse the demands she is sure to make. Who gains time, gains everything, and lots of things may happen before she can place your neck in a noose."

"I am in a dangerous position."

"You are. I don't wish to minimize the risk, or undervalue Madame Alpenny as an enemy. But remember, Owain, that she is not your enemy until you give her cause to be so by declining to marry the girl and pension Madame. Thus the police will learn nothing for many a long day, and meantime we can act."

"In what way?"

"Why, in trying to learn who really did murder your uncle." Vane drew a long breath. "By Jupiter, old son, I don't wonder you were knocked all of a heap by the information that you had a new relative and ten thousand a year."

"Oh, it wasn't that which upset me," explained Hench with a shrug, "but the knowledge that my uncle was the dead man I found in Parley Wood."

"Gilberry & Gilberry don't know that, I suppose?"

"Of course not. I kept that information to myself. They didn't even, so far as I could gather, know anything about the advertisement, or they would have spoken about it. I said nothing."

"Very wise of you. I wonder," mused the barrister, "why your uncle put in that advertisement?"

"To make you understand, Jim, it will be necessary to repeat my family history as Mr. Gilberry told it to me."

"That is what I have been wishing you to do for the last fifteen minutes, old boy. Here, take a cigarette and make yourself comfortable. When I am in possession of facts I shall be in a better position to advise you."

"I need advice," sighed Hench, lighting up.

"Well, don't shed tears over it, sonny. Fire away."

Vane's banter and anxious desire to cheer him up did Hench good, and he produced a large blue envelope out of his pocket which contained several papers. The young man glanced at these doubtfully, then laid them on the table. "You can examine them at your leisure," he said, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "I'll tell you the story instead of reading it."

"That will be best," assented Vane brightly. "Begin, Scheherazade."

"My grandfather," said Hench conversationally, "lived at Rhaiadr in South Wales, where his family had resided for centuries. They were minor princes, I believe, before the first Edward conquered the country, but dwindled in importance as the centuries went by. When the family estates came to my grandfather, all he had was considerable property in Rhaiadr and a tumbledown family seat. He was called Mynydd Evans----"

"Curious Christian name," commented Vane, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"Yes! Gilberry, who seems to know something of the Welsh language, told me that it means 'Great.' So my grandfather was really Great Evans, so called because he was the chief person in Rhaiadr, and because he was a stout, bulky man, over six feet three in height. He was discontented with his lot, as he wanted money and power and position, and the deuce knows what."

"Rather a grabber, Owain, considering that he was the Lord of Rhaiadr--and that's another queer name."

"It means water tumbling over a rock--a waterfall, in fact," said Hench, with a nod. "My father mentioned the word to Madame Alpenny and gave her the translation. Well, to continue. Mynydd Evans collected what money he could and came to London. There he set up as a merchant, and being clever, in a wonderfully short space of time he made a large fortune."

"He must have done so considering he could leave your uncle ten thousand a year," said Vane emphatically. "But why didn't he return to Rhaiadr?"

"Mr. Gilberry couldn't explain that. I expect the old man found the Welsh parish of his ancestors too narrow for his ambition, and perhaps too far from London and his place of business. He bought the Lordship of the Manor of Cookley, in Essex, and took up his abode in the old Grange. There he died."

"And your Uncle Madoc, as the eldest son, became the heir?"

"Now, that is exactly what did not happen. Mynydd Evans had two sons--my father, Owain, and Madoc--and my father was the elder of the two. He was"--Hench wriggled uneasily--"he was a rotter, and I'm breaking the fifth commandment in saying so, Jim."

"Well," said the barrister coolly, "from what you told me of your father when we met six months ago, I rather think he was a bad lot."

"Unfortunately, yes," said Hench hastily. "But he is dead, so let us say as little about him as possible. Anyhow, he contrived so mortally to offend my grandfather with his doings that he was cut out of the will."

"What did he do particularly shady?"

"I can't tell you," said Hench, with a shrug. "From what Gilberry said I gathered that it wasn't one shady deed, but the culmination of many that induced Mynydd Evans to give the estate to my Uncle Madoc. He was the good boy of the family, and Mynydd Evans knew that his hard-earned fortune would not be dissipated in his hands. My father was allowed five or six hundred a year, and told to keep away from England. He did so and afterwards married abroad--an English governess, my mother. She died in due time and I was sent to England to board with strangers. Then I went to a private school, afterwards to Winchester, where we met, Jim."

"Yes, I know all that. Afterwards your father sent for you and ultimately died in Paris. You told me about your life since, when you came back six months ago. But why didn't your father relate your family history to you? Why did he keep you in the dark?"

"Really, Jim, I can't say, unless it was that he felt ashamed of his doings. He would have had to tell me that he was not straight, to account for his being cut out of the will, you know. Anyhow, he saw Gilberry & Gilberry and left with them those papers, which include my birth certificate and my baptismal one--things which are necessary to prove my identity, you know. Gilberry & Gilberry were my father's lawyers and the lawyers of my uncle and grandfather. They saw that my school fees were paid and kept an eye on me while my father was in exile. So I had no difficulty in proving who I was. In fact old Gilberry knew me from my likeness to my father the moment I entered the office. It's all right so far."

"But if the money was left to your uncle, how do you inherit?"

"Well, it seems that Mynydd Evans always had some qualms about cutting off the direct line, and, I suppose, hoped that the third generation would be better than the second, as represented by my father. Anyhow, he made a will excluding my father, save for the five or six hundred a year allowance, and left the whole eleven thousand pounds per annum he was worth to Uncle Madoc."

"You said it was ten thousand."

"Yes. But of the extra thousand, five hundred went to my father during his life and the remaining five hundred--or it might be four with six to my father, as I'm not quite clear about the exact amounts--to Gwen Evans, my first cousin, Uncle Madoc's daughter."

"Oh! There's a girl, then?"

"Yes, and if old Gilberry is to be believed, she is a very pretty girl. I understand that she is about twenty years of age. We can talk of her later, Jim. Anyhow, you must understand that Uncle Madoc only had the income and the Grange for life. Afterwards it was to go to the offspring of my father, who was the true heir. I am the sole offspring, so I inherit."

"I see," pondered Vane. "Well, all that seems clear and reasonable enough. Only I should like to know why your uncle didn't find you out and treat you as his heir. He could have done so through Gilberry & Gilberry, who--as you say--kept their eye on you all the time."

"According to Mr. Gilberry, my uncle hated my father fervently, and did not at all approve of Mynydd Evans' will, which left the property to the son of the brother he detested. He made no inquiries, I understand, and was quite content to enjoy the property and let the deluge in the shape of myself come after him. Of course he would rather, as Mr. Gilberry said, have had Gwen get the property, but he could not, as the will of my grandfather was too clear."

"Well, I can understand that the brothers did not love one another," said Vane, after a pause; "family feuds are unfortunately too common. But what made the old man put in that advertisement?"

"As I didn't mention the advertisement to Mr. Gilberry for obvious reasons, I could obtain no information on that point," explained Owain, looking somewhat perplexed. "And why he sought me out in that peculiar way at the eleventh hour, I can't say. He might as well have done the thing straight through the family lawyers. Anyhow, I suppose he thought that the mention of the name Rhaiadr would show me that I was wanted, although I can't understand why he worded the advertisement so obscurely. But that my father mentioned the place of his family to me, I wouldn't have bothered about the matter. Let alone the fact," concluded Hench after a pause, "that I wouldn't have seen the advertisement at all but for Madame Alpenny. It was queer, wasn't it, Jim, that the advertisement should have appeared with the name Rhaiadr just after she remembered meeting my father over twenty years ago?"

"So queer," said Vane dryly, "that I wonder if Madame Alpenny had anything to do with the insertion of the advertisement."

"Oh, that's rubbish, Jim. She never met my uncle, and couldn't have put in the advertisement on her own, as she didn't know the ropes. My uncle put it in sure enough, or he would not have been in the wood to meet me. But why the deuce he should choose out-of-doors as a meeting place instead of asking me into his own house, I can't understand."

"He was evidently an original," said the barrister, with a shrug. "By the way, if you died, or if you had never been born, who would inherit the estate?"

"Gwen, my cousin, of course. The will left the property to the offspring of the eldest son, and failing such offspring, to the children of the second son. Why do you ask that, Jim?"

"Well, it occurs to me that the cautiously worded advertisement and the appointment of so lonely a place to meet in, suggests foul play on the part of your beloved uncle."

"Foul play?" Hench stared. "What the deuce do you mean?"

"Madoc might have intended to murder you so that his daughter might inherit."

"Oh, rot!"

"Not at all. We must look at all possibilities. Madoc hated your father and doubtless hated you also as the son of your father. If he could have done you out of the inheritance by murdering you, I don't see why he should have held his hand."

"But you don't know the man's character," protested Hench. "He may have been a very harmless person."

"A very cunning and plotting person, anyhow," said Vane quickly. "Else, why the carefully worded advertisement and the strange place chosen for the meeting. No, Owain, my conjecture may be wild, but there is some truth in it, I am sure. Madoc intended to get rid of you, and your lucky stars led some one to get rid of him, before you appeared on the scene."

"My lucky stars," said Hench, rising. "How can you say that, when I am in danger of being arrested for his death?"

"There is no danger just now, until Madame Alpenny moves. And when she does move we may be able to counterplot her."

"She will move as soon as I enter into my inheritance."

"I know that. Therefore, if I were you, I should not take up my inheritance just yet."

"How can I prevent that? Gilberry & Gilberry will take immediate steps to place me in possession, and the business is sure to get into the newspapers. Then Madame Alpenny will see that I am rich and come to bother me."

"Of course. But you can tell Gilberry & Gilberry to hold over action until you learn who murdered your uncle. Once you find the true assassin you will be safe from the malice of Madame Alpenny and all other people."

"Oh, there is no one can spot me but Madame Alpenny," said Owain confidentially.

"Not even Spruce?" asked Vane significantly.

"Certainly not. He knows nothing about my affairs."

"You told me that he knew about the papers you were to see on your twenty-fifth birthday?"

"Oh, yes. But those papers won't connect me with Uncle Madoc's death. Only the advertisement can do that, and I don't suppose Spruce has set eyes on it."

"Let us hope not," said Vane uneasily. "But since he heard the name Rhaiadr when the meeting with your father was explained by Madame Alpenny, he certainly might put two and two together if he did see the advertisement. And if the old woman saw it, why shouldn't Spruce see it?"

"My dear Jim, why manufacture trouble, when we have enough to deal with as things stand? If Spruce does get on the trail, I shall deal with him very promptly, I assure you. I'm not afraid of that little rat."

"Rats can be dangerous, Owain, and Spruce is a meddlesome animal always on the make. You with your ten thousand a year would be a god-send to him. Now, if you will take my advice----"

"What is it?"

"This. Tell Gilberry & Gilberry to let things remain as they are, until you tell them to place you legally in possession of your property. They can look after the ten thousand odd pounds coming to you and allow your cousin the four or five hundred a year to which she is entitled. Then go down to Cookley as Owain Hench and look about for any possible person who might have knifed your uncle."

"But Gilberry & Gilberry will think it queer."

"What the devil does it matter what they think? So long as they get their fees all they have to do is to execute your orders. And if you like, you can make a romance out of the business and tell them that you are going down to Cookley to see your cousin under your false name, so as to find out what she is like. Of course, you can hint that you may fall in love----"

"Oh, rats!" interrupted Hench inelegantly. "I'm not likely to fall in love. I don't believe that I understand what love is, seeing what a hash I made of my attentions to Zara."

"You made a hash because you didn't love her, old son. But you may fall in love with your cousin."

"Don't anticipate the worst," said Owain dryly. "Anyhow, your advice is good, Jim. I shall tell Gilberry & Gilberry to hold over and will give them to understand that I wish to see the beautiful heiress I have dispossessed. As Hench, I shall go to Cookley and look round for the criminal. With my changed appearance I don't suppose I'll be spotted."

"No, I think you are safe so far," said Vane, looking at his friend in a critical manner, "but don't risk seeing that girl at the Bull Inn. She may recognize your voice. And I'll tell you what, Owain, I'll give you an introduction to an old aunt of mine, Mrs. Perage, who is a great swell in those parts. Her respectability may help you to hold your own amongst the very suspicious, narrow-minded people one finds in the country."

"Jim, you're a brick."

"Oh, fudge! I'll loot you when you enter into your kingdom," and Vane laughed uproariously at his small joke. "See if I don't make you pay up!"

[CHAPTER IX]

GWEN

Naturally, Gilberry & Gilberry were extremely astonished when the heir to Cookley Grange refused to enter into his kingdom immediately. Such a wonderful reluctance to enjoy a large income and a splendid position had never before come under their notice. Fortunately, however, Mr. Samuel Gilberry, the senior partner, who attended particularly to the business of the estate, was of a romantic turn of mind, unusual in a lawyer, and Owain's suggestion of acting the part of a disguised prince rather appealed to him. Adopting Vane's suggestion, Hench--as he persisted in calling himself for the time being--artfully pointed out that it would be just as well to make the acquaintance of his cousin as a stranger before revealing himself. He did not wish her, as he put it, to be biassed by the fact that he was the son of his father. "For you see, sir," he said to the old gentleman, who was a white-bearded benevolent person, somewhat like the traditional Father Christmas, "so far as I can gather from the papers which my father left behind him, these brothers, who are the parents of Gwen and myself, were not friends."

"They hated one another fervently, if you don't mind my saying so," was the emphatic response of the old lawyer, as he took a pinch of snuff.

"I don't mind your stating the truth, Mr. Gilberry, which is what I want to get at," replied Hench readily. "Well then, admitting that the two hated one another, it is more than likely that Uncle Madoc had no great love for me."

"He had not, my young friend. I pointed out to him frequently that as he had never set eyes on you, he could scarcely form any judgment, good, bad or indifferent. But he declared that you were the son of your father and that no good could come out of Nazareth."

"Quite so. And doubtless he passed on his opinion to his daughter."

"I think it is extremely likely, although I cannot speak positively, Mr. Owain," said the solicitor. "By the way, I may as well call you by that name, since you refuse to take your proper appellation, and I don't like to call you Mr. Hench."

"I don't mind what you call me," Owain assured him, "so long as you don't let the cat out of the bag. My cousin is sure to have a bad opinion of me, since her father was so bitter. This being the case, I shall have no chance of becoming friendly with her if I present myself as her cousin. I do not wish to carry on the feud, so it is necessary for me to gain Gwen's good opinion. Therefore, under the name my father adopted, I shall make her acquaintance as a stranger, and win her friendship entirely on my own merits."

"It is rather a fantastical way of acting, and is scarcely business-like," was Gilberry's reply. "All the same the idea is not without merit. I am quite ready to help you, and can do so, by saying that you are abroad."

"I don't think it is even necessary to say as much. Let Gwen know that I have communicated with you, and have decided to wait for a time before taking over the estate. She can put it down to eccentricity, or to my late father's influence, if she likes. Anyhow, I don't suppose she will trouble to search very deeply into the matter, and will probably be pleased that I don't take possession of Cookley Grange immediately. She can continue to live there until I give her notice to quit."

Gilberry laughed and shook his head. "Miss Evans is a very decided young lady, Mr. Owain," he remarked in a judicial manner, "and having her own income of five hundred a year, she has already quitted the Grange."

"Because she expected me to take possession?"

"Yes."

"There!" cried Hench triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you that she was biassed by her father. Has she left Cookley?"

"No. She has gone to stay with a very charming old lady in the neighbourhood, called Mrs. Perage."

"Better and better. That will enable me to make her acquaintance without unduly forcing myself upon her. My friend, Mr. Vane, who is a barrister----"

"Yes! Yes! I know the name. I have heard that he is clever. Well?"

"Well, he has given me a letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage, who is his aunt."

Mr. Samuel Gilberry rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Very good--very good indeed, my young friend. It is quite a romance. Now, to carry the same to a proper conclusion, may I suggest that you should fall in love with Miss Evans?"

Hench shook his head doubtfully. "Private feelings can't be ordered about like private soldiers," he remarked dryly. "I am not the kind of man to fall in love, Mr. Gilberry."

"Pooh! Pooh! A handsome young fellow like you is sure to experience the grand passion. And let me tell you that Miss Evans is a beautiful girl, both clever and sensible. If you could manage to marry her," went on the lawyer coaxingly, "think how delightfully you would end the family feud. And after all, poor girl, it is rather hard for her to be reduced to five hundred a year after enjoying, through her father, ten thousand per annum."

"Oh, as to that," said Owain promptly, "you can allow her two or three thousand out of my income."

"She wouldn't take it, seeing that your consent is necessary."

"Yet you talk about my marrying her," was Hench's retort. "I have about as much chance of doing that as the man in the moon. However, I shall make her acquaintance as Hench, and see what comes of it. By the way, doesn't she know the name my father took in place of Evans?"

"No. Your late uncle never mentioned it. As Owain Hench you are quite safe in making her acquaintance. She will never think that you are her cousin, unless you let her see how you spell your Christian name. The Welsh spelling may give her a hint, and she is very sharp, remember."

"If I have occasion to write it, I shall spell the name in the English way. I don't suppose that will be necessary, anyhow. Well, that's all right. Act as we have decided and I shall go down to Cookley to carry out my romance, as you call it, Mr. Gilberry. One question I should like to ask you, however, before leaving."

"And that is, Mr. Owain---?"

"Who murdered my uncle?" Mr. Gilberry took a pinch of snuff and shook his venerable head. "Really, it is hard to say, unless it was that tramp who asked the way to the Gipsy Stile, Mr. Owain. I suppose you saw all about that in the papers?"

Hench winced, but recovered himself immediately. "Yes, I did, Mr. Gilberry. But what reason could that tramp have had to murder my uncle. Not robbery, if the report of the inquest is to be believed, for then it was said that neither the money, nor the watch, nor the jewellery had been taken."

"Exactly. So far as I can see, there was no reason why this man should have murdered Mr. Evans." Mr. Gilberry knitted his brows and looked perplexed. "Maybe it was revenge," he concluded doubtfully.

"Revenge. Then my uncle had enemies?"

"Dozens, I should think," said the lawyer coolly. "Mr. Madoc Evans was a very cantankerous person. I may say that much ill of the dead. He quarrelled with many people, and, moreover, was very severe on poaching both as a magistrate and as a landowner. This tramp, for all I know, may have been a poacher who had a grudge against him."

"Do the police think so?"

"The police say nothing, because they have no evidence to go upon," said the lawyer sharply. "The sole person they suspect is the tramp who came to the Bull Inn. But he has disappeared, and they can't find him. However, in the village it is said that the tramp was a poacher, who murdered the Squire out of revenge. You can take or leave that opinion, as you like. The whole thing is a mystery to me, Mr. Owain."

"And to me," said Hench, in all good faith. "I shall never be satisfied until I learn who murdered my uncle."

"That wish does you credit, Mr. Owain," said Mr. Gilberry approvingly, and again the young man winced. "Considering how unfriendly the late Squire was towards your father."

"Well, my father was just as unfriendly towards him," returned Hench with a shrug. "And, as I say, I don't wish to carry on the feud. Good-bye, Mr. Gilberry. When I am settled in Cookley I shall let you know my address and will write you if necessary. You are sure that no one knows my name of Hench as having anything to do with the family at the Grange?"

"I am quite sure, although I don't call one solitary girl a family," chuckled the old man, walking with his client towards the door. "Good-bye, good-bye. I hope--I sincerely hope--that the feud will be ended by your marriage to my late friend's daughter."

"You might as well expect water to run up hill," retorted Hench sceptically, and went on his way, certain that he was not likely to lose his heart.

Consequent on the necessity of preserving the secret of his identity carefully, Hench requested Vane to introduce him by letter to Mrs. Perage as Mr. Hench, suppressing the Christian name, which might have given Gwen a clue, if only from the oddness of the spelling. Vane, on learning that the girl had gone to stay with his aunt, quite approved of this, and both in his letter of introduction and his private epistle to the old lady made all things safe. As Mr. Hench, the young man went down to Cookley, and if he was forced to state what his Christian name was, he resolved to spell it in the English way. That would provoke no remark from Gwen, as "Owen" was not a particularly unusual designation. All the same, Hench felt that he was treading on thin ice. He determined to stay at Cookley as short a time as possible, and to see no more of his cousin than he could help. After all he was going down not to meet her, as Mr. Gilberry believed, but to learn if possible who had murdered the unfortunate Squire.

While reading a newspaper entitled The Setting Sun in the train, Hench received a distinct shock, although by this time he was growing accustomed to being startled. Some amateur detective had written a letter to the editor of this halfpenny evening journal, drawing attention to the advertisement in The Express with reference to the meeting at the Gipsy Stile. Of the name "Rhaiadr" nothing was said, as such was Greek to the writer of the letter. But the fact that some one was invited to meet Squire Evans at the very place and on the very evening when he was murdered was largely commented upon. The very officious person who wrote suggested that the police should try and learn to whom the advertisement was addressed, "when without doubt"--the letter went on to say--"the assassin will be captured."

Although it was rather like asking the authorities to look for a needle in a bottle of hay, seeing that there were eight million people in London to any one of whom the advertisement might have been addressed, Owain felt cold water running down his spine. Not on account of the Hungarian lady, because he agreed with Vane that she would not give information to the police until she learned if he was prepared to marry her daughter. It was Spruce he feared--the little rat who was meddlesome and secretive, and unscrupulous, and who could do much mischief once he got on the trail. From what Vane had said, it was plain that the Nut had rendered his position in the West End untenable owing to his cheating, and the sole chance he had of becoming even tolerable to his former associates--and perhaps not even then--was to return with his pockets full of money. Then, for the sake of winning the same, they might overlook his fault. Probably they would not, but Hench was quite sure that Spruce believed that money would do anything. Naturally, he would do much to get money, being anything but an honourable man as had been ample proved. In Bethnal Green there were few opportunities of making a fortune, and Spruce was not sufficiently clever to take advantage even of what chances there were. Consequently, he would be quite prepared--Hench was certain of this--to get what he could by blackmail. Already he believed that there was some mystery about Hench, and if he saw the advertisement, or the letter which had drawn attention to the same, he would be certain to get at the truth. Having been present at the conversation between Hench and Madame Alpenny when the woman's meeting with his father--Hench's father that is--had been discussed, the word "Rhaiadr" would certainly come again into his mind. Connecting the same with Hench, the young man was convinced that Spruce would venture to accuse him of keeping the appointment and murdering the advertiser. Then if it came out that the dead man was Hench's uncle, so strong a motive was provided that arrest would certainly follow.

It was a very uncomfortable journey for Owain, and he alighted at Cookley Station with the firm idea that he was about to have a trying time. Madame Alpenny was dangerous and so was Spruce, as both wanted cash and both were wholly unscrupulous. However, if either went to the police they were not likely to get what they wanted, so Hench comforted himself with the idea that before taking any action they would find him out and offer to treat. On what he discovered at Cookley would depend his attitude, as if he could only get at the truth he could place the matter in the hands of the police without danger to himself. On the other hand, if he made no discovery likely to prove who was the assassin, it would be necessary to come to some arrangement or risk the consequence. And Hench could not disguise from himself that on the face of it his defence was weak, since the strongest point--that of being a stranger to the dead man--was removed. Certainly, as he had never met Squire Evans, the deceased _was a stranger to him, but the fact that the dead man was his uncle, whose demise would give him ten thousand five hundred a year, assuredly provided a strong motive for the commission of the crime. It was all puzzling and difficult, and dangerous and highly unpleasant. All that Hench could do was to wait and see what Madame Alpenny, and possibly Spruce, would do. Any one who has experienced suspense will understand what agonies this unfortunate young man underwent. It required all his courage and all his nerve to endure the anxiety of the next few days. And to make matters worse, Vane was not at hand to relieve the tension by listening to Owain's fears.

It was with an odd feeling, and not one of safety, that Hench again set foot in Cookley. As he walked down the crooked street he noted how many eyes of both men and women followed his movements, and for the moment believed that he was recognized. But that was impossible, considering the contrast between the rough-bearded tramp who had visited the Bull Inn and the smart, fashionable, clean-shaven young gentleman now strolling complacently through the little town. What the people looked at, especially the women, were his handsome face and distinguished appearance. From a muttered remark or so which his ear caught, Owain understood that they took him for a tourist, who had come to see the lions of the place. Therefore, in this character the young man asked one or two where he could find lodgings. Of course he was at once directed to the inn, but here, for obvious reasons, he did not wish to go. With the idea of finding quiet rooms he had left his portmanteau at the railway station, so as to seek the same unhampered by luggage. For some time he was unsuccessful in his search, until on the outskirts of the village and no great distance from the church he saw a notice in a cottage window of "Apartments to Let." At once he knocked at the door, since the place seemed clean and quiet. A delicate, slender little woman answered his inquiries by stating that she was called Mrs. Bell and had rooms to let. An inspection of these satisfied the young man, although they were rather poorly furnished and decidedly small. At once he took them at the very moderate sum demanded, and Mrs. Bell at his request sent her nephew to the station to get her new lodger's portmanteau. The little woman, who was meek and fragile, at once took a great interest in Hench, as he had kind eyes and a gentle manner. In a short time the two were good friends, and Mrs. Bell congratulated herself that for one month she had such a pleasant-spoken gentleman under her homely roof. She said as much to her big burly nephew when he returned with the portmanteau on his shoulder, and her nephew thoroughly agreed with her, which was natural, seeing that the new lodger had given him half a crown for his trouble. So Hench was made very comfortable by the two, who approved of him more and more every day. Mrs. Bell was a busy bee in the way of looking after household affairs, and Giles her nephew, who was a labourer, brushed Owain's boots and clothes for him. Also--and this was a great point--Mrs. Bell was no gossip and kept very much to herself, so the neighbours heard little about Hench from her. On the whole, the young man decided that he was very well placed.

Hench did not present his letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage straight away, but busied himself in learning what he could of the geography of Cookley. He examined the church, explored the village,--never going into the Bull Inn, by the way,--and even ventured to look at the Gipsy Stile. It gave him a qualm when he found himself on the well-remembered spot, and saw beyond the old brick wall the picturesque Grange, which was now his property. Mrs. Bell, who knew everything about the place and talked freely enough when asked, although she was no scandal-monger, told him how Miss Evans had gone to stay with Mrs. Perage since the death of her father.

"And they do say," said Mrs. Bell, who always prefaced her remarks with this phrase, "that she ain't going to rest until she finds out who killed him."

"Is there any clue?" asked Owain, keeping his face turned away.

"No, there ain't, sir, unless you can call that tramp a clue. He did ask Betsy Jane at the Bull where the Gipsy Stile was, and the old Squire was found there some hours later as dead as mutton. But since then no one's clapped eyes on him, and I don't suppose, sir, as any one ever will."

"Do you think the tramp murdered the Squire?"

"Lord, sir, how do I know!" cried Mrs. Bell in a panic. "I hev enough to do in the house without thinking of murders. But they do say as Squire Evans was a hard man on poachers, as Giles knows, he having got into trouble over a pheasant. It might be, sir, as that tramp was one of them poachers, and done for the Squire. Though to be sure," added the woman, rubbing her nose in a perplexed way, "if he was a poacher hereabouts some one would hev knowed him, and he wouldn't hev had to ask Betsy Jane of the Bull where the stile was. It's my opinion, that for all Miss Gwen's trying she'll never find out who killed her father. And they do say as if the murderer ain't found it won't be any great grief to them as knowed old Mr. Evans."

"What kind of a girl is Miss Evans?" asked Hench irrelevantly.

"Ah!" cried Mrs. Bell, nursing her hands under her apron. "Now they do say, sir, as I knows myself, as she's as nice a young lady as you ever set eyes on. Lovely I call her, and small like me, though quite a lady, which I ain't. She's as loved as her father was hated, and they do say as that's saying a great deal. I do assure you, sir, as we'd rather hev Miss Gwen for the head of the place than this new young Squire, as comes from no one knows where!"

Hench had many conversations about these matters with Mrs. Bell, and gradually came to know a great deal during the next few days. His uncle, it appeared, had been very unpopular, while Gwen was the reverse. Generally, it was quite believed amongst the ancients of the village that the Squire had been murdered by the unknown tramp, who was a poacher, and the verdict was that it served the dead man right, because he was always so hard on the poor. Owain was tolerably sure that the Cookley people would have been quite sorry had the presumed criminal been arrested. But as he was the person in question, he was glad that they had not been troubled to mourn in this way. All the same, in spite of all his questioning, he was unable to learn anything likely to show who had met Squire Evans in Parley Wood. So far his mission to Cookley had proved a complete failure.

Then Destiny intervened to conduct him a step further on the dark path, which was leading him he knew not where. Towards the end of the week, and when he was beginning to feel safer and more at home in the village, he had an adventure, the consequences of which were far-reaching. Owain had gone for a long walk into the surrounding country, and was returning leisurely under the many-coloured glories of the sunset. The weather was warm, the road was dusty, and he paused by a stile to remove his straw hat and allow the breeze to cool his heated brow. Before him was the church, round the square ivy-clothed tower of which the jackdaws were flying; to the right was the road, melting almost imperceptibly into the narrow village street, while to the left ran the same road curving abruptly round a corner into the agricultural lands. So dangerous was this bend in the highway that it was marked with one of those red triangles elevated on a post to warn motorists and cyclists not to move at too great a pace. The injunction was very much needed, and never more so than in the present instance.

Hench leaned idling against the stile enjoying the beauty of the evening and the picturesque character of the landscape. He could not see very far, as the place was muffled with hawthorn hedges and tall trees, but there was a quiet domestic loveliness about the prospect which soothed his tormented soul. Suddenly his eye was caught by a moving figure in the porch of the church, which was under the west window. It was that of a slender girl, not very tall, but singularly graceful. As she came down the path towards the lychgate, he saw that she had a beautiful face, aristocratic in its looks and rather pensive in its expression. Arrayed in white, and with a white sunshade, she stepped daintily through the gate and out on to the dusty road, turning her face towards the village, whither she was evidently going. But scarcely had she taken three steps when a motor-car, without warning, swept swiftly round the dangerous corner. The girl was directly in his path, and although Hench shouted at once, she did not step aside. In fact she seemed to be puzzled by his cry, until the noise of the approaching machine struck her ear. Then she wheeled suddenly and stood where she was, paralysed with fright. Hench saw that in a second she would be cut down and be crushed under those cruel wheels, so plunged suddenly forward and dashed across the roadway to thrust her out of the way. So impetuous was his onset that she was tumbled back into the hedge girdling the churchyard, and Hench himself fell sprawling in the dust. With a whirr, the motor passed and he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. The next moment the car was buzzing at top-speed through the village, its driver evidently afraid of prosecution for neglecting to sound his horn. Meanwhile the girl gathered herself up out of the hedge, and Owain lay still on the highway. The whole event lasted less than a minute--the girl being saved, the man being hurt in the twinkling of an eye. And in the same twinkling of an eye the car had vanished into the unknown.

"Oh!" The young lady hurried towards her preserver. "Are you hurt?"

"My ankle," gasped Hench, sitting up with an effort; "it's giving me a warm time--a wheel went over it, I think--probably it is broken!" and he winced with the pain.

"You have saved my life!"

"Oh, that's all right," replied the young man, speaking with difficulty, for the suffering was great. "You can repay me by helping me home, or by getting assistance. I can't walk by myself."

"Give me your hand," said the girl quickly, quite cool and mistress of herself. "There! Can you get on to your feet?"

"On to one foot, anyhow," gasped Hench, smiling to reassure her, and managed to stand upright. "But my ankle is not so very bad. I don't think it is broken--only crushed."

"That's bad enough. Lean on me. Where do you live?"

"At Mrs. Bell's."

"That's not far away. Come. What a hero you are to save me. My name is Evans."

"Evans!" repeated Owain, and then knew that he had at last met his cousin.

[CHAPTER X]

VANE'S AUNT

"I should have been killed to a certainty but for the way in which he got me out of the way," said Gwen to Mrs. Perage, when recounting her adventure, and speaking rather incoherently, for the same had shaken her nerves.

Mrs. Perage growled. She was a gaunt, dark-brewed old lady, with a formidable frown and a very determined character. "All's well that ends well," she said in a deep contralto voice, which suggested that of a man. "It might have been worse but for this hero of yours. Did you take the number of the car?"

"My goodness!" cried the girl pettishly. "How could I, when I was lying on my back in the ditch under the churchyard hedge? The car passed like a flash."

"Daresay," sniffed Mrs. Perage aggressively. "Having done wrong, the chauffeur got out of the way. We'll make inquiries and prosecute. I'd hang every one of those road-hogs if I had my way."

"Oh, I don't think it is worth making a fuss about," said Gwen quickly. "I am all right, and his ankle will soon be quite well. I fetched the doctor as soon as I got him to Mrs. Bell's, and there are no bones broken. He will be out and about in a few days."

"His--him--he," said Mrs. Perage sharply. "How indefinite you are. What's the name of your Achilles?"

"Hench. Mr. Hench. So Mrs. Bell told me, and he's been with her for nearly a whole week."

"Hench!" Mrs. Perage rubbed her beaky nose and reflected. "Why, that's the name of Jim's friend he wrote me about. There was a letter of introduction given. Hum! And he's been a week in Cookley without calling. That doesn't look as if he wished to make my acquaintance, Gwen."

"Perhaps he's down here on business," suggested the girl, "and did not wish to call on any one until he was free."

"Well, if he doesn't call on me, I'll call on him," said the old dame grimly; "if only to thank him for saving your life. Hum! Quite romantic the way in which the man's come into your little world, my dear. Quite romantic, I call it." Then, being very much the woman, in spite of her masculine appearance, Mrs. Perage asked a leading question. "Good-looking?"

"Oh!" Gwen clasped her hands. "He's a Greek god."

"So was Vulcan. Anything like that heavenly blacksmith?"

"No. He's tall and splendidly built, with brown hair and brown eyes; clean-shaven with clearly-cut features."

"Hum!" Mrs. Perage brought out the ejaculation with a boom. "You examined him pretty closely, young lady."

"Well, I had plenty of time to do so," retorted Miss Evans pertly. "I helped him to hobble to Mrs. Bell's house, and saw him again to thank him after the doctor had examined his poor ankle. I'm sure you will like him."

"That has yet to be seen. I don't like many people. However, Jim says that Mr. Hench is a thoroughly good fellow, and----"

"I'm sure he is. He saved my life."

"Consequently you intend to tumble head over heels in love with him?"

Gwen grew red. "I certainly don't. All the same he's very nice, and I'm sorry he's suffering pain."

"Pity is akin to love," quoted Mrs. Perage, apparently to the ceiling. The girl laughed and shook her head. "In spite of your matter-of-fact ways and the common-sense you pride yourself upon, you have an imaginative vein, Mrs. Perage. I am sure you see in this accident the beginning of a romance."

"If the young man is handsome, as you say, and a good sort as Jim Vane says, why not?" asked the old lady, smiling. "Besides, I don't believe in chance, as everything is ordained by Providence. I shouldn't be at all surprised if, in the long run, it was proved that Mr. Hench tumbled out of the clouds to be your husband. However, it's early days yet to talk. Wait and see!"

As the result of long experience, dating from the time when she was a small child in short frocks, Gwen knew that it was useless to argue with Mrs. Perage, so she left the room and went upstairs to change her dress. And as a matter of fact, she had been extremely struck with Hench's good looks, as a woman naturally would be. Also, he seemed to be excessively agreeable, and likewise she owed him her life, not forgetting that she was just at that age when girls begin to dream of marriage. Poor Gwen had not passed a very happy time with her cantankerous father, and was not averse to having a pleasant home and an aggressively devoted lover. So she looked at herself in the glass, pondering over Mrs. Perage's remarks, and blushed crimson to find that Hench was taking up much more of her thoughts than she considered altogether proper. That it was a case of love at first sight she would not admit, but on the whole her feelings had a great deal to do with the oft-quoted proverb.

On his side, Owain had no doubts whatever on the subject, strange as it may seem, considering that hitherto he had never been in love. His cousin's lovely face, her sympathetic kindness, together with the undeniable fact that he had saved her life, created in him a number of tumultuous feelings, which he spent the night in analysing. To be sure, he told himself that he did so because the pain of his ankle kept him wide awake, and because thoughts in this direction took his mind off his aching bones. But when the dawn came, he was tolerably certain that he was in love. The feeling he now experienced was wholly different to that with which he had regarded Zara. He had admired the dancer in a cool, reflective, judicious way, seeing that she had faults as well as virtues. But in Gwen he could see no faults, and never paused to consider that he could scarcely know her character from the little he had seen of her.

Sensible as Hench usually was, some power--he presumed it was the power of love---swept him off his feet, and he credited the girl with all the virtues of the angels, and with their beauty also. He was glad that he had saved her, as she would be grateful; he was glad that he had hurt himself, as she would pity him; and he was decidedly glad that he had concealed the relationship. Now, at least, there was every chance that he would be able to make a friend of her. Not that he wanted to halt at friendship. He was now firmly bent upon making her his wife, and thus would be able to fulfil Mr. Gilberry's prophecy and end the family feud in quite an agreeable and romantic way. All the night Owain was building castles in the air, and when the dawn came they were still firm. Only on the arrival of the doctor to examine his ankle did the young man descend from these Olympian heights. Then, with a sudden and very natural reaction, he began to think that he had been too premature in his building.

The result of this was disastrous to Gwen. She called at mid-day to see how he was getting on, and he received her coldly, while lying on the slippery horse-hair sofa in Mrs. Bell's tiny sitting-room. The girl, flushed with the romance of the whole adventure and struck anew with the splendid looks of her preserver, felt chilled by his calm politeness. The two talked in a more or less formal way and parted very soon. Gwen went back to tell Mrs. Perage that her hero was horrid, and her hero remained on his sofa trying to assure himself that he had rescued only an ordinary girl. But it was all of no use, for Nature would have her way. During the next few days the two met under the chaperonage of the widow Bell, and gradually became aware that the feelings they entertained towards one another were more than those of mere friendship. Of course this knowledge made them more stiff and formal than ever in their intercourse, as their conversation was confined to commonplace subjects, not likely to awaken emotion. Hench was anxious to ask his cousin about her father, but as she said nothing, he did not venture to broach the matter. Still, remembering that she had been clothed in white on the day of the accident, and seeing that her frocks since, beyond black ribbons, did not suggest mourning in any great degree, he came to the conclusion that she had not been particularly attached to her father, although he could not be quite sure. But all doubts on this question were set aside by Mrs. Perage, who placed matters very plainly before him, according to her somewhat grim custom.

The old lady did not call for a few days, although she sent creams and jellies, books and flowers, by the hands of Gwen. Owain was very grateful for these kind attentions, and asked Miss Evans to take back his letter of introduction, which she did. Etiquette thus having been complied with, one day, instead of the fairy vision of Gwen, the patient beheld a tall and lean old dame stalk into his room. By this time he was able to get about with a crutch, and rose to greet her, upon which she thrust him back into his armchair with a pair of very capable hands.

"Not so," said Mrs. Perage, when he was again seated and taking a chair opposite, where she kilted her black stuff dress to show a pair of large boots. "Stay where you are, young man. Hum! You look better than I expected."

"I'm quite well now, thank you, Mrs. Perage. And I must apologise for not having presented Jim's letter before."

"Jim sent another letter, and I know all about you," said the old lady sharply.

"Oh, I don't think you do," said Hench, rather alarmed, as he feared that Vane might have been indiscreet.

"Why not?" Mrs. Perage bent her sharp old eyes on his perturbed face, the good looks of which she secretly approved of. "There's nothing wrong about you, I hope and trust?"

"Not what you would call wrong," said Hench evasively.

"Pooh, young man. How do you know anything about my standard of morality. I don't suppose it's what you'd call a high one," added Mrs. Perage, rubbing her nose. "I always make allowance for fools, and most of those who dwell in this world, which is much too good for them, are fools."

Hench laughed. He liked Mrs. Perage, who was quite a character. In her young days she had been a great beauty, although she was now old and weather-beaten, careless of her attire, and quite manly in her manner. Since the death of her husband, some thirty years ago, she had managed her estates herself, for being childless she had little else to do, and had long since outgrown the toys which amuse Society. For a woman she was uncommonly tall, and with her aquiline nose, her swart complexion and dark eyes, she resembled a gipsy. In spite of her coarse dress so carelessly worn, there was an air of good-breeding about her, and also a shrewd look on her fierce face. Owain stared hard at her Amazonian looks, considering that here was a woman who should have been the mother of heroes to gird armour on them and send them forth to the fray. She was quite out of place in a peaceful community.

"Well, young man," said Mrs. Perage roughly, "you'll know me again, I daresay, if staring goes for anything. What are your thoughts?"

Hench told them and suggested how unfit she was for a peaceful world where a policeman stands at every corner. "I can't see you anywhere, Mrs. Perage, but in some Norse hall, worshipping Odin and urging men to battle."

"Perhaps going to battle myself," said the old dame grimly, yet very pleased with the strange compliment. "Hum! You are right, the world is tame now-a-day, and a long life has bored me with the petty concerns of baby folk. You seem to have ideas in your head, Master Owain." Hench stared and fear clutched at his heart. If she knew this much, she might know more. "Who told you my Christian name?" he faltered.

"My own common sense, man alive! I have lived here all my life and knew your grandfather, Mynydd Evans, aye and your father, and Madoc also. Hench was the name Owain took when he was outlawed. See, my boy, how naturally I use the Norse word, after your suggestions of my being a modern Valkyrie."

"Does my cousin know who I am?" asked the young man anxiously. "No. I wanted to see you first before I told her."

"Don't tell her, Mrs. Perage."

"Why not. Hum!"--her eyes were as piercing as spears--"there is some reason for you masquerading as Hench."

"Hench was the name adopted by my father, and until a few days ago I quite believed that it was my true name. But certain papers which he left with our family lawyers explained matters."

"Did they explain that you inherit Cookley Grange and ten thousand a year?"

"Yes."

"Hum!"--Mrs. Perage rubbed her nose again and looked puzzled. "Then, knowing that you were the heir, why did you not come and see your uncle after the death of your father? I know he died in Paris five years ago, as Madoc told me."

"I did not know that I was the heir until my twenty-fifth birthday on the tenth day of this month. My father left instructions with Gilberry & Gilberry that they were not to give the papers to me until then. I have already told you, Mrs. Perage, that only lately did I learn my true name."

The old dame nodded absently, thinking deeply for a few minutes. "I think your father was wise to keep you thus in ignorance until you were older and had some experience of the world. A man of twenty-five could have managed Madoc better than a boy of twenty. Yes, Owain was wise, knowing Madoc's character."

"The late Squire does not appear to have had a very good one," remarked Hench dryly. "He was unpopular, I am told by Mrs. Bell."

"He was a wicked, selfish, greedy, miserly old scoundrel," retorted Mrs. Perage, aggressively blunt. "And if that's speaking evil of the dead, I don't care. I am quite sure that Madoc fed your grandfather's anger when it was directed towards Owain, who, after all, was not so very evil, although selfish enough. Still, your father would never have been cut out of the will but for Madoc. And if Madoc had met you, young man, he would have tried to settle your hash in some way, you may be certain."

"Oh!" Hench started, and was on the point of revealing the story of the advertisement and his adventure, when he checked himself prudently and made quite a different remark. "But if Uncle Madoc was such a rotter, why is Gwen such a nice girl, and I am sure a good girl?"

"She is all that," endorsed Mrs. Perage heartily. "And if your father was such a selfish profligate--I don't wish to hurt your filial feelings, but he was--why are you such a nice young man?"

Hench coloured at the compliment. "I may be a profligate also."

"Pooh!" said Mrs. Perage with supreme contempt, "don't you think that I am able to read faces? Yours is a good one and so is Gwen's. The decency of you both comes in each case from the mother's side, I expect, for both your fathers were--what they were. Children of Old Nick, I call them. You had a bad time with that father of yours, I'll be bound?"

"Well"--Hench winced--"he was not a very amiable parent, I must admit, although I wouldn't say that to any one save you."

Mrs. Perage bent her keen old eyes on him, read between the lines, and laughed in a short rasping manner after the style of a fox barking. "Just as I thought, young man. Owain was a selfish, cruel animal, and so was Madoc. He gave you as bad a time as Madoc did Gwen."

"I rather gathered from Gwen's absence of mourning that she had no great love for her father," remarked Hench musingly. "Your powers of observation are great, Owain. Gwen and her father got on about as well together as a ferret and a rabbit; she being the last and he the first. But for me I don't know what the poor girl would have done. She would have run away from home, I expect. However, she always came to me when her father was particularly trying, and now she has come to me altogether. With me she will stay, until you take her away."

Hench raised himself on his elbow and blushed in a delightfully youthful manner. "What makes you say that?" he asked confusedly.

"Am I a fool?" queried Mrs. Perage grimly. "Doesn't a cat love cream, and is not a young man likely to fall in love with one whose life he has saved, provided that one is charming and good. Go to, my boy." She spoke quite in the style of her nephew Jim. "I can see through a brick wall, I suppose. But all this doesn't explain why you are masquerading here under your father's false name. Come now, tell me all about it."

Hench did not do as she asked him, even though she was such a sensible old lady, for he thought that the time was not yet ripe for him to speak freely about his Gipsy Stile adventure. Therefore he told her the same story that he had told to Mr. Gilberry. "And you see I was right to meet my cousin under a feigned name," he concluded, "for had I come as Owain Evans she would have been prejudiced against me."

"Well, I don't know." Mrs. Perage again rubbed her nose thoughtfully. "As you may guess, Madoc always spoke ill of you, saying you were the true son of your wicked father, which was a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I rather think. But, you see, Madoc hated the idea of your getting the property."

"He wanted Gwen to get it?"

"Not a bit. So long as you didn't succeed he would have been content to let an hospital have it. He cared nothing for his daughter, and being such a bad father she naturally disbelieved anything he said. Far from thinking you the rascal Madoc said you were, Gwen fancied that you were quite a nice agreeable young man, which you are. I think she would have welcomed Owain Evans just as kindly as she has welcomed Owain Hench. All the same, if you win her heart as a disguised prince the romance of it will appeal to her when she learns the delightful truth."

Hench laughed, feeling greatly relieved. "Mrs. Perage, I don't believe you are a Norse goddess. You are much too romantic."

"Perhaps, young man. I am an old fool."

"You are one of the most charming people I have ever met," said Hench warmly.

"Pooh!" retorted Mrs. Perage, pleased with the compliment. "Don't make love to me, or you'll break Gwen's heart."

"Has she a heart to break--on my account, that is?"

"Young man,"--Mrs. Perage rose until her head nearly touched the low ceiling, and she assumed her grand manner,--"you don't expect one woman to tell the secrets of another woman. All the same, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. And you are blind, being in love."

"Am I in love?"

"Something tells me that you are--and with Gwen. But if you are already engaged, or if there is any other girl in the question, I tell you, young man, that I won't have it. Gwen is much too good a girl to be trifled with."

"Oh, I assure you, I am not going to trifle with her."

"Good. If you do, you'll have me to reckon with," said the old woman grimly. "I am quite Norse enough to twist your neck if you repeat in your own person the very objectionable character of your father. Tell me plump and plain, if you please: do you love Gwen?"

"I think so."

"Think so! Then you don't love her. No man worth a woman's affection can be in doubt on that point."

"Well, you see, I'm a bit of an ass as regards women," confessed Hench, flustered by her imperious insistence. "I have never been in love before."

"All the better!" cried Mrs. Perage sharply. "But I thought I was."

"Hum! Well, and why not; one must gain experience. How many times?"

"Once only. I admired this girl but she loved another man, so I went away."

"Hum!" said Mrs. Perage once more. "Is your heart broken?"

"Oh Lord, no. I soon got over it."

"Then you haven't been in love. But with regard to Gwen"--Mrs. Perage suddenly sat down and laughed heartily--"aren't we rather silly to talk in this way? We are only weaving ropes of sand, for I know nothing certain about the state of your affections or those of Gwen. I think I had better let you two manage things in your own way, and as Mother Nature--who has a large experience--dictates. All I say is, act honestly towards the girl, or you'll have me to deal with. Understand?"

"I understand." Hench laughed. "You can trust me."

Mrs. Perage went away very well satisfied with the state of affairs. At heart she was romantic like every woman, and like every woman she was quite a matchmaker. There was no young man in Cookley worthy of Gwen, so far as she knew, and this swain--so her thoughts ran--had been brought by Providence in the nick of time to save the girl from being an old maid. She longed to speak as freely to Miss Evans as she had spoken to her cousin, but did not dare to do so, lest she should frighten her into banishing the dawning feeling of love. Mrs. Perage had seen much harm come from meddling, so decided to refrain from throwing the young people too violently at one another's heads. But she certainly threw them gently, for when Hench was nearly all right a few days later, she sent him an invitation to dinner. This he accepted with great delight, and the more eagerly as Gwen had ceased her visits since he became convalescent. At the dinner he would have a chance of seeing her again, and perhaps an opportunity of hinting at his feelings. For by this time he had proved the truth of the saying that "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," and was very sure that he really and truly loved her with all the power that was in him. And this was the genuine passion of man for woman--not the counterfeit one which had led him to seek Zara Alpenny.

By this time, since the Hungarian lady was not making trouble, Hench began to think that she would leave him alone altogether. Surely, he thought, if she intended to scheme for her daughter's marriage with him, she would have made some advance before now. Her silence lifted a weight off his mind, and he arrayed himself in purple and fine linen for the dinner, feeling that the sun of prosperity was beaming on him. He went to Mrs. Perage's house, believing that the fine weather would continue, and quite forgot the adage about the treacherous calm before the storm. But when he got to the door, and the door was opened by a small smart page with a freckled face and red hair, he was reminded that it did not do to trust wholly to appearance. The sight of the boy gave him quite a shock, and an uncomfortable one, reminding him as he did of Bethnal Green.

"Bottles!" he said, stepping into the hall and staring at the lad.

"No, sir; no, Mr. Hench. I'm Peter!" grinned the boy, and began to help Hench off with his overcoat.

Then Owain remembered how Simon Jedd had told him he had a brother in service in the country--the same he had gone to see. But he never expected to find that brother in Cookley and in the service of Mrs. Perage. "You know my name?" he said hesitatingly, and wondering if the imp was to be trusted.

"Oh yes, sir. Simon has spoken heaps heaps of times to me about you, saying how kind you were to him. Knew your name, sir, the minute Miss Gwen said as you'd saved her life."

"Simon came down to see you some weeks ago?"

"Yes, sir!" Peter spoke eagerly, and was evidently about to say much, when he suddenly shut his wide mouth and said no more than the two words.

Hench settled his coat and his tie, pondering over the situation. The sight of the boy, who was connected with Bottles, revived his anxiety, and he feared lest the lad should write to London and say where he was. In that case Madame Alpenny might find him out, and then there would be trouble. But then Simon, if he did write, would do so to his brother, and Bottles was entirely to be trusted. Still, Hench would have liked to give this page a hint, yet could not do so, as it would be undignified. Peter noted his lingering and hesitation.

"Simon wants to see you, sir. It's all right."

"What's all right?" asked Hench sharply.

The page wriggled uneasily. "Simon will tell you, sir. I don't know nothing, I don't, Mr. Hench."

Owain felt uneasy at the implied mystery, but judged it wise to affect careless confidence. "Simon can come and see me when he likes," he said, and entered the drawing-room, considerably annoyed by the encounter.

[XI]

MACBETH'S BANQUET

The house of Mrs. Perage was quaint and old-fashioned, being so delightfully reminiscent of gracious antiquity that Hench was charmed with his surroundings. As a very modern young man, who had wandered largely in new lands where civilization was still raw, he was pleasantly impressed by the panelled room with the low ceiling. The furniture was Chippendale and Sheraton of the powder and puff epoch, while carpet and curtains were mellowed by age into restful colours, comfortable to the eye. An odour of dried rose leaves scented the air, mingling with the more living perfume of countless blossoms. Mrs. Perage had the happy taste to be extremely fond of flowers, it would seem, for the room was filled with colour and fragrance, even to the fireplace, which bloomed like a garden with white buds and green leaves. Even though the curtains were not yet drawn, and the luminous summer twilight stole in through the wide windows, the many lamps were lighted. And the radiance of these, diffused through rose-tinted shades, bathed the whole room in the delicate hues of dawn. This was a haven of rest, a bower of joy, a paradise of delight, and Hench drew a long breath of sheer pleasure on its threshold.

"What a charming room," he said, advancing to greet his hostess. "Charming!"

"Blunderer!" retorted that lady in her contralto voice, which boomed like the buzz of a bee in a fox glove bell. "You should say, what charming ladies."

"You would think me too bold if I put my thoughts into words."

"Very cleverly turned, young man. But women never think men are too bold when they pay compliments."

Hench laughed and smiled in a friendly way at Gwen, who was smiling in a friendly way at him. She looked wonderfully fresh, attractively delightful, as delicate as Titania and wholly as fascinating. Her dress of plain white silk adorned with black ribbons, hinting at mourning, became her well in its dainty simplicity, and Owain felt again that queer heart-throb which informed him very distinctly that this was the one girl in the world for him. No woman could be lovely unless she had golden hair and blue eyes and a complexion of cream and roses. He wondered how he ever could have admired Zara, who did not possess these necessary charms. But when he was attracted by the dancer he was a fool, now he intended to be a wise man and lay his heart at Gwen's feet. Whether she would pick it up had yet to be seen, for she gave no intimation of her feelings.

"When you two finish grinning at one another like a couple of Chinese dolls, perhaps you will remember that I am present. Sit down, young man. Are you very hungry? I have a very good dinner for you."

"Splendid! I'm not hungry, Mrs. Perage, but I am greedy."

"Pooh! That joke is as old as the hills. Be more original."

"That's difficult. How can I be original, Miss Evans?" Hench asked the question with ceremonious courtesy, which made Mrs. Perage smile, knowing what she did know.

"I think you are original," said Gwen brightly. "You saved my life!"

"Hum!" came the boom of Mrs. Perage, "and that's originality, is it?"

"Well, I don't make a practice of saving lives," laughed Hench lightly. "And I don't think I ever saved any one before. So I am_ original, you see."

The old dame smiled grimly, as she relished the young man's flippant conversation. "One grows so tired of common-sense," she murmured, following her own thoughts.

"Why, you are always commending common-sense," exclaimed Gwen, lifting her eyebrows and laughing.

"In its place, child, in its place. To-night you and Mr. Hench can talk nonsense, as it will make me feel young."

"You are young, Mrs. Perage," said Owain seriously. "Your heart is in its spring-time. You are one whom the gods love."

"Ta! Ta! Ta! young Chesterfield. Don't make me blush, as I have long since forgotten how to do so. You and your compliments, indeed! Not but what I wear tolerably well, although a trifle time-worn," which final sentence showed that Mrs. Perage had her little vanities.

And she was right in having them, for having stepped out of her rough day-clothes into sumptuous evening dress, she looked wonderfully stately. Amber satin, black lace and diamonds, oddly enough, seemed as natural to her as the more or less masculine dress which she affected during her business hours. Mrs. Perage always called looking after her farms and attending to her accounts business, which it assuredly was, and business moreover which required a clear head. In the day-time she was like one of her labourers in appearance, and her clothes might have graced a scarecrow, but when evening came she always appeared as a fine lady. This change, which reminded Hench somewhat of Miss Hardcastle in Goldsmith's comedy, amused the young man. He liked Mrs. Perage.

"I wrote and asked Jim Vane to come down to dinner," went on Mrs. Perage, after a pause. "As I thought that I could amuse myself with his wit while you attended to Gwen here. But he wrote saying that he could not come, as he was exploring Bethnal Green."

"Bethnal Green," echoed Hench with a start. "What the deuce--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Perage---but what is Jim doing there?"

"He did not explain. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing!"

"What an irrelevant reply."

"Well, I was only thinking that Jim usually prefers the West End to the quarters of the poor," said Hench guardedly. He was not quite certain if he had mentioned his sojourn at Bethnal Green to Mrs. Perage, and resolved to do so now, as--so far as he was able--he wished to be quite straight and above-board with the keen old lady. "I stayed there for six months."

"In Bethnal Green?" said Gwen, amazed. "And what were you doing in such a horrible place, Mr. Hench?"

"Well, as Jim would put it, I was doing a perish. I am a poor man, Miss Evans, and have lived for many years in Queer Street."

"Queer Street?" Gwen looked puzzled.

"It is the name given to the locality where those unsuccessful people who are trying for what they can't get live in penury."

Gwen looked at Hench's well-cut suit of evening clothes, at his well-bred face, and considered his general debonair appearance. "You don't look poor."

"There is poverty and poverty," said Mrs. Perage gruffly. "Mr. Hench is not yet in the workhouse, Gwen. For my part I think 'a perish,' as you say Jim calls it, is not a bad thing for a young man. It gives him experience of life----"

"Of the seamy side of life, Mrs. Perage," interpolated the young man.

"And what is more picturesque than that. Here we are all respectable and eminently dull. There's the gong." She rose with a well-managed sweep of her skirts. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."

"Or diet," said Hench, holding the door open for the ladies. "Pooh! nonsense!" said the Amazon vigorously. "Young men shouldn't know the meaning of such a word. I'm sure I don't. I have a strong digestion and a hard heart."

"Not that last," said Gwen quickly; "as I know."

"What imagination you have, child," retorted Mrs. Perage, and took her position at the head of a small table, while Gwen and Hench sat on either side. "And I hope you don't mind our straggling into the dining-room in this free and easy way," she added to the young man; "but I couldn't take your arm as Gwen would have felt out of it, and I wasn't going to let you give Gwen your arm lest you should lack reverence for my age." And she laughed in her deep, hearty fashion, evidently desirous of making her guest feel quite at home.

The dining-room was a small apartment decorated and furnished in the Jacobean style. But Hench could not see much of it, as there were only candles in sconces here and there. The most powerful illumination was that thrown by a large lamp with a green shade, which hung low over the table. In its light the white napery, the old silver, the crystal glasses and the many flowers, looked peculiarly attractive. And the table not being over large, the three seated at it could converse with one another very much at their ease. A deft maid and Peter waited dexterously, and everything ran smoothly during the meal.

"This is my hour of relaxation," explained Mrs. Perage briskly. "I am ominously fond of my creature comforts and this is my favourite soup."

"Why ominously?"

"Silly questioner. Doesn't devotion to eating show that one is growing old?"

"Then I must have been born old," said Hench gaily, "for I have always had a good appetite since I was a boy, and have always liked nice things." His eyes rested, perhaps inadvertently, on Gwen as he spoke.

"Ah!" Mrs. Perage had noticed the look, and spoke significantly. "You are one of those lucky people who will always get the nice things."

"I haven't had much luck so far, Mrs. Perage."

"Ungrateful! What do you call this?"

"Paradise!" said Hench briefly.

"With you as Adam, Gwen as Eve, and myself as the Serpent."

"Aren't you talking dreadful nonsense?" observed the girl seriously.

"Not at all," retorted the old lady coolly. "It is common-sense to chatter amusingly. Enjoy yourself, child, and when trouble comes you will be able to remember at least one happy hour."

"Trouble has come, and severe trouble, too," replied Gwen softly, and with a gloomy air.

"Now, not another word!" Mrs. Perage spoke sharply. "We can talk of that afterwards in the drawing-room."

"Talk of what?" asked Hench innocently, for he was surprised by Gwen's gloom and Mrs. Perage's sharpness.

The old dame rubbed her nose in a vexed way. "Gwen has something to ask you this evening," she observed. "I think it is nonsense myself. No! I won't tell you what it is just now, neither will Gwen. Let us enjoy our meal without the discussion of horrors."

This was all very well, but how was Hench to enjoy his meal when Care stood like a waiter behind his chair? The presence of Peter reminded him of Bottles, and that memory brought to his recollection The Home of the Muses in Bethnal Green, where, for all he knew, Madame Alpenny might be plotting. Then he wondered what had taken Jim to the house, for there he must have gone, as it was unlikely he would journey to such a district for any other purpose. Perhaps the Hungarian lady was already weaving her nets to snare him--the thinker-either as a husband for Zara, or as a criminal. It was very uncomfortable thinking.

And being so alarmed, Hench did his best to talk brightly and amusingly. For the time being he was "fey," as the Scotch say, and roused his cousin out of her gloom by his sallies. Mrs. Perage seconded him admirably, as she quite enjoyed a contest of wits, which was rare to come by in Cookley. The food was good, the wine was excellent, the company interesting. All the same Hench felt that this meal was like Macbeth's banquet, and behind the revelry lurked the grim figure of Tragedy with her bowl and dagger. At any moment Banquo in the person of Madame Alpenny might appear. Of course such a supposition was nonsense, as the Hungarian lady did not know where he was. But the feeling became so real to Hench that he cast several uneasy looks behind his chair. Gwen noticed this and remarked on the same nervously.

"Why do you look over your shoulder?" she asked petulantly.

"For the Kill-joy," said Hench in a blunt way. "You know, Miss Evans, man is never permitted to be entirely happy. There is always the Kill-joy."

"Gwen will provide you with all the Kill-joy you are needing," said Mrs. Perage significantly. "Wait until we go to the drawing-room. Meantime go on scintillating, young man. Talk your heart out."

"To whom?" asked Hench audaciously.

"To me, sir. You can flirt with Gwen to-morrow; to-night old age must have its turn. Here are some very excellent cigarettes. Light up and talk."

"You remind me of the lady who asked Sydney Smith when he was going to be funny," said Hench dryly. "It is not easy to talk when so ordered. As to Miss Evans, she never flirts."

"Ah, you don't know my capabilities," retorted Gwen, with a mischievous gleam in her blue eyes. "I have many sides to my character."

"And all charming, I am sure," answered the young man courteously.

And so the conversation went on, all frothy, all about nothings--mere spume and spindrift of the mind. And the lighter it became the more certain did Hench become sure that Banquo's ghost was haunting the room. He felt quite relieved when Mrs. Perage conducted himself and Gwen into the drawing-room, for there the psychic atmosphere was less oppressive. The girl, however, appeared to feel it otherwise, for after playing on the piano for a few minutes she began to wander restlessly round the room. Mrs. Perage attempted to frown her into sitting down, but as this proved to be an impossible task she accepted the situation with grim resignation.

"You may as well enlist Mr. Hench as your champion, child. You will never be quiet until you do."

"Enlist me as your champion!" echoed Hench, glancing at Gwen.

The girl grew flushed. "That is Mrs. Perage's pretty way of putting things," was her reply, as she sat down near the hostess. "But I do wish you to help me, Mr. Hench. I'm not quite sure if I am right in doing so, and perhaps you will think it is presumption on my part. But, somehow, your having saved my life has made you more than a friend."

"More than a friend?"

"I mean"--Gwen became even more crimson than she already was, as she became aware that she had spoken more freely than was necessary--"more familiar than most of my friends."

"Who are usually mere acquaintances," observed Mrs. Perage quietly. "Why beat about the bush, Gwen? You know that Mr. Hench is clever and kind-hearted, and you are anxious that he should do you a favour. That is the situation."

"Any favour I can do you, Miss Evans----" began the young man eagerly, when the girl stopped him.

"Don't say another word until you know what the favour is," she said in an abrupt manner; "to do what I want may be unpleasant. In a word I want you to try and find out who murdered my father."