ANSFER

HN 1 J&R
9
HELE PURPLE
• PEARL
ANTHONY PRYDE
RK. WEEKES


1017206



Tug weed in drace
is Lexing low





THE PURPLE PEARL





THE
PURPLE PEARL
BY
ANTHONY PRYDE jowolná a town
AUTHOR OF “MARQUERAY'S DUEL,” “NIGHTFALL," ETC."
AND
R. K. WEEKES
AUTHOR OF “THE LAURENSONS," ETC.

einh
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1922


KD 17206
HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY
COPYRIGHT 1922
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY
The Quinn & Boden Company
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
RAHWAY
NEW JERSEY


TO
MARK HOLLAND





THE PURPLE PEARL





THE PURPLE PEARL
CHAPTER I
MART
ARTIN MEREWORTH at twenty-seven
was still young enough to like dances and
dancing, but when one is home on sick
leave from the Front one is obliged to forswear the
attractions of the foxtrot. It was hard on him, be-
cause he was very fond indeed of dancing with his
cousin Violet, and though there was no definite un-
derstanding between them he had reached the stage
when he did not particularly like watching her
dance with anybody else. Least of all with a fellow
he had never seen before, one of Mrs. Adeane's
crowd, a big man whose evening dress Martin would
have set down as ready made if it had been pos-
sible to believe that any shop would consider him
stock size, and whose deliberate movements sug.
gested to Martin that he had acquired the art in
the suburbs at six lessons for half a guinea.
And out of three months' leave Martin had only
three hours left. He had fibbed his way through
a Medical Board and was going direct to France,
though a disinclination to stand long and the al-
most constant pressure of one hand on his knee


THE PURPLE PEARL
in her violet eyes was all that was left to console
Martin when she was borne away. He glanced at
his wrist watch. Was he to go back to France
without even saying good-bye?
Turning away, he was not pleased to find the
backwoodsman in his path, watching him with an
unwarrantably friendly smile. "Excuse me”—the
accent was not quite that of the easy London speech
Martin was accustomed to hear—“but you said you
were Miss Mereworth's cousin-are you Martin
Mereworth?”
Martin looked him up and down before replying
-a brief but comprehensive glance. He certainly
was not "Martin Mereworth" for this occasion.
“Yes."
"I'm Bernard."
“Really?”
“Bernard Mereworth—the Birmingham lot, you
know. But perhaps you aren't interested in the
family history?”
“Oh!” Light dawned on Martin. So that was
why Mrs. Adeane had taken the fellow up! "My
second cousin, aren't you?” He felt no inclination
to claim kinship with the Birmingham Mereworths,
but for decency's sake one must be civil to the fel-
low. "So sorry I didn't identify you at first, but
I believe we've never met before. Come and sit
down somewhere out of this crush, won't you? We
might go and have a drink."
Bernard, following his cousin's lead, sat down


THE PURPLE PEARL
were, it was no great matter-and even the dis-
position to come too quickly to familiar terms; it
was at the civilian dress and the "pots of money"
that he drew the line.
“Are you staying in town ?-Bring me two cock.
tails, please.”
“Not for me."
“What will you have, then?”
“Nothing, thanks. I'm a teetotaller. You see,
my grandfather Mereworth died of D.T. Always
best to be on the safe side, what?”
He smiled cheerfully into Martin's faintly aston-
ished eyes.
“Oh?—Two cups of coffee, please. And don't
you smoke, either?'' Martin held out his case.
"Yes, thanks, I find a cigar no end soothing in
a tight place.” He lit up and settled himself cau-
tiously against the cushions. “I always expect to
go through these things on the floor. I did once,
and there was the divvle to pay. Nearly upset a
promising deal—but that isn't your line, of course.
Yes, I'm in town for a spell. Putting up at a tem-
perance pub in the Euston Road. I thought I
should certainly get robbed if I went to one of
your big London places, but a temperance hotel is
so respectable. I'm very green."
Martin, apparently studying his own instep, was
afraid his cousin would find Euston a long way off.
If he could be of any service
“Oh, I couldn't put your kindness to such a


THE PURPLE PEARL
strain," was the cheerfully ambiguous reply. “Se.
riously, though, I'm very glad to have run across
you. The fact is, I came to town expressly to look
up my relations."
“You're lucky to be able to get away when you
like.”
“I can't. I haven't had a holiday since 1913.
But they've recently sent me back my right-hand
man-he got smashed in a flying accident and in-
valided out-so I thought I'd take a spell and see
what you people down south were like. I couldn't
call on you because I hadn't your address I did
call on Mrs. Adeane. She seems extremely-hos.
pitable.” The small hesitation might have meant
simply that he was searching for a word, or it
might not. “And my cousin Violet-Miss Mere-
worth—is extremely pretty.”
He admired her, did he? Mrs. Adeane would see
to it that he had every chance of admiring her.
“Ye-es,” said Martin, drawling, "she is considered
so.”
“Why does she stay with Mrs. Adeane? She
doesn't seem to have much of a time.”
“Mrs. Adeane,” Martin's accent was polite to the
verge of ineptitude, “is her aunt, you know.”
“Yes, that had dawned on my intelligence. She's
not by any chance engaged, is she? Unofficially,
I mean."
Well: one cannot hit one's relation in a supper
room. Martin, in self-defence, fell back on levity.


THE PURPLE PEARL
9
she's
er-
tied his cup, set it down, and was on his feet in a
moment with an easy swing of his big frame.
“Well, I'll be pushing on. Good-night, Captain
Mereworth; sorry I don't pass muster,” he said,
and was gone.
s lit.
eane i
and
wice
Per
į in.
ren't i
; the
Ve.”
Iar-
im-
the
sing
m's
dn't
of a
-rely
gret.
2mp-


CHAPTER II
· ARTIN!”
Martin was on his feet, looking after
Bernard Mereworth, the colour which his
cousin's Parthian shot had called up still warm in
his cheeks. He had never been made to feel such
a fool in his life, and his instinct was to race after
Bernard with some disarmingly warm and youth-
ful apology. But here was Violet, adorably
flushed, half shy, half eager, and at sight of her
he forgot everything else on earth.
"I've run away from Tony Fleet. He went to
get me an ice, and I saw you across the room, and
Oh, Martin, I couldn't let you go without saying a
good-bye! Do you mind?”
His chance at last! “The garden," said Martin.
It was a grey night, warm and quiet. On the
turf under the elm trees, except for the glow thrown
up over the clouds and the distant lulling murmur
of traffic, London might have been a hundred miles
away. There were no lamps, and not many peo-
ple, for supper was going on within doors, and in
the shade of great shrubs of lilac and yew, centu-
ries old, ran winding walks which gave a certain
amount of privacy. At the far end, in a sheltered
and solitary alley, Martin dropped Violet's arm
10


THE PURPLE PEARL
11
.
and stood before her with bent head, slipping his
hands into his pockets.
“I say, I want to ask you to marry me. Will
you?"
“Oh!" said Violet.
"I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but I shouldn't think
you were altogether taken by surprise. You must
have seen that I love you. I'd like to tell you so
more—more fluently, but I haven't much time, and
circumstances aren't propitious. It wouldn't be
pleasant for either of us, would it, if I were dis-
covered on my knees ?”
Violet would not have cared if he had been dis-
covered on his knees in the ballroom. Had she
seen that he loved her? She had had a thousand
hopes and fears; most of all she had dreaded that
he would go away this time, as he had gone before,
without letting her know what was in her mind.
And now—“If you're sure you really want me,
Martin,” she murmured meekly. “You know I'd
always do anything you want.”
“Thank you,” said Martin. After a moment he
added, “Then I may-may I ?”
Violet was wearing a posy of her name-flowers
tucked into her dress. Delicately, with the tips
of his fingers, Martin disengaged three or four of
the dark, long-stemmed, fragrant English violets
(it was characteristic of him that he did not take
the whole bunch), touched them with his lips, and
slipped them into the pocket of his coat.


12
THE PURPLE PEARL
"If these come back to you, Violet, you'll know
I've gone where I can't take any sort of violet.”
Violet made a quick movement. “That settles that,
then, and did you think I was such a sentimental
fellow?” He laughed down at her, reverting to his
lightest tone. “Come and sit down on the bank;
the grass is dry, and that lilac dress of yours looks
what the fair Bernard would call ‘no end jolly'
against this hedge of honeysuckle. Yes, I do mean
Bernard Mereworth. What made you give the fel-
low three dances? Three-I counted them.”
“I couldn't help it, Martin. I didn't want to!
I hate dancing with him—I don't like being thrown
down in the middle of the room for every one to
laugh at." This was not strictly fair to Bernard,
but Miss Mereworth had her excuses. “If I'm not
nice to him Aunt Helena does scold me so. She
flings him at my head morning, noon, and night!”
“Do you mean she wants you to marry him ?''
Violet nodded resignedly. "Last year it was
Lord Ingres, now it's Bernard Mereworth, and
worse than ever. You see, I'm twenty-four, and
she thinks it's time I was off her hands. Oh, Mar-
tin, why can't she like you instead of him? You're
both my cousins-she might just as well!”.
“I can't think why, unless it's because he's rolling
in money and I haven't a farthing. But why don't
you like the fair Bernard? Taken out of his
clothes he would be a handsome man, and he's a
bit of a sportsman in his way."


THE PURPLE PEARL
13
“I can't bear him," said Violet quite fiercely-
Violet, who was sweetness itself. “He is a boor.
He never knows when he isn't wanted. Besides, I
hate to see him in those civilian things—I always
want to ask him why he isn't at the Front."
“He knows a trick worth two of that.” Martin's
tone was unexpectedly bitter. "He's one of the
heroes that are going to win the war in the work.
shop. So when I'm back in the trenches he'll still
be available to dance with you.”
“I will try not to let him. I will do my very
best. But he-he does persecute me, and Aunt
Helena scolds and scolds,"
“And I'm in France. What hard lines, isn't it?"
Martin crossed his knees and lit a cigarette. Violet
watched him wistfully; was he really sorry for her
and did he really care? And was this to be all?
Well, whatever Martin did was right in Violet's
eyes. “Ah! well, I owe Bernard an apology. But
I shan't pay it. He has all the luck."
“It's all my own silly fault, because I can't stand
up to people. Oh, Martin, why am I such a little
duffer? I haven't any sense at all. I don't won.
der your stepmother thinks I'm not good enough
for you. But tell me, are you going to say any.
thing to her before you go? Won't she be very
cross ?”
Violet spoke in all good faith; she thought very
humbly of herself; yet she had more excuse for
vanity than most women. She was very lovely;


14
THE PURPLE PEARL
slight as a lily and lily-fair, with dark hair and
long dark lashes curling back from eyes that
matched the flowers of her name. Sweet eyes, a
little wistful, a little pathetic; when she raised
them in their appealing softness, Martin found it
hard to keep the self-denying ordinance he had im-
posed upon them both. He seized her hand; but
at that moment a red-faced young man and a lady
in pink wandered into the lilac alley and sat down
on a bench, and he was obliged to drop it again.
“Dash it all, this is a rotten way to get engaged !"
he said piteously. “My stepmother? Yes, I spoke
to her this morning, and she absolutely forbade me
to marry you."
“Martin, you don't mean it?"
He nodded, twisting his little dark moustache.
“It's this rotten old family feud. She was most
frightfully angry and said that if I was going to
unite myself to your branch of the family I could
choose between you and her. And do you know I
haven't a penny beyond what she allows me? My
father ran through every farthing of his own money
at the gaming tables. It was in his blood and he
couldn't stop himself. No one knew it, but he was
out and out ruined when Lady Grace married him.
She paid his debts and my school bills, and when
I grew up she sent me into the Guards. There's
plenty going as long as I behave myself, but if I
do anything her ladyship doesn't like!” He
shrugged his shoulders as if the world were too


THE PURPLE PEARL
15
much for him. “Did you ever hear of a more ex-
asperating position? Here am I, a strong, healthy
fellow of seven and twenty in a crack regiment,
and I can't marry the woman I love because I can't
afford to keep a wife!"
The world had always been too much for Martin
Mereworth: a young Guardsman well supplied with
money, popular wherever he went, heir to the fam-
ily property and the title that went with it, many
a working man at Castle Mereworth had more per-
sonal liberty than he. His mother, whom he dearly
loved, had died when he was sixteen, and the rapid
re-marriage of his father, an ill-tempered man with
a cutting tongue, was a great distress to Martin.
His stepmother liked him, but Martin kept his dis-
tance till Julian Mereworth interfered. “Be civil
to your mother, Martin.” Martin, wincing, said
that Lady Grace was not his mother. “She pays
for you,” said Mr. Mereworth. “She pays for your
food and your clothes. She runs this house. I
haven't any money. You're entirely dependent on
her and so am I. So be civil to her, understand?"
He had not to speak twice.
It is hard to break the thousand and one cob.
web filaments of association and suggestion. Mar-
tin's tastes were bookish, but he hunted and shot
because territorial heirs are expected to hunt and
shoot. He had a secret passion for the sea, but
his nomination for the Guards had been promised
to him in his cradle, and in the end he found him-


16
THE PURPLE PEARL
self in the army as a matter of course. It wearied
him to such an extent that he was making tenta-
tive efforts to escape when war broke out and es-
cape ceased to be imaginable. And he had gone on
doggedly against the grain through four years of
dirt and discomfort, hating it steadily from end to
end. He never told any one that he hated it. He
had fibbed to the Medical Board because his bat-
talion were short of officers. He knew that if he
had put in for an extension of leave he could have
got it. He was a stoic in his way, Martin Mere-
worth: something of an ascetic too, as Violet Mere-
worth was finding out to her cost.
He pulled down a sprig of honeysuckle to in.
hale the scent, then slipped his hand back between
his crossed knees. “How sweet this place smells !"
“Martin, is your knee hurting ?” asked Violet tim-
idly.
“No, thanks. So you see I'm afraid it means a
row with Lady Grace."
“Shall you mind ?”
“Not much. It was bound to come. I owe her
a great deal and I shall never quarrel with her,
but she can't captain the ship and she wouldn't like
it if she could. She always wants her own way
but she doesn't think much of you if you let her
get it. She enjoys scrapping. That's why she
married my father. I call it deuced uncomfortable
myself."
“We really aren't a very loving family,” said


THE PURPLE PEARL
17
Violet. “Aunt Helena hates your stepmother, too,
and as for Grandfather, I don't know what he'd
say if he knew about—if he knew we'd made
friends, you and I. Martin, why is it? Why
should they all quarrel so?”
“It's the old trouble. They simply don't seem
able to forget.” Martin laughed, moving restlessly
in search of the ease which was not often granted
to him. He had sprained his knee in an ugly fall
among barbed wire and was reaping an aftermath
of mild neuritis. Violet was certain she could have
stroked away the pain with her soft band, but she
dared not touch him, and she dared not question
him. “I believe the only thing that would heal the
feud would be for one of us to find the family treas-
ure."
“What treasure?"
“Old Monte Carlo Mereworth’s treasure the
Purple Pearl.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, my darling girl, you don't mean to say
you never heard of the Purple Pearl ?”
“No, I never did. Tell me about it.”
“Quite right-it is much nicer on the lawn,” was
the seemingly irrelevant reply. The pink lady and
her escort had moved away. “Violet—now those
two charmers have gone, couldn't you let me hold
your hand?– Thank you. Because I shall be in
France in twenty-four hours and then I shan't have
apybody's hand to hold.” Violet's fingers curled


18
THE PURPLE PEARL
up very contentedly inside his light warm clasp.
It was better than nothing. “I never wanted any-
thing so badly in my life as I want to kiss you,
Violet, but I won't. Not now. Let's see, what was
I saying? You scatter all my ideas. Oh, the Pur-
ple Pearl! Well, once upon a time-it was in the
spring of 1870, to be precise".
“Never mind the date, it doesn't matter when
it was!"
“Yes, it does, it matters most awfully. In 1870,
darling Violet, you may remember that our great-
grandfather, the famous Monte Carlo Mereworth,
died. He had played hard all his life and before
giving up the ghost be determined to have a final
flutter. He called his three sons to his dying bed :
that was your grandfather, the eldest son and heir:
.my grandfather: and the grandfather of the afore-
said Bernard of Birmingbam whom you're going
to marry after I've been blown up by a Hun"
“Martin, don't!"
“I'm sorry, dearest darling.–So the old sport
said to them, 'I hate you all equally and I don't
want to leave my money to any of you. Rollo'—
that's your grandfather, sweetheart—'will get Cas-
tle Mereworth because it's entailed. But I've
turned all the loose cash into jewels and hidden
them in the Castle, and the fellow that first finds
them can collar the lot. Here are three envelopes.
Take them away but swear not to open them till
I'm dead.' So they all swore on a Bible which


THE PURPLE PEARL
19
had to be borrowed from the butler because there
wasn't one in the family. “In these three en-
velopes," said our ancestor, you will find three
clues to the hiding-place of the treasure. None of
them is any good without the others. If you have
any common sense you will pool your information
and divide the jewels. If you haven't, and I don't
believe you have, you will fight like cats and dogs,
and my one regret is that I shan't live to see it.'
Then the footman bowed them out and three days
later the old fellow died.”
“And did they quarrel ?”
Martin laughed. “I believe the scene that fol-
lowed was indescribable. When my grandfather
opened his paper he found one word of four letters,
perfectly unintelligible. He sent it to every cryp-
tographer in London but none of them could make
head or tail of it. Your grandfather had the same
experience. After six futile weeks they agreed to
a compromise, but when they approached the other
fellow, the youngest brother, they had the most
painful surprise of their lives. Bernard Senior
—they're all Bernards in that branch-said he
should love to come into the ring but it was out
of his power. His envelope had been stolen from
him by his German valet before he opened it. It
appears that Bernard Senior was the gayest of the
trio, and he had been-er-unduly communicative
after supper. Otto Heinz put two and two to-
gether and took the paper out of his master's pocket


20
THE PURPLE PEARL
when Bernard Senior wasn't in a position to pro-
test."
“But why didn't they catch the valet ?''
“Because, darling, it was 1870, as I said before,
and Otto Heinz had been mobilized back to the
Fatherland. And whether or not he died before
the walls of Paris no man knows because he was
never heard of again. But the fat was in the fire
because not one of the brothers was going to re-
veal his word unless he could get both the others in
exchange. There was, in short, the most tremen-
dous family row. Your grandfather and my grand-
father refused to believe in Otto. They said he
was a myth and that Bernard Senior had the paper
up his own sleeve all the time. They were deadly
polite to each other but deadly uncivil to Bernard,
and they turned the Castle upside down looking
for the Pearl, but they never found it. There was
a clause providing that the younger brothers were
to have right of access, but Bernard was out of
that because on his own showing he hadn't any
clue at all. Bernard was dead cuts with the rest
of the family and went into trade, where be ac-
quired much money, of which your future husband
reaps the benefit; your branch and my branch set-
tled down in gentlemanly idleness. But they quar-
relled, too; they were always accusing each other
of getting up early to scout the Pearl; if it weren't
for my mother," Martin's voice softened suddenly,
“I should never have set foot inside the Castle.


THE PURPLE PEARL
21
She kept a truce of God all round. She even clung
to the Birmingham Mereworths; there was talk
of young Bernard's coming to stay with us once,
but the pater stopped that. You remember her?”
"I remember her,” said Violet softly. “I loved
your mother.”
“Yes: well, when she died and Lady Grace came
on the scenes, the truce of God dissolved rather
rapidly. Within six months no two of us were on
speaking terms. That's why I can't marry you.
Quaint, isn't it? Old Monte Carlo Mereworth
must be chuckling over his little joke."
“Does anybody know any of the words now?''
“I know mine because my father gave me the
piece of paper when he was dying, and your grand-
father presumably knows his, and either young
Bernard knows his or some young Otto Heinz does
-unless Heinz was shot before he had time to pass
it on. I'll tell you mine if you like. It's dine."
“What?”
“D-I-N-E. At the Ritz or anywhere you like.
No, not romantic, is it? Not much to go on, either;
one can't call it anything really helpful in the way
of a clue.”
“Martin, do you believe this story?”'
“On my honour, I don't know," said Martin more
seriously. “It sounds like purple moonshine,
doesn't it? But the fact remains that old Monty
Mereworth did buy the Purple Pearl, not to speak
of quite forty thousand pounds' worth of other


22 THE PURPLE PEARL
jewels which have vanished off the face of the earth.
Otto could bave sold those abroad but he couldn't
have sold the P.P. anywhere without a hue and
cry. It was a historic jewel and had belonged to
a Ranee of Bengal, and it was an extraordinary
colour, said to be unique. Otto may have kept it
in his breeches' pocket or it may still be hidden in
one of the Mereworth coal-scuttles, but this much
is certain, that it was bought by our great-grand-
father in 1868 and has never come into the world's
markets since."
“Dear! I shall now go straight home and look
for it," said Violet. “Or turn Winnie on; she's
very good at puzzles and things. It's something
like a treasure!"
"Forty thousand pounds. A modest compe-
tence: yes, when the war's over we might get along
on that without selling the P.P.”
"I shouldn't think of selling the Pearl," Violet
declared. “It ought to be a family heirloom-
oh, Martin, don't look at your watch! ,Oh, it isn't
time already, is it?"
Midnight was striking from all the chimes of
London. Martin stood up. He was still smiling,
but he was very pale; it was no more than thou-
sands of others had to go through, but that reflec-
tion, though fortifying, was not consolatory. He
was distressed and anxious for Violet. She was
sweet and gentle, and he loved her for it, but it
made him cruelly anxious. What would happen if


THE PURPLE PEARL
23
Mrs. Adeane put the screw on? And what about
Bernard Mereworth? Martin's cheeks still burnt
when he remembered his conversation with Ber-
nard; he felt that Bernard had come out of it bet.
ter than himself. On second thoughts and in cold
blood he rather liked wbat he had seen of Bernard
-his cousin after all; the tie of kinship counted
for a great deal with Martin Mereworth; but that
again was no consolation. A thorough bully might
have roused in Violet some sort of fighting spirit,
but when she got to know him better would she
be able to stand up against a man of Bernard's
quality-certainly strong and persistent, probably
gentle, and backed by all the resources that money
gives? Handsome, too, in his way: Martin recalled
his rival's fair profile with a spice of the family
rancour. Except for the family trait of fine eyes
under black eyelashes, his own pleasant dark fea-
tures laid no claim to beauty.
“Yes, I must be off," he said. “I shall only just
have time to change and catch my train. Never
mind, darling, the war will be over before long,
and then if my stepmother remains obdurate I'll
chuck up my commission and go into the city and
marry you."
He held out his hand to say good-bye. Violet,
cruelly disappointed, but submissive, gave him her
own, smiling at him bravely. She was unconscious
of the appeal in her fawn-soft eyes, but it took
Martin's breath away and carried him off his feet.


24
THE PURPLE PEARL
He could deny himself but he could not deny Violet,
though nothing would have made him believe that
his self-repression was as hard on her as it was on
him. “Oh! I can't stand this, I must have one
kiss," he murmured, and took it, and then drew
back, his dark face working. “I didn't mean to
do this, Violet. It isn't fair. I shall only hurt
you all the more."
“I wish I wish you had married me before you
went.”
"Hush, you don't know what you're saying.”
He drew her into his arms again and leaned his
cheek against hers. “Don't tempt me. I should
have deserved to be shot if I had. You're so young,
Violet. Do you love me? I could have made you
love me a great deal more. More, more than you've
any idea of. Oh, my God, why didn't I marry you
before I went out? But no, if I do get killed it
will be better for you to be free. Only you won't
let them marry you to any one else, will you, so
long as I'm alive?" Insensibly she was drawn
closer and closer till she could feel his heart beat-
ing against her own. “You're so young, my sweet.
That's what frightens me. I can understand well
enough why men desert, now.'' He was struggling
to keep his ordinary voice and manner, but with
imperfect success. Violet had never seen bis gay
reserve broken down before. “Violet, 1–1 love
you so, you will be true to me?"
“Oh! do men never understand? Never mind."


THE PURPLE PEARL
25
She turned her lips to his. “Yes, I love you, Mar-
tin. You don't half know how I love you. And
no, I will never marry any other man so long as
you're alive. Never, never. Indeed you can trust
me. But oh! my dearest, don't, don't get killed.
You're all my strength. If you die, 1-can't—"
“Rubbish! I'm not going to die!" He fought
his way back to self-command, but it was, visibly,
a hard fight. “Don't cry, my sweet one. We're
all in it together.” Docile, Violet repressed her
tears. They could wait till Martin was gone.
“My batman's worse off than I am."
“Why?"
“He's engaged to three girls,” Martin explained,
carefully drying Violet's eyes with his own hand-
kerchief. “One's more than enough for me."


THE PURPLE PEARL
27
days when Rollo Mereworth had taken French
leave of King Stephen to build himself an eyrie
and harry the countryside. Tradition said that
Queen Bess had slept in its one habitable room.
Tradition also said that other ladies equally fair
and frail had occasionally been put up in it even
within living memory; but it was empty now, and
likely to remain so for many a year to come.
A few weeks after Martin left for the front, the
setting sun was streaming into the room where his
grandfather Rollo, sixth Baron Mereworth, lay
dying in an immense Jacobean bed. Lord Mere-
worth had been and still was a very handsome man.
Wrapped in a Chinese dressing-gown, he lay
propped on pillows, staring out of the open win-
dow towards the sea. He was dying, but he still
had zest to appreciate that view, and also the
beauty of his granddaughter Violet, who sat sew-
ing in a low chair beside his bed. The Mereworths
as a family were not virtuous; frequently they were
not even respectable. Of the three brothers who
had quarrelled over the Pearl, the youngest drank,
the second played, while the eldest had been a con-
noisseur of many things, but principally of women.
Lord Mereworth lay watching his granddaughter
with half-shut eyes, admiring her beauty as if she
were a picture. Violet could never make up her
mind which she liked less, the scoldings of her
aunt or the compliments of her grandfather. But
she had her harbour of refuge, the secret door


THE PURPLE PEARL
29
of stories to tell your husband when you get one.
Well, my dear, if you knew what a temptation it
is to call up that very pretty blush of yours, you
would be surprised at my moderation. I could
have told you far worse things, if that's any solace
-no, I'm not going to begin now, you can sit down
again"- Violet had started to her feet—"sit down,
I tell you! Do you think I'm going to be disobeyed
because I'm on my deathbed? Sit down.”
Violet sat down. She never got used to being
shouted at; besides, it was no good, whatever he
chose to say she could not leave him; he might die
at any minute.
“If you're going to talk to me, grandfather,
won't you let me give you your medicine first?
Dr. Scott said—”
“Hang Dr. Scott.” Lord Mereworth glowered
resentfully at the table by his bedside, strewn with
all the paraphernalia of illness. He hated having
to take medicine, or wear Jaeger, or use spectacles,
or make any other concession to his age and in-
firmity. “When do you expect that brat to ar-
rive?"
This was Violet's sister. Winnie, who had been
sent to a convent school in France the year before
war broke out, and had stayed there ever since.
She could have been brought home, but the neces-
sary arrangements would have given Lord Mere-
worth a good deal of trouble, and it had seemed
simpler to leave her where she was. What Winnie


30
THE PURPLE PEARL
felt about it Lord Mereworth had not been at the
pains to enquire.
Violet glanced at the clock. “If she catches the
express she ought to be here directly, but I doubt
if she can. Except”-she smiled—"except that
Winnie generally manages to do what she wants."
“Well, it doesn't matter, I can't wait for her.
She's of no consequence, and I may not be able to
talk much longer. You are the person to be con-
sidered. Violet, have you ever considered what
you will do after I am dead?”
“No, grandfather, only”.
“Only what?"
“Only I don't think I'll go on living with Aunt
Helena,” said Violet slowly but decisively. Lord
Mereworth's eyes twinkled.
"I never could stand her myself so I don't blame
you, my dear. A very vulgar-minded woman. I
dare say you think it unkind of me to have left
you to her tender mercies since you grew up, but
some one had to bring you out, and I couldn't do
it myself. Couldn't, and couldn't afford to. Do
you think I am a rich man, Violet?”
“I don't know that I ever thought about it.”
“Oh, didn't you? Well, I'm not. I'm a very
poor man. Since Mr. Lloyd George clapped on a
six shilling income tax I've had the greatest dif-
ficulty in making both ends meet.” Violet's eyes
strayed involuntarily round the room. “Exactly,"
Lord Mereworth followed her thoughts. “That's


THE PURPLE PEARL
31
where it all went. Keeping up Mereworth has
taken my last sixpence. Heaven knows why I both-
ered to keep it up, since every stick and stone will
go to that young rapscallion in the Guards. If it
weren't entailed I'd leave it to you. Yes, I would.
You match the place. I'm proud of you, my dear;
I consider you do me credit. The turn of your
head and throat—well, well, I won't pay you com-
pliments if you don't like them; though how in the
world, with all these whimsies, you think you're
ever going to put up with a husband I'm sure I
don't know. However, that's neither here nor
there. I can't leave Mereworth to you. It's a pain-
ful thing to reflect that it'll all have to go to a
young idiot who couldn't even prevent himself from
getting taken prisoner.”
Violet flushed again. “He couldn't belp it,
grandfather. It wasn't his fault. He was wounded
-wounded and unconscious. You may not like
him, but I don't think you ought to sneer at him.
After all, he is a Mereworth, too."
"Oh, indeed?” Lord Mereworth eyed her rather
sharply. “How did you hear that?”
“I saw it in the Times. I always look for any-
thing about my cousins. Martin Mereworth has
the Mons Star, and Bernard-Bernard has a fac-
tory in Birmingham.”
“Damn Bernard. Apologies, my dear, but he's
worse than the other one. Thank heaven he can't
come into the property so long as Martin's alive,


32
THE PURPLE PEARL
and Martin is pretty safe now-he's taken good
care of that. Don't contradict me. I say a man
need not be taken prisoner. I won't be contra-
dicted. Hold your tongue, miss.” Violet held her
tongue, but her eyes were mutinous. “At all events
Martin won't turn you out of the Castle directly
the breath's out of my body, and the other one
certainly would. I don't know what's to become
of you, I'm sure, if you won't live with Helena.
You'll get twenty-five pounds a year from me, each
of you, and that's all you'll have to live on."
“Twenty-five pounds a year!” Violet looked
aghast; then, with the irresponsibility of youth
and inexperience, she laughed. “We shall have to
go out as housemaids, I suppose. Unless Winnie
manages to find the Purple Pearl!”
The moment the words were spoken she regretted
them; but she was not prepared for their effect
on her grandfather. Lord Mereworth could not
walk, otherwise Violet might have been in danger
of personal violence. He started up in bed, lean-
ing on one arm. “Who told you about the Purple
Pearl, miss? Who told you about the Pearl ?”
“Grandfather, do lie down—"
“Was it Martin Mereworth? Was it that young
good-for-nothing?"
"He isn't a good-for-nothing! I won't have you
say it!”
“Come here, child.” Violet, who was no coward,
came up to the bed. Lord Mereworth gripped her


THE PURPLE PEARL
33
wrist. "I believe you've been carrying on with that
fellow in town. I told Helena not to let you meet
him. I'll give her a piece of my mind. Have you
met him?” He actually shook Violet in his rage.
“Have you met him, I say?"
“Yes, I have,” said Violet, pale but valiant.
“I've seen him sometimes at the Fleets'. It wasn't
Aunt Helena's fault. She was very cross with me.
I've always been very fond of Martin. We're
we're great friends."
“Friends!” Lord Mereworth sank back on his
pillow. “Friends!” he repeated in a different tone.
"Grandfather, do, do let me give you your medi.
cine, you're making yourself so feverish”
“No, no, I'm all right. Let me alone. You're
friends, eh? And so naturally he told you all about
the Pearl. Dear me, that was very interesting.
And I dare say he gave you his word, didn't he,
and you laid your heads together over it? And
you wished you could tell him yours? Beautiful,
beautiful !!
“Yes, I did wish I could have told him ours.
I would have, if I'd known it, but I didn't”
“No, but I know it." Lord Mereworth cocked
a shrewd eye at his granddaughter. “I was just
going to tell it you, my dear. If you'll get a piece
of paper and write down Martin's part, What?
Oh, nonsense, nonsense, of course you must let me
know it! Then we can put the two together and
see what happens. "Wait for Martin'? Rubbish!


34
THE PURPLE PEARL
Why, he won't be home till the end of the war and
that may not be for another ten years. I beg to
remind you that I mayn't last another ten hours
-or ten minutes, if you cross and contradict me.''
So still, after all these years, still, on his death-
bed, he was hankering after the old secret! Violet,
for her own part, would have told him at once;
what did they matter, these old tales of a mythical
treasure and a mythical keyword? Let him have
it, if it pleased him! But there was Martin. Lord
Mereworth had assured Violet so often, he had
drummed into her ears so thoroughly that women
have no sense of honour, that she had come to be-
lieve it. She mistrusted her own instincts; she
lived in terror of doing something that Martin's
fastidious standards might condemn. He had told
her in confidence; what would he say if she gave
him away? “I don't think I ought to tell you,
grandfather,” she said deprecatingly, “but couldn't
you tell me? That would come to the same thing,
wouldn't it? I mean, if you meant me to have your
share of the treasure. Then I could put the words
together—"
Martin in describing the Mereworth family feud
had erred only in understating his case. He was
of a milder type and literally could not understand
the rapcour and obstinacy of the elder generation.
Fifty years of cherished spite sparkled in Lord
Mereworth's eyes as he looked up at his grand-
daughter. “I dare say; and directly the breath is


THE PURPLE PEARL
35
out of my body, back the whole story will go to
that young rascal. I'd sooner the Pearl were
buried in my coffin. No, my dear. You'll have the
goodness to swear not to pass it on to Martin, nor
to any one else, nor to share with any one either,
or not one syllable do I tell you. Come! Give me
your word!"
“I can't!" said Violet, aghast. “I—I'm going to
marry Martin !"
“To marry Martin? You're going to marry Mar.
tin Mereworth? That settles it, then; the word
dies with me”
In their excitement neither had noticed that the
door at the end of the room had opened, and a
young girl was standing on the threshold. Winnie
Mereworth had caught her train after all, and had
arrived in time to hear the last words. A bewitch-
ing figure, with her brown wood-nymph eyes, and
her streaming curls, and all the lovely curves and
dimples of her young grace, she rushed across the
room, and precipitated herself on her knees beside
the bed.
“Tell me the word, granddad, tell it me! I prom-
ise I won't tell Cousin Martin !”
"You?” said Lord Mereworth. His eyes began
to sparkle. “You?” he repeated. “You're worth
a dozen of your milk-and-water sister! Give me-
there on the table—"
His voice stopped. A dreadful spasm con-
tracted his face; he fell back on his pillows strug.


36
THE PURPLE PEARL
gling for breath, his hand pointing feebly towards
the littered table by his bed, but his gaze fixed on
the open window beyond. Across the sill a robin
had fluttered, light as a drifting leaf. It perched
on the edge of a bookcase, its red breast gleaming
in the summer sunlight, its bright solemn eyes turn-
ing this way and that as it glanced about the room.
"The medicine, Winnie! Quick—that white bot-
tle there!"
But Lord Mereworth, in a last access of wilful
fury, dashed away the glass as Violet held it to his
lips, and collapsed against her arm. Winnie, who
had fled to ring the bell, was recalled by a cry from
her sister.
“Oh, Winnie, Winnie, he's dead !”


38
THE PURPLE PEARL
penny, and he said so frankly. There was a vio-
lent quarrel; Martin came no more to the Castle,
and Violet, who had adored him as a child, woke
up to know that she loved him as a woman. Poor
child, she was too young for such things, but she
had nothing else to think about. Winnie was still
a child at school, and rarely came to Mereworth,
even during the holidays. Lord Mereworth was
not fond of little girls.
Violet did not meet her cousin again till the
spring of 1914, when she was staying in town with
Mrs. Adeane. Violet at twenty was enough to turn
any man's head, and Martin, who was susceptible
to beauty, fell straight in love with her. For a few
months she was exquisitely happy. Diffident and
humble though she was, she felt the change in him,
and dared to let her shy hopes blossom. Then came
the war; and Martin, who had intended to speak,
now thought it his duty to keep silence. Accord-
ing to his view, he had no right to bind his cousin
to a man who would probably get shot within a
few weeks. He must leave her free. It was hard
on him; but it was harder on Violet. She was
never sure of him. She was tortured by anxiety
when he was away, and by uncertainty when he
was home on leave. She asked very little; only to
be allowed to adore him, and to forestall his small-
est wish. Her complete selflessness would have
spoilt a selfish man, but Martin was not that; he
sacrificed himself to his fastidious sense of hon-


THE PURPLE PEARL
39
our, but he never dreamed that she was suffering,
too.
The door opened and in came Winnie Mereworth,
Winnie was plumper than Violet, but not so tall.
She had brown eyes and a quantity of nut-brown
hair which curled all over her head. There was
something boyish about Winnie, something quick
and mischievous which suggested that she might
have given a good deal of trouble to the grave nuns
of St. Hilaire. Winnie had not been in England
since the beginning of the war. She was eighteen
now, five years younger than Violet, but she con-
sidered herself quite grown up, and her attitude
towards her elder sister was kind and patronizing.
Violet looked up from her letter. "I'm writing
to Martin,” she said. “Oh! I wish I could tell
him this morning's war news. Winnie, don't you
think it looks now almost as if it might be over
by the spring?"
"Sure to be," said Winnie cheerfully. She came
and sat on the arm of Violet's chair. “Put six
crosses at the bottom and tell him three are from
me. They won't censor that. I expect you'll be
married to him by next Easter, and then I can be
your bridesmaid, and you can go to Switzerland
for your boneymoon, as you say Martin's so tre-
mendously good at climbing. Oh, Violet, is that
a letter from Lady Grace? When does she say we
shall have to turn out?''


40
THE PURPLE PEARL
“She doesn't say anything about it. She doesn't
hint at it even. Still, I don't think we'll stay
longer than we need. We must settle what we
mean to do. Have you any ideas?”
“Millions. Exactly how much money shall we
have?"
“Fifty pounds a year between us."
“How topping! We shall have to earn our own
living. I can't do a thing except cook and sew
and deport myself—you wouldn't think it, but I
always got top marks for deportment. I haven't
any brains, either. I expect I'd better go on the
stage. I've done heaps of acting. We always did
a play for breaking up, and somehow or other Sis-
ter Jeanne always gave me a jolly part."
"Let's stick together if we can, Win. I can't go
on the stage, you know, for—for several reasons—”
"You can't go because Martin wouldn't let you."
Violet flushed, as she often did at Martin's name,
but made no denial. “You do spoil him," said Win-
nie judicially. “Now, when I get engaged—”
“When you get engaged it won't be to Martin,
and you can do as you like, pusscat. I dare say
you'll manage things better than I do,” said Violet
with her disarming humility. “But I shouldn't go
on the stage even if I could. I should hate it; be-
sides, I want to do some war work, I always have.
I've been wondering—how would you like to join
forces with Ethel Fleet?”
"Has she asked you to live with her?”


THE PURPLE PEARL
41
“She suggested I might be her chauffeur. You
know, I learnt to drive two years ago; I used to
take out wounded soldiers in Aunt Helena's car-
it was the only thing she would let me do. And
Ethel's running The Barn as a market garden-
food production, Lord Rhondda, and that sort of
thing. But they've taken all her men except old
Kemp, and he isn't much use except as a scarecrow,
so her hands are pretty full. I'm not good for
much, but I could take the things over to Chichester
for her every day. We wondered if you would care
to help with the garden. If Martin does get home
in the spring it won't be for so very long—".
“Because then I can come and live on him. I
see. Thank you! It's fearfully nice of Martin to
be so willing to marry his sister-in-law. But you
know, darling,” she rubbed her soft cheek against
her sister's, “that sort of thing never answers. Be-
sides, if Lady Grace really does cut off Martin's
allowance when he marries you, he won't have any
money to spare. Grandfather could only just man.
age on his income, and Martin won't have as much
after the death duties are paid. No, I won't live
on Martin and I won't live on Ethel. But I tell
you what, you shall go and be Ethel's chauffeuse,
and I'll get something to do quite near. It will
be the very thing for you because Ethel will be
nice to you. If you went to London and got an
ordinary paid job you would probably be sat on.
You're so meek.”


42
THE PURPLE PEARL
"How silly it is not having any money,” said
Violet naïvely. “I never realized how inconvenient
it might be!"
“Very silly,” said Winnie. She sniffed. Violet
looked up enquiringly. “Well, if you—if you
hadn't been quite so noble about it, we might have
been rolling by now. I'm not blaming you, darling,
but I wish you hadn't been quite so noble!”
Violet said nothing. She was not critical where
she loved, but she could not forget that in order
to get the Pearl Winnie had been ready to throw
Martin overboard. “I won't tell Cousin Martin !"
Unquestionably the words rankled. Winnie was
quick to understand what her sister was feeling.
“Oh, I do believe you think I oughtn't to have
said it!!!
“Martin wouldn't mind," said Violet quickly.
“I should hope he wouldn't!" cried Winnie. She
got off her sister's chair and stood up, pink with
injured innocence. “If be minded anybody it
would be you being so noble-minded! Don't you
see, if I had got Grandfather's word and you had
got Martin's word, we could have put the two to-
gether and very likely found the Pear]? It would
have been the first time for all these fifty years
that any one has ever had the two bits together!
And you're going to marry him, aren't you? So it
would have come to the same thing in the end!
What did he tell you his word for if he didn't want


THE PURPLE PEARL
43
you to use it? Any one would think I wanted the
silly old Pearl for myself!"
Violet pulled her back and kissed her. “So it
would. I never thought of that. Your old sister
is a goose, and she's very sorry. Do you know,
Winnie, I've been wondering—”
“What?!
"I've been wondering—but of course it's all non-
sense, I don't really believe in the Pearl”.
“Do go on!"
“Well then you know it wasn't really his medi-
cine grandfather wanted—suppose he had been
pointing at something else on the table?!!
This was Violet's amende for her blunder. It
was a handsome one; Winnie's eyes grew round
with excitement.
“Something else on the table!"
“He meant to give me the word, you know, be-
fore he died; he must have had the paper some.
where by him. You always have to pass it on on
your deathbed, and he knew he hadn't long to live.
Suppose he slipped it inside his book or something
like that? It's just what he might have done."
“Violet! How-how tremendous !"
It never took Winnie many seconds to make up
her mind what to do or how to do it. She seized
her sister by both hands and pulled her to her feet.
“Let's go and look this very minute!"
Violet hung back, she could hardly have said


44
THE PURPLE PEARL
why. She did not believe in the Pearl, yet she
shrank from looking for the treasure. It had cost
her something to make that suggestion to Winnie.
She did not want to find the anagram. It had
brought so much ill luck and ill will already; sup.
pose it were to bring some fresh disaster on her,
or Winnie-or Martin? It seemed to Violet un.
wise to disturb a secret which had gathered round
it during half a century all the greed and hate and
spite which had disfigured her grandfather's last
i moments.
Very reluctantly she followed Winnie into the
vast bedroom, which had been left exactly as it
was when Lord Mereworth died in it. There was
the enormous carved bed, three centuries old; she
could almost think she saw her grandfather lying
there, watching them with his derisive blue eyes.
And beside it stood the table at which he had
pointed in his death agony. But, thank heaven!
there was no robin on the sill. The robin's visit
was a tradition at Castle Mereworth, said to pre-
sage a death in the family. Violet did not encour.
age herself in superstition; she told herself that
it had come because it remembered the crumbs
she had scattered in the winter. But, with Martin
a prisoner in Germany, it is not to be denied that
another such visit would have frightened her to
ber very soul.
Winnie was not troubled with forebodings. She
had already seized the book which still lay on the


THE PURPLE PEARL
45
table, and was shuffling over its leaves; then, los-
ing patience, she turned it upside down and shook
it till it nearly came out of its binding. But no
paper fell out.
“Oh, Violet, it isn't here— Violet!”
Her sister, slower and surer, had picked up the
silver spectacle case. She drew out the glasses;
drew out with them a folded slip of paper, yellow
and worn. Both heads, the black and the brown,
bent over it together. On the page four letters,
and four only, were traced in printed characters:
OM BE.


CHAPTER V
NIE Herr Commandant of the Officer Pris-
oners' Camp at Bollendorf was in a bad
temper.
There was nothing new in that, for the Com-
mandant had been in a bad temper ever since his
arrival. He had taken over the command at Bol-
lendorf only a few days ago; his previous post
had been one of more importance and had pro-
vided him with luxurious quarters in the gay little
city of Luxemburg, where under German occupa-
tion a Prussian Colonel could find plenty of oppor.
tunities for amusing himself. Unluckily the
Colonel's methods of amusement had got him into
trouble with some of the best families of the old
Luxemburg nobility, who had the bad taste to re-
sent his attentions to their pretty daughters; and
as the German Government, in 1918, did not wish
to offend the people of Luxemburg, the affair had
ended in his being transferred to Bollendorf, a
mere pigsty of a provincial village, without a thea-
tre, without a picture palace, without a single
pretty girl of the right sort of birth. The Herr
Commandant was very angry, and the officials
under him smarted for it. So did the prisoners,
but they did not matter so much.
46


THE PURPLE PEARL
47
On this particular August morning the Herr
Commandant's temper had taken the form of pok-
ing his fingers into other people's pies. He was
rather fond of doing a subordinate's work now
and then just to show him how it ought to be done.
It was not the Herr Commandant's place to cen-
sor the prisoners' letters, but this morning he had
ordered the whole pile to be brought to his office,
and he was going through them and making re-
marks in his rasping voice on the slackness of
Major von Eberhardt's censorship, while Major von
Eberhardt stood by, outwardly all submission, in-
wardly boiling with rage.
See him as he sits at his desk, the Herr Com-
mandant-a typical Prussian, tall, blond, blue-
eyed, his fair moustaches pointing fiercely up from
his rat-trap mouth and thrusting chin! A hand-
some man in his way, but not in a lovable way;
children instinctively keep out of his path, civilians
give him the wall without dispute, Army subordi-
nates can do nothing but cheat or cringe before
him. Not the best type of man to command a
prison camp? No; but the camp at Bollendorf is
very small, and he must be kept quiet somehow;
his superiors have decided that he cannot get into
much mischief here.
“What is this extraordinary name, Eberhardt?"
“Cordeaux,” said von Eberhardt patiently. “It
is the fair boy who has been here since March.
There is never anything in his letters except talk


48
THE PURPLE PEARL
about his home and the foxhunt and the horse-rac-
ing and the theatres."
“Just the most dangerous sort,” said the Com-
mandant. “When I was at Coblentz we found it
was just letters of this kind that most often con-
tained cypher messages. One can easily see, my
good Eberhardt, that you will let any one lead you
by the nose. Give this out for special examina-
tion.” He threw the letter from Second Lieuten-
ant Cordeaux's mother on the floor. “And this—?”
“Mereworth: Captain: Grenadier Guards."
The Herr Commandant dipped into the letter.
Von Eberhardt stifled a yawn and looked out of
the window. Suddenly he was startled by a loud
exclamation, and turned round to find the Colonel
staring at the paper as if he could not believe his
eyes. Von Eberhardt wondered what wasp had
stung him now!
“The name is not what you say."
“The name is spelt Mereworth but pronounced
Merryworth," von Eberhardt explained rather
wearily. “In England they often spell their names
one way and pronounce them another. It is one
of the habits of the aristocracy."
The Herr Commandant stood up abruptly. The
veins on his forehead had suddenly become swollen
and stood out red above his fierce light eyes.
“Take all the rest away and finish them your-
self. I cannot waste any more of my time doing
work which ought to be done by somebody else."


THE PURPLE PEARL
49
Major von Eberhardt gathered up the batch of
letters and fled, cursing his superior officer under
his breath. Left alone, the Commandant slowly
re-read, twice over, Captain Mereworth's letter.
To one passage in it his eyes came back again and
again.
“We have found out the second word in the Puz-
zle. It was on a slip of paper which was tucked
away in Grandfather's spectacle case! It is ombe.
So I have told Winnie your word, and she and I
have been laying our heads together, and Winnie
is quite sure she is going to find the Pearl and make
all our fortunes. ...".
At the Commandant's elbow stood an electric
bell. He rang it and gave a curt command to a
trembling orderly. Five minutes later Martin
Mereworth was brought between two soldiers into
the Commandant's office, the escort was dismissed,
and the Commandant and the prisoner were left
alone.
But the Commandant seemed in no hurry to
speak. He leaned back in his chair and attentively
studied the features of the Englishman. They were
thinner and paler than when Martin had said good-
bye to Violet in the Fleets' garden, that June eve-
ning only six weeks ago. It seemed to him more
like six months, for the bitterness of captivity had
entered into his soul. He had always vowed to


50
THE PURPLE PEARL
himself that he would rather die fighting than sur.
render. True, he was not to blame, for his weak
knee had given way, and he had been picked up
lame and unconscious, but some men take imprison-
ment harder than others, and for Martin, used to
an active out-of-door life and full of anxiety about
Violet, it was a particularly bitter pill.
When his eyes fell on the letter which still lay
on the table he could hardly repress a start. How
well he knew that fine little delicate writing! He
longed passionately to read it, but a month of
prison life had already taught him that to ask for
what you want is the surest way not to get it.
“Your name is—?"
The harsh rasping voice irritated Martin. He
had never been spoken to in such a tone before in
his life and he felt inclined to refuse to answer.
But to betray resentment would be simply playing
into the Commandant's hands. Plainly the big
Prussian was itching for a chance to bully him!
“Mereworth, Captain in the Grenadier Guards."
“How long have you been in the Army?”
“Nine years."
“You lie. You cannot be more than twenty-
five.”
This was a form of attack which Martin still
found it difficult to endure without reacting. He
was silent.
“How old are you?”


THE PURPLE PEARL 51
“I am twenty-seven.”
“Who was your father?''
“His name was also Mereworth.”
“Do not try to be insolent. You will find that
it does not pay with me. What was his first
name?”
“Julian."
“Julian. ... Was he noble?”
“I don't know exactly what constitutes nobility
in Germany." Martin's tone was not free from
irony. “He had no title, but he was the grandson
of a peer.” He added after a moment, “I am my-
self the present Lord Mereworth.”
“That is a lie. You are not entered on the roll
as Captain Lord Mereworth, but as plain Captain
Mereworth.”
“The late Lord Mereworth died only a short time
ago. I heard of it in a letter last week.”
“You cannot be Lord Mereworth if your father
had no title."
Martin imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders but
remained silent. The Commandant had the whip
hand of him. How could he argue with a man who
could retaliate by putting Violet's letter in the fire?
“Who was your great grandfather?” .
“Rollo, fifth Baron Mereworth. My great-great-
grandfather was the fourth Baron Mereworth, and
my great-great-great-grandfather was the third
Baron Mereworth".


52
THE PURPLE PEARL
“Silence.” Martin, who had just begun to enjoy
himself, bowed politely. “Where did your ances-
tors live?"
“They lived at Castle Mereworth in Sussex. It
is a very handsome building.” To save his life
Martin could not have kept his sarcastic tongue out
of mischief any longer. “Perhaps you were think-
ing of going to live in it when you invade England?
There are about forty bedrooms and I believe the
drainage is in excellent order—"
The Commandant rose. For one moment Martin
thought he was going to strike him, and the Eng.
lishman stiffened himself in anticipation of the
blow, which he would have returned, he swore to
himself, if he had been shot for it against the near-
est wall. But the Commandant controlled himself.
He was four inches taller than Martin, though Mar-
tin was well up to the average height of his regi.
ment, and he stood over Martin and thrust forward
his savage handsome face till his breath was hot
on Martin's cheek.
"They do not teach discipline in your army, Cap-
tain Mereworth, do they? That is why your Army
runs away so often, is it not? Because there is
no proper discipline. Well, when we catch the gen-
tlemen of your Army we make it our business to
teach them discipline. You will salute me as your
superior officer." Martin, feeling that he might as
well have stood on his dignity with a hungry tiger,
saluted gravely. The Commandant rang his bell,


THE PURPLE PEARL
and the escort reappeared. “Take him back," he
said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder.
The escort fell in on either side, and the prisoner
was taken back to camp.
In the prison square, surrounded by a double
palisade of barbed wire and dotted with half a
dozen wooden bungalows roofed in corrugated iron,
about twenty of Martin's companions in misfor-
tune were wearing out the summer day as best
they could. Two were playing dominoes; one was
reading a dirty copy of the Continental Times; an-
other was putting a very small ball into a very
large hole with a brassy which had begun life as
a crutch. Golf not being one of the recreations
furnished at Bollendorf, this enthusiast provided
his own. He was a tall fair cheerful youth in the
uniform of the Field Artillery, and the most re-
markable thing about him was that he was still
a youth, and still cheerful, though he had been in
prison for nearly four years. Miles Cordeaus was
one of the prisoners of Mons...
“Hi, Mereworth, I've done it in three !"
“Have you?” Martin was unable to seem deeply
interested.
“You look rather cheap,” said Second Lieutenant
Cordeaux. “What's the matter? Heinz been
hurting your little feelings? Tell daddy all about
it.”
Martin seized him by the arm and dragged him
over to the far side of the square out of sight of


54
THE PURPLE PEARL
the guard at the gate. “Oh, Miles, if ever I get the
chance to hit his infernal red face !”
"Steady on, old thing. Did he tell you you lied?
That's his pet opening. You'll soon get used to it,
you see if you don't."
“I know I shall, but I haven't got used to it yet.”'
Martin leaned against the wall of the bungalow
which he shared with Miles, and laughed at himself
as he dug his hands, still clenched with rage, into
his pockets. “I'm not so philosophical as you are,
old Miles. And yet I used to think I was a placid
sort of fellow enough. Oh, damn him! damn him!
Who is the brute? I've never seen him before.”
“Oh, he's a new broom here-transferred from
Luxemburg, Eberhardt told me. But he happens
to be an old friend of mine. I had six months
under him at Coblentz in 1915, and I didn't want
any more. He's the limit. What did he have you
up for?”
“He wanted to know who my great-grandfather
was."
Miles laughed. “How quaint! You should have
returned the compliment. That would have got
him.”
"Oh? He asked me if we were 'noble. Is that
where his own shoe pinches?”
“Yes, and pretty tightly, too. He tried hard to
get a patent of nobility-went so far as to buy up
an estate and a ruined castle under the impression
that the title went with them, but there was a hitch


THE PURPLE PEARL
55
somewhere and the All-Highest put his foot down.”
“Why?”
“He drew the line at a mixture of blue blood
and blacking. The late lamented grandpapa Heinz
was a valet, I believe. Or so they used to say at
Coblentz."
“A valet?' Martin looked up. Some chord of
memory vibrated suddenly but he could not for a
moment think what it was. “Heinz? Heinz?
What's his Christian name?”
“Otto."
“Otto-Heinz-Otto It isn't possible! I'm
dreaming!"
“Why, do you know anything about him ?”
Martin's memory was wide awake by now and
his eyes were startled. “If he's the man I think he
is I foresee trouble ahead. But it's impossible
it's preposterous: Heinz is not an uncommon name
—I dare say there are dozens of Otto Heinzes in
the German Army. Yet you say his grandfather
was a valet! He certainly did ask the most ex-
traordinary questions. No wonder he was inter-
ested in our family property if he really is a
descendant of the original English Otto Heinz!"
"English ?”
“The original Otto Heinz was my grand-uncle's
valet and decamped with a paper-or so they say—
which was worth £40,000 to us."
“My stars !" said Miles. “Then I should advise
you to decamp, too. He's Hun enough at the best


CHAPTER VI
WEEK after the Commandant opened
Violet's letter to her lover and read in it
the mysterious word “Ombe,” Martin Mere-
worth, under military escort, was being roughly
thrust in through the gates of the camp to rejoin
his friends. It was a lovely summer evening, and
warm sunshine bathed the woody hills around the
prison square, but Martin's eyes were dazed and
he blinked as if the light were too much for him.
The other men raised a stifled cheer to welcome
him, but it died away as Martin, with a wave of the
hand, turned silently to his own hut. Some one
said, “Where's Cordeaux ?” Cordeaux was Mar-
tin's "chum," and it was felt that Martin had better
be left to him.
When Miles came in Martin was sitting on the
edge of his bed holding his head in his hands. “I
shall be all right directly, but I can't stand this
blazing sunshine. I've had a week's “solitary.'”
Miles seized a blanket and draped it across the
window. “How's that? Were you in the dark?''
Martin nodded. “Beastly. No use grousing.
The infernal Heinz said it was for insolence. I
don't know what he meant. I gave him all the
information he wanted and even a little more.”
57


58
THE PURPLE PEARL
He smiled, but with a slightly guilty expression.
“I expect it was the little more that did it. There
was an artistic touch about the drains—”.
“You are rather an old ass, don't you think? At
your time of life you should know better. When
Heinz gives me beans I lick his boots. I want to
go home and do a play again and have supper at
the Savoy. You want to go home and see your old
Albert Memorial again and the Royal Academy and
all the other beastly arty things you're so keen
on—or I presume you do. Well then, what is the
sense of playing the goat with a sweep like Heinz?”
"Miles, were you in earnest in what you said
about escaping ??
“I'm always in earnest about escaping."
“Did you say you have tried it before?'
“Three mortal times. It's all right till you're
caught.”
“Is it indispensable to be caught? Because in
that case I don't see much point in running away.”
“Oh, you have your run for your money,” said
Miles. “It carries you over quite a long time, the
preparations, and the escape, and the subsequent
row. And, yes, I've known some fellows bring it
off. Last time we dug a tunnel under the barbed
wire. Langhorne of the Sappers was in it with
me, and a Flying Corps chap who had only just
got married and was frightfully keen on getting
back. Langhorne got clean off. Poor old Binksy,
he didn't.”


60
THE PURPLE PEARL
mous in the Müllertal and the Hallertal, and there
are cliffs that aren't bad sport even after the Alps."
"Oh, ah yes, you're a mountaineer, aren't you?
The Alpine Club and no end of frills. Tresham
was telling me. Well, if we come into anything
higher than a wall you'll have to pull me up it by
the hair of my head, and so I warn you. But I
suppose that would be nothing for a pro like you.”
“Oh, I'm nothing out of the way, I've done Mont
Blanc and the Matterhorn and some of the Dolo-
mite peaks; the usual Cook's trips. But I trust we
shan't have to climb chimneys to get to the Grand
Duchy. Woodcutters' tracks will be more in our
line, and many's the time I've tramped them. I
could draw you a map of the country for five miles
round Vianden, though I never got as far as Bol-
lendorf.” . . .
"Jerusalem the Golden! Then now we shall pull
it off,” said Miles with a sigh of satisfaction. “Of
course we must go slow. First thing is to look out
for a fellow who'll supply us with rig-outs—for a
consideration. But the route is the main point.
Last time I came to grief simply because I lost my
way. I'll tell you what I've never told a soul be-
fore: I actually got across the Dutch frontier, and
didn't know it, and walked slap back again into
the arms of a squad of beastly Boches !”
Martin lay awake that night long after Miles'
even breathing told him that his comrade was


62
THE PURPLE PEARL
hard, grasping woman bent on making her niece
marry money. Martin loved his cousin with all
the strength of a deeply reserved nature, and he
never doubted that she loved him devotedly in re-
turn; but to be left penniless is a hard position for
a girl as shy and sensitive as Violet. And then
there was Bernard Mereworth—the em busqué, as
Winnie called him—waiting for her with all the
advantages that money and a strong will and Mrs.
Adeane's backing gave him. No prison camps for
Bernard Mereworth—the man who stayed at home!
Suppose they told Violet that her lover was dead?
If she never heard from him she might come to be-
lieve it, and then-Martin turned over on his nar-
row pallet with a stifled, gasping sigh.
“Good morning, Schramm. What have you got
for us to-day?"
“Ach! mein Herr, I have beautiful flowers, fruit,
everything. See these onions, only eight shillings
the kilo—it is not every one who has onions to
sell like these, but I saved them for you when my
wife wanted me to sell them in the market.
‘Lotte,' I said, “it is written in the Good Book that
we must love our enemies. Besides, they pay bet-
ter. Ah, old Schramm has a kind heart!”
The dirty old rascal dangled a string of onions
before Miles's admiring eyes. He was a wizened-
looking Jew with beady eyes and a hooked nose


THE PURPLE PEARL
under the black felt wideawake of the German peas-
ant. Twice a week he was allowed to bring a hand-
cart full of country produce into the camp and
sell it to the prisoners. Miles and Martin, who
had strolled up to inspect his goods, exchanged a
hurried glance. Here was the very man for their
purpose! Jews do not love Germans, and Schramm
was said to have done a little mild smuggling al-
ready under the noses of the bored sentries.
“Let's have the onions,” said Miles. “They
make me think of home. Schramm knows England,
don't you, Schramm?"
Schramm lifted his eyes to heaven. “Fifteen
years I lived at Sydenham. I was a barber. Ach!
it is a beautiful place. There is the Crystal Pal-
ace. There are bands. It is a great pity to think
that our brave Zeppelins have destroyed that beau-
tiful place.”
“There, you see what a lot more Schramm knows
about it than we do,” said Miles. “They never
told us that, Schramm. Isn't it a shame? Well,
what else have you got? No, not toadstools—toad-
stools leave me cold.”
“But they are mushrooms!” protested Schramm,
pushing the basket under Miles's nose. “Stewed
with a little butter substitute. Good-morning,
Herr Captain!" He turned his back on Miles as
Martin came forward. “This is the Herr Captain
who has been in prison? Ach so, I haf heard.


64
THE PURPLE PEARL
See, I keep something for you.” He dived into his
basket and produced an enormous cabbage.
“There!"
“Ob, I want that cabbage,” said Miles. "I want
to wear it in my buttonhole on Sunday. How
much?”
"It is not for you, it is for the Herr Captain
who has been in prison.” Schramm turned a deaf
ear to Miles's blandishments. “The Herr Captain
will buy this beautiful cabbage? It is very cheap;
it is only two shillings."
Schramm's average price for a cabbage was five
shillings. “What, slugs and all?” said Martin.
“Schramm, you're turning into a public benefac-
tor.” He pinched the cabbage gingerly between
his finger and thumb.
“Take care, mein Herr, you will bruise it !” said
Schramm anxiously.
“You can't have it, Milesey,” said Martin with
decision. "Done with you, you old sinner! So
you liked Sydenham, did you? Yes, it's a rich
place, and the English are a rich nation, rich and
generous. They never mind what they pay for
anything that takes their fancy-like this cabbage,
for instance." Martin's left eyelid closed in a de-
liberate wink. Schramm remained absolutely im-
passive.
“Very good, mein Herr. I am glad you like the
cabbage. I shall haf another to-morrow.”
He took up his handcart and trundled away.


66
THE PURPLE PEARL
thing that bothers me,” Martin added, growing
suddenly grave, "and that's the risk for you. For
it is a big risk, you know." He laid his hand on
Cordeaux's arm. “I've got a good reason for run-
ning it. But you've stood four years of prison;
you might as well hang on to the end."
"I might, mightn't I ?” said Miles with feeling.
"Four blooming years, oh, my Lord! and you think
I might stick it out a little longer! Dear old thing,
it doesn't work out that way at all—oh, not at
all. Do you realize that I've almost forgotten the
taste of a bottle of Bass ?”
“So be it, then," said Martin, "and if Schramm
objects we'll tell him it's both or neither!"


CHAPTER VII
YOOD-MORNING, Schramm. What have
Y you got to-day—more cabbages like the one
I had yesterday? (I found your note.)”
“Yes, mein Herr, I hope you enjoyed it. (How
much can you pay?)”
"So good that I should like another. (Two hun-
dred pounds and not a penny more.)”
"Yes, mein Herr, I have another at the same
price. (You must also pay for the clothes I
bring.)”
"I don't like the look of that one. Turn them
over. (All right. How are you going to manage
it?)”
“Here is a beauty, fresh cut this morning. (I
will bring you wire nippers and wait for you out-
side.)”
"Have you any broccoli? (The sentries will see
the cut wire.)”
“No, mein Herr. (Not if it is a dark night.)”
“Any fruit then? (Where will you wait?)”
“Just a few apples. (Up the hill by yonder big
oak tree.)”
“How much are they? (When?)”
“A shilling each. (Monday night.)”
“Much too dear. (You must let me have a note
67


68
THE PURPLE PEARL
giving further particulars. This seems to me a
very dangerous plan.)”.
"A poor man must live, mein Herr. (There is
no other plan possible. It has been done else-
where. I cannot write you long letters. Too dan.
gerous.)”
"I'll give you sixpence apiece. (Well, we'll dis-
cuss details again. The tall, fair officer is com-
ing, too_Herr Cordeaux.)”
But at that Schramm resolutely shook his head
and took up his handcart. “That goes not,” he
said. “I cannot do business like that.”
“Then you won't get anything at all,” said Mar-
tin. He looked steadily into Schramm's eyes.
“Because I shall not go back on my terms."
"Mein Herr, it would ruin me! (It is too dan-
gerous, I cannot arrange for two.)”
“It is that or nothing, old Schramm. (Double
danger, double pay.)”
Schramm still shook his head, but with less de-
cision. “You are very foolish, mein Herr, and very
obstinate. They are beautiful apples. (I cannot
answer you now, I will see if it can be arranged.)”
He walked away grumbling at the stingy Eng.
lish, and Martin strolled across to join Miles, who
was lounging, hands in pockets, near the wire net-
ting palisade. “The fish bites,” Martin slipped his
hand through Miles' arm. "He has gone off now
to make fresh arrangements for your benefit. The
old fox had his plan all cut and dried. Come into


THE PURPLE PEARL
69
the bungalow and I'll tell you all about it.” He
laughed to himself as they strolled across the sun-
lit square. “By Jove, you know, it is an extraor-
dinary coincidence, isn't it?-Schramm's turning
up like this in the nick of time!”
“A jolly lucky coincidence for us!" said Miles.
The next day Schramm came again, and over a
large bunch of young carrots the further details
of the scheme were developed. Martin took for
granted that Miles was to go, too, and Schramm,
to his great relief, raised no more open protests.
He gave them their route. They were to make their
way straight down the Bollendorf valley till they
reached the Our, which formed the boundary be-
tween Germany and Luxemburg. This river they
were to cross at a particular spot. On the further
bank they would find a confederate who would hide
them in his farm on the Luxemburg side for two
or three days, or weeks if necessary, till the hue
and cry had died down, then provide them with
food, passports, and German money, and set them
forward on their way to Holland.
The question of payment was a difficulty. Both
Martin and Miles were well supplied with money,
but a profound distrust of old Schramm made them
reluctant to pay him beforehand. Schramm, on the
other hand was, not unnaturally, anxious to finger
the precious notes before he ran any risk at all.
In the end they made a compromise_half to be
paid to him before they started, and the other half


70
THE PURPLE PEARL
to his accomplice when they were given their pass-
ports. Schramm did his best to get a larger sum
down, but on that point Martin was adamant. He
felt, and Miles agreed with him, that the old Jew
would keep his word just so long as it was to his
interest not to break it.
On Monday Martin watched the weather anx-
iously. In a very brief note which came, together
with a key and a pair of wire nippers, modestly
tucked away inside a large broccoli, Schramm had
explained that on Monday night there would be
no moon; but for an escaping prisoner even star-
light is dangerous. However, towards sunset a
storm gathered and long before midnight the sky
was covered with thick layers of cloud flying be-
fore the wind, which howled and shrieked in the
neighbouring woods. This was just the sort of
weather they wanted.
The prison camp lay among flat fields in the bot-
tom of a valley through which ran the highroad
from Bollendorf into Luxemburg. On either side
rose high hills, thickly covered with forest, except
where they were so sheer that trees could not grow
on the naked crags.
“Miles."
“Yes?"
“Twenty past eleven. Time for us to be off.”
Miles had been improving the time by taking a
nap. He sat up and stretched himself. Martin
noiselessly unlocked the bungalow door with the


THE PURPLE PEARL 91
key sent by Schramm, and peered out. A gust
of wind rushed in, but no rain was falling. Softly
Martin led the way out of the hut. As he did so
a head appeared for a moment at the tiny window
of the hut opposite and a voice whispered, “Good-
bye and good luck!" All the camp knew that
Mereworth and Cordeaux were going to escape that
night, and though not a sound was to be heard in
any of the bungalows there were a good many who
stayed awake and on the alert.
Softly Martin and Miles stole out into the square
and shut the door behind them. Their hut was on
the side of the camp furthest from the entrance.
Crouching down in the shadow of the wall they lis-
tened for the step of the sentry patrolling the
barbed wire palisade. He came up/drew near-
passed on: “Now we have ten minutes before he
comes back," whispered Miles.
The palisade was a formidable erection consist-
ing of a network of barbed wire ten feet high. To
climb over it would have been almost impossible,
but Schramm's wire nippers did their work quickly
and well. Lying flat on the ground, Martin cut
strand after strand, while Miles, crouching close
by, strained his eyes and ears to watch for the sen-
try's return.
“Stop it now, the patrol is due.”
: Martin pocketed the nippers, and they crawled
back together to the shelter of the bungalow wall.
They had scarcely reached it when they heard the


72
THE PURPLE PEARL
sentry's measured tramp. In sickening suspense
they waited to know whether he would notice that
the wire had been cut. But the dark, wild night
favoured them; he reached the spot and passed on
without stopping; his steps died away.
“Quick, and we shall be through before he comes
round again.”
Back they went to their dangerous work; strand
after strand parted till the gap was broad enough
to pass Miles Cordeaux's broad shoulders. “Gad,
I never wished I belonged to the Bantams before !"
murmured that irrepressible youth. He had to
burrow like a rabbit, while loose ends of wire nicked
little three-cornered tears down his once well-fit-
ting tunic and breeches. But he was out at last
and Martin followed more easily.
“Now for it,” said Miles between his teeth.
They had passed one palisade but there was still
another to be cut, twenty yards off. They ran
across and fell to work in frenzied haste. But the
nippers had grown blunt and the wire twisted and
tangled in Martin's hands. Many strands were
still untouched when again they heard the step of
the patrol. They could not bolt to cover now; all
they could do was to flatten themselves down on
the sodden grass—and at that moment the clouds
began to lift and lighten and a few stars shone
out.
Surely no sentry, unless he were drunk, could
fail to see them?


THE PURPLE PEARL
73
"Looks as if we were done, doesn't it?” said
Martin quietly. “Well, it was worth trying,”
“Murder! Murder! Help!"
From a hut on the other side of the square and
well away from the torn wire came a sudden burst
of shrieks and yells and a clatter of boots against
corrugated iron. Not for nothing had the camp
kept awake that night! From window to window
the word had gone softly round, "S.O.S., Create a
diversion!” and George Lascelles of the Rifle Bri.
gade and Jimmy Browne of the Sherwoods were
creating one with all their might and main.
“Good old Jimmy, God bless him!” Martin mur-
mured. He cut the last strands, crawled through,
and rose boldly to his feet. No fear that the sen-
try would have any attention to spare from such
energetic yells as Bungalow No. 9 was emitting.
"Sprint for it!” panted Miles, and they raced side
by side across the open field, while Mr. Browne
announced in heartrending tones, "Ich bin ster-
bend, er hat mein dem stomach gepunched !” Miles
gave an irrepressible giggle. "Jimmy was in the
Footlights when he was at Cambridge. Isn't he a
sport? Hullo, here's the oak tree. Now if our
beauty isn't here- !”
But Schramm was there, crouching in the
shadow. He jumped up. “You haf not left the
nippers ? Goot! They cost six shillings!" He
tucked them hurriedly away in his capacious pock-
ets. "Here are your clothes. These are for you,


74
THE PURPLE PEARL
Herr Captain, and these are for the other Herr.
Ach, do not tear the good uniforms, they also are
worth money—”
While Martin and Miles were hastily flinging
off their English uniforms and huddling on
Schramm's civilian garments, the old Jew ran
rapidly over the route they were to take. After
they reached the river which was the boundary be-
tween Germany and Luxemburg it would be all
plain sailing. But the first seven miles, before they
got across, and while they were still in country
unknown to Martin, were full of danger.
“You cannot go the first part of the way by the
road,” said Schramm. “If you go down the road
you will have to pass through the middle of the
village. You are here on the edge of the woods
and in the woods you must stay. You must keep
among them till the village is behind you, that is
a matter of two miles. Yes, it is dark, but I have
brought you a map and a pocket torch and a com-
pass. You must go the best way you can till you
have the church spire to the south. Then you will
descend to the road and walk along it”
“As far as Waldheim-yes! Hurry, man!"
“There you cross the river into Luxemburg—"
“There's a bridge,” said Miles, who was poking
his nose into the map while he pulled on his
trousers.
“Frontier bridge, safe to be guarded. Can we
swim it, Schramm ?”


THE PURPLE PEARL
“He can swim it,” said Schramm, pointing a
scornful thumb at Miles, whom he had never thor-
oughly adopted into his scheme, and to whose pres-
ence he steadily objected, “but not you—no. You
have a weak knee. It is not safe for weak swim-
mers, that river.”
“Then what happens ?”
“I haf foreseen all.” Schramm tugged out of
his basket a coil of rope, thin and strong. “Under
the bridge you will cross. It is best there. He
will take over the rope and you will follow. My
cousin will be waiting on the other side"
“All right. Come on, Miles.”
“Do not try to cross elsewhere. The Our is a
very dangerous river. And remember the young
Herr must go first. You must do as I say or it
will go wrong-1 haf told you, it is not safe for
two-”
"All right, cheerioh !” said Miles, seizing Mar-
tin's arm. “Come on, old sport, never mind your
bags, you can hold 'em on with one hand and run
with the other—what is it now?”
Schramm was running along beside them. “The
compass and map, meine Herren, you have not paid
for them—the map was ten shillings—”
"I don't much love that old boy, do you?” said
Miles as they crept away through the darkness.
“For another hundred pounds he'd sell us back
again to Heinz. That was a good idea of yours,
to promise the other half of the money when we


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called her: a small, determined-looking woman of
forty with shrewd, light-grey eyes and a quantity
of white hair piled high under her sailor hat. Miss
Fleet was on the friendliest possible terms with the
farmers and the labourers and the country gentle-
men for twenty miles round, but she was depres-
singly polite to the Tinned Salmon family. She
wore farm boots and brown knickerbockers which
came an inch or so below her brown tweed skirt,
and an expensive white silk shirt on which her
beloved fox terrier Jack had made two large, muddy
paw marks. Her small, strong hands were brown
with sunburn and grimed at the present moment
with earth and bean-juice, and she was invincibly
dignified and imperturbably calm.
“What's the matter?”
“Come in and be civilized, I'm sure it's time for
elevenses. I want to talk to you.”
“Elevenses,” in winter, consisted of hot cocoa
made with milk; in summer they were lemonade
and buns. In the low, grey-walled parlour Miss
Fleet sat in a grandfather's chair with one knee
cocked over the other, displaying rather more than
usual of her trim, brown legs. Violet, reclining
among cushions, regarded them with a dissatisfied
expression.
"Ethel, do you know you were sitting like that
last time the Rector called ?”
"Like what? Oh! bless you, I expect the Rector
knows my knickerbockers by heart,” said Miss


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of her having the bloom rubbed off. It's a thing
you never can get back.”
Miss Fleet gave her a shrewd glance over her
tumbler of lemonade. She did not know much of
Violet's life at the Castle and in town—Violet was
reticent and Miss Fleet was not inquisitive-but
she had a strong suspicion that Violet had not had
too easy a time. She might be young and pretty,
like her sister, but she had not had everything her
own way. It was a wistful little face. Lying back
among her cushions, Violet watched a very small
foot in a black silk stocking and a black suède slip-
per tracing patterns on the carpet.
"Ethel, you know the Mereworths, don't you?"
“I know Violet and Winnie Mereworth pretty
well—rather like them, in fact. Jackety-wack, she
says I'm to be sensible! Which Mereworths do
you mean, child—the Birmingham lot or Lady
Grace?"
“I mean Lady Grace. Is there any way of get-
ting round her?”
Miss Fleet rubbed her nose. "I don't think so.
She worried her poor husband into his grave. Very
violent-tempered woman; I don't like her at all.
Do you want to get a subscription out of her?”
"No, I want to make her like me. I don't like
not being liked. It always surprises me—I mean,
I never feel I'm of sufficient importance to be sin-
gled out in that way.”
"I can't see that it signifies to you whether she


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81
likes you or not. Has she been giving trouble
about the Castle? It would be just like her to
make hay while the sun shines—I mean, Martin
wouldn't let her if he were at home. I forget if
you've seen him since he grew up? He's a dear
fellow.”
Violet, who did not want to reveal her engage-
ment to any one at present, not even to Ethel,
stooped to retie the ribbon of her shoe. “Yes, I
have seen him sometimes at your people's in town.
He likes me,” she added, with the guile of the dove.
“I wish he were here to deal with. Not that Lady
Grace isn't polite_she's as polite as you are to the
Court people, and I feel about as happy as they do
under it."
“I should deal with her through my lawyer if
I were you. At all events, she can't be so difficult
as the Birmingham lot. My imagination," said
Miss Fleet, "shrinks from the thought of doing
business with young Bernard Mereworth. I met
him one day in town, and he had the impudence to
tell me that if he lived in a hunting county he
should shoot his foxes and put up a lot of wire.
I said he might thank God he didn't live in a hunt-
ing county. Oh! an impossible young man, my
dear; Lady Grace has her drawbacks, but after all
she's one of ourselves.”
"I've met Bernard, too,” said Violet, a dimple
appearing. "He was Aunt Helena's last year's se-
lection for me. Winnie calls him the embusqué.


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No, I shouldn't think you and he would get on."
“I thought you weren't on speaking terms?”
“Grandfather wouldn't have him in the house.
But Aunt Helena never paid any attention to
grandfather. I think she would have been glad
if she could have married me to some one he didn't
approve. She never would let me see anything of
Martin, whom I should have liked to know, but
she—she threw me at Bernard's head morning,
noon, and night.”
“And did Bernard—?”
“Oh! he was dreadful,” said Violet. “He just
walked over the top of me. I know I'm not very
good at snubbing people, but I do think even he
must have seen I didn't want him, and yet he would
go on coming. Perhaps he thought he could
strengthen his position by marrying into another
class-oh, how horrid of me to say that!"
“I don't doubt he did. Nonsense, my dear, you
can call him a Mereworth if you like, but who was
his mother? A factory girl or something of the
sort. I haven't the smallest doubt that he would
have jumped at the chance of marrying you. After
all, you're not bad-looking, are you? I've seen
plainer people. It's a very good thing that Martin
is the heir and not Mr. Bernard of Birmingham.
Lady Grace is an irritating woman but you know
where you are with her. If the Castle had gone
to Bernard you couldn't have stayed on in it. You
would have had to pack up within the week.”


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83
“I should have packed up within wenty-four
hours," declared Violet. “Oh, there's the post.
No, don't upset Jacky. I'll go.” She turned at
the door. “Do you forget that this time next week
I shall be your hired menial?”
There was only one letter, and Violet knew the
writing. “I must go home," she said, as she
dropped it in Ethel's lap. Yet she did not go; she
stood before the mirror, her arms upraised, a pretty
figure, tying on her veil with great care. Not till
that letter was read did she intend to budge. Lady
Grace did not tell her news of Martin, but in writ-
ing to an old family friend !
An exclamation from Miss Fleet made her turn
round.
“Oh! how frightfully sad! Oh, this dreadful
war! One scarcely dares open an envelope"
“What is it?"
“Martin, poor Martin Mereworth. Oh, those
brutes of Germans! If I had my way I'd shoot
every prisoner we catch_”
“What is it about Martin ?"
The voice was not quite normal, but Ethel's eyes
and attention were for her letter.
“Why, it seems he tried to break out of prison
—or so they say, goodness knows what really hap-
pened—but Lady Grace has had a wire from the
Home Office telling her he was drowned in trying
to escape. Shot down by the patrol on toe bridge
and swept away by the stream.”


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Violet did not quite faint; but for a moment she
lost sight of her surroundings. She came to her-
self to find Miss Fleet standing over her with a
glass of brandy and water.
"No, Ethel dear, no. No, never mind; it wasn't
your fault.”
"I am most frightfully sorry,” Miss Fleet re-
peated. It was inadequate, but what could be ade-
quate?
“Do you think it's true?” asked Violet, looking
up at her. “Yes, of course I know it is. I didn't
mean to say that. I think I'll go home.” She
stood up. Ethel wished she were less calm. “I
did want him to marry me before he went out, but
he wouldn't. He thought it would be better for
me if I were free. No, dear old Ethel, it wasn't
your fault; how could you possibly know? I never
told you. Besides, it isn't the way of telling it
that matters, it's the thing itself.”
"It may not be true.”
“Oh, yes, it is true,” said Violet, more to herself
than to Ethel. “I knew the Pearl would bring us
bad luck.”


CHAPTER IX
F you please, Miss, to whom would you wish
me to give the keys of the cellar?”
Violet, in hat and coat, looked up from the
note she was writing.
“The keys of the cellar, Parker? You can give
them to Lord Mereworth when he comes, but I ex-
pect he will want you to keep them as you always
have done."
Parker gave a small, apologetic cough. “I shall
not be here, miss, when his lordship arrives. I
took the liberty of writing to his lordship to ac-
quaint him with the fact that he would have to
engage a fresh household staff as none of the pres-
ent members were willing to stay on. We are leav-
ing, Miss, by the middle day train.”
“Leaving? What, all of you? But Lord Mere-
worth will be here in half an hour!"
“Do him good,” said Winnie from the other end
of the room.
“I call it very bad behaviour," said Violet, in a
tone which showed that she, too, was a Mereworth.
She turned again to Parker. “What is the reason
of your extraordinary conduct?”.
Again the little apologetic cough. “We under-
85


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stand, Miss, that the arrangements will be entirely
different under his present lordship’s régime. His
present lordship has not had the same experience as
his late lordship. We could not think of staying
in a house where there was no dressing for dinner
in the servants' hall.”
A small sound from Winnie made Violet bite
her lip. “Well, since you have taken the matter
into your own hands and written to Lord Mere-
worth, there is no more to be said," she returned
coldly. “I don't suppose he would keep you now
if you begged to be allowed to stay on. I would
not. But you must understand that I shall not
forget this if you refer to me for a character. Are
you all going? Do the scullery maids also wish
to dress for dinner?”
"Of course they do,” Winnie came boldly to the
rescue, "and I think it's very nice of them not to
want to stay on after we go. Good-bye, Parker
dear, I hope you'll get a lovely place. And if any
of you want a reference you can all write to me."
“Yes, Winnie, that's all very well,” said Violet,
when Parker had retired in disorder, “but none
of the bother of it will fall on you. I shall have to
go to the village at once and see if I can find a
woman to come in. Lord Mereworth can't be left
entirely alone in the house. I shall have to stay
and see him myself, too, and explain. I didn't
want to see him—I was just writing a note to leave,
but that's no good now.” She tore the paper into


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87
fragments and dropped them into the basket and
leaned her head on her hand with a weary sigh.
Violet was older; a week ago she could not have
either snubbed Parker or scolded Winnie. She
did not now care enough about anything to suffer
from the diffidence that had troubled her before.
“Mrs. Lindsay's going to stay."
"Is she? Oh, well, that's something. You seem
to know a great deal about it,” Violet added, sud-
denly looking round. “Winnie! you haven't had
anything to do with this, have you?”
Winnie wriggled. “I only told them that Ber-
nard was a mean old thing and they wouldn't get
enough to eat.”
“Oh, Winnie, how could you?”
"I hate Bernard. No, I'm not a bit sorry, I'm
sure he will cut down all their wages, it's just the
sort of thing a man like that would do; and he said
in his letter that he wasn't going to keep any horses.
No, I know I've never seen him; but I do hate him,
all the same. I hate having to turn out like this,
all in a hurry; why does he come bundling down
here as if he wanted to grab the place the very first
minute he can? Besides, I should hate any one
that—that,”
"Oh, let's say no more about it,” Violet hurriedly
interposed. She bent again over her writing.
Since the day, a week ago, when she had come in
ivory-white and calm, saying to her sister as she
passed her in the hall, “Martin has been killed in


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trying to escape: I don't want to talk about it,
Winnie,” Violet had not spoken her lover's name.
No one, except Winnie, who knew before, and Ethel
Fleet, who had surprised the secret, had been told
of their brief engagement. Lady Grace's lawyer,
when he interviewed her about the Castle, which
had now changed hands three times in as many
months, noticed that she went a singularly long
way round to avoid mentioning his late client's
name, but he ascribed that to the notorious fam-
ily feud. Friends and acquaintances got no more
from her than, “Yes, it is very sad. No, I have
heard no particulars. Yes, the Birmingham Mere-
worth succeeds.”
Even audacious Winnie had not hitherto dared
to break through her sister's silence. But it was
not easy to silence Winnie when there was any.
thing she really wanted to say.
She walked over to the window and stood with
her back to the room.
“Suppose Martin wasn't dead after all.”
Violet's pen halted with a jerk, and went on
again. "I've written to Mrs. Baker to ask if Lizzie
is at home. She would be better than nobody.
Will you leave it, Winnie, on your way to Ethel's?
If I have to wait here for Lord Mereworth, I don't
know when I shall be able to get away.”
“Mrs. Lindsay says she is perfectly certain Mar-
tin is alive. She says she has been here twenty-
nine years and she never once knew one of the


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89
family die that the robin didn't come into the
house."
“If you go at once you'll just catch her at tea.”
“We saw the robin ourselves when grandfather
died. And you know, Violet, there isn't any defi-
nite evidence. They say he was swept down the
stream, but how can they tell he didn't get ashore,
perhaps miles and miles away? Martin could
swim. And it was after dark.”
Violet half wheeled round. “Winnie, I can't
stand this,” she said vehemently, under her breath.
“If you must know, Lady Grace has heard all about
it. She has had a long and very kind letter from
the camp commandant himself, sent through Hol-
land. It was a most extraordinary thing for him
to do. There is no possible doubt about the mat-
ter. He was shot through the head, and one of
the men on the bridge saw him throw up his hands
and sink. Colonel Heinz searched the banks up
and down for miles. He is dead.”
“Colonel who?"
“Colonel Otto Heinz.”
“Colonel Otto Heinz?”
“Why not?”
“Then. I don't believe one word about it!” said
Winnie flatly, turning round. "It's the Pearl
again. Otto Heinz was the man who stole the third
word.”
Violet dropped her pen and fell back in her chair.
“Are you sure?” she said in a shaken voice.


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“Perfectly certain. You never seem to think
about it, but I never think of anything else. I lay
awake last night till past eleven! You told me his
name was Otto Heinz ever so long ago, when I was
in France, when you first heard the story. And,
Violet! my goodness, Violet! all this must have
happened just after that last letter of yours got
out there the one in which you explained every-
thing!"
“I told him about grandfather's death—"
"Of course you did. You told him how we found
the second word. You told him-Violet!! didn't
you actually tell him what the second word was?”
Violet put her hand to her head. "I–I thought
it might amuse him to puzzle out the anagram-”.
“Then there you are!" cried Winnie, with whole
volumes of triumph in her voice. “Why, it's as
plain as a pikestaff!"
“Oh, I don't believe it! I can't believe it! It's
too utterly fantastic—it can't possibly be true!"
“Why not?” said Winnie, kneeling by her sister
and putting her arms round her. “I believe it!
Don't you see, Otto would have two of the words
now, just as we have, only not the same two, and
he would know that Martin had the third ?"
"He would kill him," said Violet, turning whiter
than before.
"No, that's exactly what he would never do!”
cried Winnie. “He might write and try to make
us believe they'd killed him, but he wouldn't on any


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91
account let him die till he'd got him to tell him
the third word !”
“Oh, my Martin !"
“But if the war's over by the spring—”
Violet said nothing for a space. At last she
raised her head. “Yes; well, when the war is over
we shall know,” she said, recovering herself.
“Dear Winnie, I don't want to talk about it any
more. If it's true it's true and if it isn't true it
isn't. Either way we can do nothing. And if I
were to let myself think about it,” She broke
off again. Winnie's brown eyes filled with tears,
her lips parted—“No, not any more,” said Violet
resolutely, kissing her. She stood up "Hark!
isn't that a car in the drive?”
“Oh! I do believe it's Bernard !"
Winnie was already wearing a hat; she snatched
up her. umbrella. “If you feel bound to stop and
be civil to him you can, but I shan't. I've never
been introduced to him and I don't want to be.”
She suddenly threw her arms round Violet's neck
and kissed her half a dozen times. “Good-bye,
dear, dearest, darling old Vi! Don't give up hop-
ing and don't hate me for ever-I am a bad girl,
I know I am, but I do love you very, very much !"
She tore herself away. The door slammed, the
corridor echoed to her flying feet; a side door
slammed even more violently: Winnie escaped into
the garden at the very moment when the new Lord
Mereworth drew up at his own front door.


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93
let's ear, accustomed to the soft, light, pliant speech
of London. "He must have talked dialect as a
boy,” she thought instinctively.
“Oh, I didn't stay for that,” she made hasty dis-
claimer. Bernard's smile vanished. “I wanted to
apologize for the servants. You had their let-
ter?"
“Yes, I had their ridiculous letter,” said Ber-
nard, leisurely replacing the spanner. “But you
shouldn't have bothered about that. I must learn
to run my own crowd on my own.”
"I was afraid you might think we had suggested
it.”
"No, I hadn't thought of that. No, I confess
that hadn't entered my head at all.”
Violet, thinking of Winnie, found her cheeks get-
ting hot. “I didn't mean I didn't want you to
arrive like this,”
“Oh! that's all right, thanks; I can fend for my-
self.”
He stood bareheaded in the rain, wiping his
hands on a dirty bit of rag. What different hands
from Martin's, Violet thought, with a touch of dis-
dain, of which she was instantly ashamed. “Why
do you stand in the wet? Won't you come in?”
she asked, to make amends for her involuntary
snobbishness.
"Oh, I'm quite used to cold water," said Ber-
nard ambiguously. Nevertheless, after tucking up
his car carefully, he did come into his own castle


94
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•е
and glanced round the hall. “Jolly old place.
Not much like what I've been used to. But I dare
say I'm still less like what it's been used to. Am I
quite alone in my glory? Is there any chance of
getting a charlady to do for me for the night?”
“Mrs. Lindsay has stayed. She keeps the house-
hold linen, but she says she will look after you as
far as she can. She has been here twenty-nine
years, and I think it would kill her to turn out.
I hope you won't,"
"I shan't,” said Bernard. “Too jolly grateful.
It's a bore, doing for yourself in a baronial hall the
size of this. Now in my villa at Birmingham-
Have you far to go, Miss Mereworth? Can I run
you down in the car? It's raining cats and dogs.”
“Oh, no, thanks. It's only just beyond the park
and I have my umbrella.” Violet hesitated; she
knew she had been dismissed, but she had seen his
face fall at her first unflattering speech, and in an
obscure way she felt, what she had not expected
to feel, rather sorry for him. It was a dreary
home-coming. It was not easy to pity Bernard
Mereworth in his cheerful strength, buthe was
all alone in that great house; his own kith and kin,
his very servants had deserted him as if he were
a leper.
“I'm sorry you've had such a poor welcome.
We're rather conservative here in the South; it
takes us some time to get used to changes; but we


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95
can be good friends, too,” she said with diffident
sweetness.
“Oh, don't you bother, that's all right,” said
Bernard absently. He looked down at her out-
stretched hand. “No, I think I'd better not.
That's the worst of cars, they aren't so clean as !
horses. I like 'em better, though. You see, I'm
going to make myself thoroughly popular all
round !"
"I don't wonder he's cross,” Violet reflected, as
she hurried through the rain, “but I don't see why
he should visit it on me. I haven't done any.
thing!” Had she not? She felt all her old preju-
dices, her resentment against Martin's supplanter,
rising within her as she spoke. “Well, at least I
haven't said anything, and he isn't the sort of man
to divine things!” Was he not? Violet was less
sure of this than she had been half an hour ago.
Also, Winnie's misdeeds weighed vicariously on her
conscience. “Oh, I am bad, I am bad, I will try
to be nicer to him!” was her final reflection, as
she turned into Miss Fleet's hospitable abode.
“After all, what does it matter now and why should
I care what does anything matter?”!
To that thought Violet always came back—what
did anything matter if Martin was dead? She
came into the room she was to share with Winnie;
she had expected to find her sister there unpack-
ing, but it was empty, and on the dressing-table


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she saw, stuck in orthodox conspicuousness upon
the pincushion, a little cocked hat note. Violet
snatched it up.
“Dear, darling, angel Violet,—I have run away.
You won't see me again for a few weeks. Don't,
don't, don't be very angry! I am quite safe and
I will write to you, but for a little while I can't
tell you where I am. I can't live on Ethel and I
have a perfectly thrilling plan of my own. I am
quite, quite safe; if you knew where I am you
wouldn't be a bit anxious. Ever so much love, and
don't break your heart over dear old Martin. Re-
member the robin! I'm perfectly certain it'll be
all right in the end.—WINNIE. P.S. I am enjoy.
ing myself so!!!! XXXXXXXX."


98
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"Oh, ah.” Bernard squared his shoulders against
the mantelpiece, looking down with a sort of leo-
nine amusement at the small, scared wisp of
womanhood. “Why on earth do you call Captain
Mereworth his present lordship, eh?”
“My mistake, sir, I should have known better
than to say such a thing to you. Would you care
for me to show you a few of the rooms ?”
“You think he isn't dead, is that it?"
“Fashions have changed, and well I know it, but
when I was a young girl we wasn't allowed to
think, sir-not in good service.”
Bernard laughed in spite of himself. “All right,
have it your own way. I can tell you, nobody
would be better pleased than I should if the poor
chap did turn up again. In the meantime, I'm
here, and I've got to exist somehow. I think the
old lord's room is indicated—that'll do me all right
if you'll get it ready.”
It was fairly obvious that this proposal was not
welcome to Mrs. Lindsay. “His late lordship’s
room is one of the largest in the Castle. Some gen-
tlemen find a smaller apartment more to their
taste.”
“No, do they ?”
Mrs. Lindsay fidgeted under Bernard's genial
smile. "And some gentlemen don't care to sleep
in an apartment that has just had a death in it.
I am quite a septic myself, sir, but I feel it my duty


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99
to warn you that his late lordship died in a very
sudden way.”
. “No, did he?” said Bernard, smiling more widely.
“Ah! well, I feel it my duty to warn you that I'm
a septic, too. I think we'll say his late lordship’s
room, if it's all the same to you. And now what
about supper—think you can manage to scare me
up something? Bread and cheese will do."
"I have no doubt, sir, I can find some bread and
some cheese, if that will satisfy you.” Mrs. Lind-
say flecked a speck of dust from the table. “The
late Lord Mereworth never sat down to less than
six courses."
“Ah! but you see I'm not the late Lord Mere-
worth, so that settles that, what? Here, hi, what's
your name?” Mrs. Lindsay frigidly turned, uncon-
scious of the fact that her cap had fallen off. Ber-
nard, whose grey eyes saw everything they should
not, had picked it up and was presenting it to her
between his finger and thumb. “Your property, I
fancy,” he said urbanely. “Times have changed,
and well I know it, but when I was a young man
maids wore their caps on their heads and not on
their heels—not in good service!"
The smile lingered on his face after Mrs. Lind-
say had removed herself and her slightly impaired
dignity. “Well, this is a gay welcome!” he said
aloud. “But if they think they're going to down
me, they're jolly well mistaken. Thank the Lord,
I always loved a scrap!"


100
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An hour later, the new Lord Mereworth was sit-
ting down to his modest supper of bread and cheese,
in the Banqueting Hall which had entertained
Elizabeth and Charles II. He had the evening
paper propped against the branching silver candle-
sticks, and was going through it with that tabloid
concentration which all his life had enabled him
to get the maximum of information in the mini-
mum of time, when suddenly a voice spoke at his
elbow.
“Please, sir-milord, I mean-do you want an
'ousemaid?”
Bernard jumped. He had thought himself alone
in the Castle with Mrs. Lindsay; he found him-
self confronted by a young girl, who might have
been about twenty, and was dressed in a plain
black stuff gown, a white muslin apron, and a little
mob cap with streamers. Bernard looked her over
from head to heel in his leisurely way before he
made any reply. The face under the cap was
pretty-very pretty indeed, and of a remarkably
refined type; the nose, indeed, turned up a little,
but the oval curve of cheek and chin, the small, red
mouth, the large velvety brown eyes shaded by
long, black lashes made up a picture which he
found singularly attractive. Singularly, because
Bernard was not in the habit of finding young ladies
of twenty attractive. This unexpected vision, like
—yet how unlike!—Mrs. Lindsay, dropped him a
little curtsey with thistledown lightness and grace.


102 THE PURPLE PEARL
If you'll read the paper, milord, you'll see she says
I'm a very respectable girl.”
Bernard cast his eye over the document, which
was in fact a glowing testimonial. Miss Mere-
worth had "pleasure in recommending Winifred
Dell as a thoroughly honest, trustworthy young
woman, sober, industrious, and not at all flighty.
She is an early riser and a conscientious worker,
and I feel sure will do her duty to the best of her
ability. She is not tall but of good appearance,
and with a little training should make an excellent
housemaid. In fact, I have no hesitation in saying
that I expect her to turn out a treasure."
“This all seems quite satisfactory,” said Ber-
nard, passing his hand over his mouth to conceal
a smile at Miss Mereworth's italics. “I don't know
what wages you ask, but as you have not been out
before I should propose to give you-twenty-four
pounds a year. That do you?”
Winifred Dell was not to know that that slight
hesitation covered a jump from twenty pounds to
twenty-four. She really was so very pretty!
“Must have some pennies in her pocket to buy her-
self fandangles,” Bernard reflected. Bernard had
run his own house and managed his own servants
ever since he was twenty. Birmingham standards
were not quite those of Mereworth; he was aware
of that, but it did not affect him. He was very
much in the habit of going his own way. There
had been a time when he fought his men through


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103
a three months' strike, beat them to submission,
and after they were all back at work gave them
of his own accord the terms for which they had
been striking. He did not think Miss Dell was
worth more than twenty pounds a year, and
whether she worked in Castle Mereworth or in his
six-roomed villa on the Dudley Road seemed to
him to make no difference; the four pounds extra
were simply a concession, a weak concession to
Miss Dell's brown eyes. But he was not at all
ashamed of his weakness. “Twenty-four pounds,"
he repeated. “Will that suit you, eh?”
“Yes, if I can have a rise if I give satisfaction,
milord.”
“Oh, I'll rise you—I'll rise you if you stay. As
to outings: I don't care when you go, provided
you're in to wait on me when I want you. You
needn't ask my leave to go to the post, but on the
other hand I don't expect to come in to find no
dinner and you gallivanting, see?”'
“Yes, milord. Do you object to followers, mi-
lord ?”
"Followers?” Bernard repeated. “Are you en-
gaged to be married ?”
Winifred Dell cast down her eyes with a becom-
ing simper and fingered the corner of her apron.
“Oh, no, milord-not yet.”
“Miss Mereworth says you are not flighty,” ob-
served Bernard, gravely referring to the letter. "I
hope that that's the case?”'


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"I never give the chaps any encouragement, mi-
lord." There was an odd quaver in Winifred's
voice, but her face was impeccably demure. “But
sometimes they don't need any. And a girl likes
to have her chances, you know, milord.”
"Oh, well, you must settle that with Mrs. Lind-
say. I don't object to your seeing your friends
from time to time. The only thing I do object to
is your staying out late. You can get off as early
as you like, but I expect you to be in at nine o'clock.
Not nine-ten or nine-fifteen, but nine sharp. That's
in your interest and not in mine. You're not so
very aged, you know," Bernard's voice softened
rather pleasantly, "nor so very plain; and it's not
good for young girls to be about these country lanes
by night."
“I hope I know how to take care of myself, mi-
lord.” The small voice was rather stiff. Then
with a dramatic and involuntary rise of accent,
“Oh, look-look what you're doing!"
The Westminster Gazette had tilted one of the
candles, and the candle-grease was spilling on the
mirror-bright polish of the table. Bernard felt like
a small boy scolded by his nurse for spilling the
jam. “Well, clear it up, my girl, and don't stand
staring !” he said impatiently. “And you can clear
away the supper, too; I've finished. Settle the de-
tails of your work with Mrs. Lindsay. I shall
want my shaving water at seven sharp and break-
fast at seven-thirty.”


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105
He picked up his cap, which he had tossed down
on a cabinet once the property of Marie Antoinette,
and walked out through the glass doors into the
rain. It had not before happened to Bernard to
be bullied by his housemaid. Winifred Dell,
known to her friends as Winifred Delphine Mere-
worth, stood looking after him with an expression
of indignant, of almost incredulous astonishment.
“Upon my word !” she said aloud to the retreat-
ing figure of the lord of Mereworth, "upon my word
of honour-I believe that young man expects me
to bring him his shaving water!
“Well, I won't. That's flat.”


CHAPTER XI
THAT had happened meanwhile at Bollen-
dorf?
Silent lay the prison camp below as
Martin and Miles turned up into the woods. Bun-
galow No. 9 had been pacified, but the patrol had
not yet found the torn wire. With any luck, he
would not do so till the dawn, by which time they
hoped to be across the frontier. It was very dark
under the trees and there was no path. They had
fully two miles to go before they dared drop down
to the road on the further side of the village.
"Better keep as near as we can to the edge of
the wood,” said Martin, “or we shall go adrift.”
“Not too near. Heinz has his quarters half way
up the hill.”
“Did Schramm tell you that?”'
“No, I heard it in the camp. He took over the
Wald Villa. It used to be rather a jolly little
hotel run by some people from Brussels, but Heinz
commandeered it and turned them out.”
“We must bear away uphill then. Why on earth
didn't Schramm warn us—does he think we want
to fall into Otto's arms? He always has a dozen
orderlies at his beck and call!"
But bearing uphill was easier said than done,
106


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107
for the slope was very steep and they could never
see more than a couple of yards ahead. At last,
when they seemed to have been walking for an hour,
though they had actually covered about half a mile,
they came up against sheer cliff.
Martin measured it with his eye. “I could climb
that by day but not by night.”
“Well, I couldn't climb it either by day or by
night. We shall have to go down a bit. But we
must be close to the Wald Villa.”
Scrambling along under the cliff, they came out
of the trees on a grassy slope. Right before them
loomed up—was it house or haystack? No lamps
were burning; if it was a house it had evidently
gone to bed. Beyond it the friendly woods went
on again and there was no more cliff.
“Martin.”
“Well?"
"It is the Wald Villa-Heinz's quarters.”
“We can't go back now. Send he doesn't keep
a dog!"
But Heinz kept half a dozen dogs. As the fugi-
tives crept round the back of his premises a chorus
of barks rang out. Simultaneously a ground floor
window was flung open, and Heinz himself stepped
over the sill. He was fully dressed and smoking a
big cigar, and he carried an electric torch, which
flashed over them before they could dodge it.
“Who goes there?” the rasping voice rang out.
Martin slouched forward shading his eyes with


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his arm and speaking in the thick patois of the
country. “Gnädiger Herr Commandant, we were
going by the footpath to Ferschweiler and we lost
our way in the dark. We humbly beg the Herr
Commandant's pardon,”
“Your names?”
“Adolf Bauer and Johann Bolz, of Echternach."
“Arm down, Adolf Bauer.”
Martin dropped his arm.
“Pass Adolf Bauer and Johann Bolz. Get along
up into the woods, you'll find the path over there.
And don't let me catch you again or it'll be the
worse for you.”
The last they saw of the Commandant, he was
standing, torch in hand, staring after them into
the.darkness of the trees.
Martin and Miles did not exchange a syllable
till they were out of earshot of the Wald Villa.
At length Martin said lightly, “That was a close
shave.”
“Deuced close.” Miles's tone was pregnant.
"Do you know, Milesey, I had a sort of idea that
under his Kaiserly moustache our friend was grin-
ning at us."
“So had I. But we can't go back now.”
They tramped on, and ten minutes later the foot-
path Heinz had indicated led down to the river
valley. The scattered houses of the village and
the high spire of the church lay behind them, and
before them an open road stretched away to safety.


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109
The next five miles passed rapidly and unevent-
fully, and an hour later they reached Waldheim,
where they were to ford the river.
“There's the Our," Martin strained his eyes
through the stormy night, "and, yes, there's the
bridge with the lights of the guardhouse."
“I say, Martin.”
“Well?”
“What about crossing somewhere else instead
of where Schramm said? I don't much like the
look of things, do you?''
“Not a bit. But what else can we do? Without
passports, without food, without German money,
we should be nailed within twenty-four hours.
Fellows hardly ever do bring it off single-handed.
It seems to me that if we trust Schramm we haven't
much chance, but if we don't we have none at all.
And, after all, what could Schramm stand to win
by humbugging us? There's no sense in it that I
can see.”
“No, I know all that,” said Miles slowly. “But
why did Heinz let us pass if he knew us, as I'd
have sworn he did? He looked you straight in the
eyes. As for Schramm, he's altogether too much
of a coincidence. Why did he pick you out of all
the camp? And why, why did he object to my
coming, too? On his own showing, without me
you could never have got across the river!" He
stood still and faced Martin. “It looks exactly like
a pre-arranged trap. But if it is it's you who are


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in the soup, not me. Would you like to chuck it
even now?"
“No, I'll be shot if I will!” said Martin.
“You're a damn sight more likely to be shot if
you don't,” grumbled Miles.
However, there was no more to be said, and they
got over the hedge into the fields by the river, which
ran fairly wide under a modern stone bridge. On
the further bank high but not rocky hills, thickly
wooded, came down to the very edge of the water.
Excellent cover there if they could only get across;
and after all it was not much good, as Martin re-
flected, to go back to Bollendorf and fall into
Heinz's hands again.
As they crept along under cover of a hedge they
heard men's voices talking and a snatch of a sol-
dier's song. Yes, the bridge was guarded—it nat-
urally would be so, as it was on the frontier between
Germany and Luxemburg. It seemed an extraordi-
nary spot for Schramm to have chosen for their
crossing, but the Our was a rapid, rocky, and diffi-
cult stream, and Martin, from his recollection of
fishing trips before the war, knew that there were
not many places where it could be crossed even by a
strong swimmer. Nevertheless it gave him an eerie
feeling to stand in the dark under the hollow arch
of the bridge and hear the steps of the guard ring-
ing loud on the cobbled road overhead.
"Schramm said there was an old ferry post we
could tie up to."


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111
"It's here.”
Miles took a hasty step forward, stumbled, and
came down on his hands and knees with a tremen-
dous clatter of chains. He had fallen headlong
over the moorings of the ferryboat.
“Done it now!” he gasped, picking himself up.
“They're safe to hear a row like that!"
But the stones were thick and the roar of the
river ran high, and when the beating of blood in
his ears had died down Martin realized that the
men overhead had begun to sing again. Their
voices were harsh and their tune sentimental, but
neither Martin nor Miles had ever heard sweeter
music.
“Fasten the rope while I unwind it,” said Miles.
He had it coiled round his middle under his cor-
duroy suit, which had evidently belonged to a gen-
tleman of ample proportions. Spinning round like
a teetotum till coil after coil lay slack on the
ground, he knotted one end under his shoulders
while Martin made the other end fast to the ferry
post.
“The river's making a good deal of noise," said
Martin. “Mind you don't get swept down, young
Miles. There are rapids below."
“Bless you, I've swum worse brooks than this,"
said Miles cheerfully. “I learnt in the Severn."
Martin held out his hand. “You're taking a big
risk for me, Milesey. Don't think me ungrateful."
He made Cordeaux colour like a girl, but the


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darkness hid his blushes. Silently Miles wrung his
comrade's fingers and waded out into the stream.
The river was icy cold even in August, and the
first shock of it took his breath away and carried
him off his feet. But Miles was a strong swimmer
and did not mean to let himself be swept down.
He struck out with long, powerful breast strokes,
keeping well up stream though in the shadow of
the bridge.
When he looked up once over his shoulder he
could distinctly see just above the parapet a small,
red spark which was the glowing tip of a cigarette;
one of the soldiers, or perhaps some local civilian,
was indulging in a smoke and a sentimental reverie
over the hurrying stream. Miles was only too
thankful that the river was in such a hurry, or he
must infallibly have been heard.
The worst of it was under the middle span. Here
the current was running like a millrace, and in
spite of all he could do Miles was sucked down
between the piers till the rope dragged taut behind
him and he felt like a fish at the end of a line.
But by a mighty effort he fought sidelong through
the rushing water till he got his hand on the fur-
ther pier, then flinging one arm over a projecting
buttress worked his way back and into smoother
water. After that not many seconds passed before
he stood, breathless and dripping, on the Luxem-
burg shore.
A shabby figure rose up to meet him. It seemed


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113
to Miles that another figure at the same moment
glided away up the bank, but the water was run-
ning down his face and he was half blind.
“Herr Cordeaux ?!!
“Are you Schramm's cousin ?"
“Natürlich. You have the rope? It must be
made fast before the other Herr can cross by it."
Schramm's cousin stooped to secure the rope
which Miles flung off. He fumbled with it and was
very slow.
“Give it me,” said Miles, impatiently snatching
it out of his hand.
Martin would not try to cross till the rope was
drawn taut—and a great wave of unaccountable
distrust had rushed over Miles as he watched
Schramm's cousin's fumbling fingers. He sud-
denly wished with all his heart that they had
crossed together and at another spot.
He made fast the rope while Schramm's cousin
watched him, grumbling.
“What is all that noise on the bridge?” said
Miles in a savage whisper.
The jovial song had ceased and there was a loud
outburst of excited chatter. He could not under
stand what was said—his German was none of the
best, and the local dialect was quite beyond him-
but he did not like the sound of it.
“How should I know, mein Herr?”
"If you play us any trick,” said Miles fiercely,
“I'll wring your infernal neck for you!"


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The man edged away. “Why should I play you
any trick?'' he was beginning sulkily; but his sen-
tence was cut short. The babel broke out into
shouting: a shot rang out-another—another. The
soldiers on the bridge were firing downstream into
the water.
“Oh, my God!" said Miles. And then suddenly,
out of nowhere he could not have told whether
from the shore or from the water—Martin's voice
came across to him, Martin's unmistakably, but
thick and broken as if he were being suffocated.
“It's a trap—I'm done-run for it, Miles"
Miles turned, but not to run. One well-planted
blow between the eyes sent Schramm's cousin
crashing down at full length along the flinty shore,
where he lay stunned, and then Miles dashed up
towards the bridge and straight into the middle
of a group of soldiers who were rushing down from
it. He sent the first sprawling and tripped up the
second, but only to go down himself with half a
dozen on top of him. The odds were too long.
Ten minutes later, Miles, his clothing in ribbons,
blood streaming from a gash on his forehead, was
standing in the guardhouse before a startled and
rather sleepy Saxon officer. Miles had not assumed
the orthodox attitude of the retaken prisoner. He
was ashen-white-but with rage; and till he was
forcibly dragged off he was shaking his fist in the
face of his captor.


THE PURPLE PEARL 115
“Wo ist mein Freund, you sweep? Was haben
Sie getan mit meinem Freund ?”
“Take him away,” said the Saxon officer, yawn-
ing. "He is mad.”
A subaltern who had been educated at Harrow,
piped up in deferential accents. “I think, sir, he
wants to know what has become of his companion.”
“Oh! tell him by all means—come forward,
Schmidt. You are quite sure you hit the Eng-
länder?"
“Quite sure, mein Herr.”
“Tell him his friend was shot through the head
and swept down the rapids."


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ments. Some hours later a grave young man,
rather set and stiff, called to notify the police that
there would have to be an inquest on Mr. Bernard
Mereworth, who had fallen with his glider and
broken his neck.
Mereworth's was a one-man business. For the
first years after his father's death Bernard had a
hard fight to hold his own, both with his men and
with his business rivals; he was young, inexperi-
enced, undeveloped. The strain made a man of
him. By the time he was five-and-twenty he was
master in his own house, and sufficiently at leis-
ure, for the first time in his life, to look round him
and realize that he was lonely. There were cir-
cles in Birmingham where he would have found
himself at home, but he had not come across them.
With the business men he met he had nothing in
common except their business. It is not good for
man to live alone; and in the spring of 1914 Ber.
nard had already some half-formed plans of com-
ing south and looking up his Mereworth kith and
kin, when the war shut down on him, and there
was no more leisure for any one.
Bernard was mature, but he was also boyish;
and one of his youthful traits was a weakness for
what he called a scrap. Instead of conciliating
Mereworth, it amused him to go out of his way to
act up to their preconceived notion of his charac-
ter. In the course of the next few weeks he con-


THE PURPLE PEARL
119
trived to make himself thoroughly unpopular all
round. He led off with a quarrel with Miss Fleet,
whose beloved Jacky had been discovered in the
poultry yard with a pedigree duck in his mouth.
Bernard rescued him from the gardener, who
wanted to put him in the horsepond, and strolled
down to The Barn with the duck in one hand and
the impenitent thief panting and pulling on a string
in the other. In a general way Miss Fleet, who
kept chickens herself, would have apologized for
her pet's misbehaviour and beaten him with her best
stick; but there was something in Bernard which
would have ruffled the feathers of an archangel.
Miss Fleet became caustic; Bernard grew suave.
It ended in her counting ten shillings into his out-
stretched palm. Bernard pocketed the money, and
turned back at the last moment to lay the corpse
on the hall table.
"Perhaps, as you've bought him, you'd like to
make a stew of him ?” he suggested. An inconven-
ient sense of humour was one of his disadvantages.
“That young man has the worst manners I ever
came across,” Ethel said quite hotly to Violet, who
had been listening to the encounter from the din-
ing-room with hair standing on end.
"I suppose he has,” Violet agreed, and was be-
trayed into a laugh. “But, Ethel dear, you were
both so very funny!"
A day or so later Bernard horrified the Rector's
wife by telling her that he was a Dissenter. Next,


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he repeated. “What's that tumbledown shanty
over by the South Gate? Gamekeeper's cottage, is
it? That'll do me, if it's put into repair."
“You would live in a gamekeeper's cottage, my
lord !” Milner's tone was a wail.
"Oh, no. I shan't live there. I shall live in
Birmingham. Do you realize that we're on Gov-
ernment work—turning out shells and aeroplanes ?
Did you imagine I was going to chuck all that?
Why, I couldn't if I would. I did try it on once,
and I was hauled back like a dog on a string. I
shall live in Birmingham; but the cottage'll do
me all right for week ends, when I run down to see
if you're throwing your cap over the windmill!”
And that was the last straw. To treat Castle
Mereworth as a mere appendage to a factory-it
called down a thunderstorm of disapproval; it
shocked every prejudice in the countryside.
Meantime, while waiting for his cottage to be put
in order, Bernard continued to picnic in a corner
of the Castle. It did not seem worth while to get
in a houseful of servants for so short a time, so
Mrs. Lindsay remained as cook and Winifred Dell
as housemaid, and the pair of them made him as
uncomfortable as they decently could. Bernard
was both amused and puzzled by their behaviour.
He did not expect to be beloved; but what did Mrs.
Lindsay mean by always talking about "the present
Lord Mereworth,” and why was she so unwilling
to let him sleep in the old lord's room? Bernard


124
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appointed, he turned back to the house, broke the
bad news to Mrs. Lindsay in the kitchen, and then
went swinging up the servants' staircase to his
room. To his surprise he had to push open the
door against some obstruction, which turned out
to be a step ladder. The curtains of the great bed
had all been taken down and were lying in a heap
on the floor. But there was nobody to be seen.
"Hullo!. What the dickens—?!!
The curtains had suddenly begun to wriggle.
Bernard poked at them with his stick, wild ideas
of escaped boa constrictors wandering in his mind.
“Don't do that!” said a muffled, dusty, and irri-
tated voice. “Can't you see I'm under the bed?''
Then Bernard perceived that his housemaid had
been lying on her face on the floor, and that her
legs, sticking out and covered by a pile of cur-
tains, were responsible for their agitation. He was
speechless. Slowly Winifred Dell backed out from
under the embroidered valance, carrying the cur-
tains with her; slowly she shook them off and rose
to her feet.
"Well, I'm dashed! What on earth are you
doing under my bed?”
“I'm sweeping, of course!"
“Is it usual to crawl underneath in order to do
that?"
"Well, how else can I reach ?”
“In Birmingham we mostly shift the bed,” said
Bernard. Winnie's cap was off, her curls were


THE PURPLE PEARL
125
tumbling everywhere they should not—lovely curls,
rippling brown and gold, and lovely brown eyes
flashing fire. “In Birmingham we mostly use a
dustpan and broom to sweep with,” he went on
urbanely, “but I remember, you told me you hadn't
been out before. No doubt that accounts.”
"What a lot you know about sweeping and dust-
ing,” said Winnie, very innocently.
“I do, I'm a nailer on housework. It all depends
on what you're brought up to. Now, if you'd like
me to give you a few tips”
"No, thank you, milord. Shall I take your hat
and stick, milord?”
“Thanks,” said Bernard, handing them over, and
piling his coat on top of them, and thrusting his
bag into her other hand, to her great and indig-
nant surprise. “And these, too,” he added, picking
up another old coat, and a mackintosh, and a scarf,
which had been trailing across a chair. “Lord!
you look like a clothes horse! Just put them in
the hall, will you? I came up the other way. And
hi, wait a moment—if you should pass a looking
glass,”
“Yes, milord ???
“You might attend to those curls,” said Bernard
more urbanely than ever. “Half way down the
back is all very fine and frolicsome, and I like it
no end myself, but I doubt if it's done in the best
families !”
It would be not incorrect to say that Winnie


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flounced out of the room, with the result that she
trod upon her trailing armful, and dropped most
of them outside; to judge by the sound, Bernard's
bag went bounding down the Grand Staircase and
did not bring up till the mat. He was left smil-
ing broadly. His position at Mereworth was not
without its consolations, since it permitted him to
pose as Winifred Dell's master.
Lunch was late that day as usual, and when it
came consisted of a smallish herring and a slice
of warmed-up suet rolypoly. Bernard was very
hungry; nevertheless, when Winnie came in to clear
away, the pudding was still on his plate. He
looked up from his book, which he still propped
against the silver candlesticks, disregarding the
mute disapproval which waited upon his depar-
tures from propriety.
“Have you finished, milord ???
“Yes,” said Bernard. “You can take that away
and give it to Miss Fleet's dog. I don't much mind
if he does die. In the best families they eat game
high, but not rolypoly."
Winnie removed the dish with the air of a mar.
tyr. As she was going out Bernard called her back.
“Here, what's your name, wait a minute by the
way, I've never settled what I'm going to call
you—”
Nor had Winnie. If she had thought of Ber-
nard's calling her anything at all, it would have


THE PURPLE PEARL
127
been Miss Mereworth. She opened her eyes rather
widely. “To call me?”
“Well, you see, Dell is so cold and Winifred
sounds so familiar," Bernard explained. Winnie
waxed speechless. “You don't think so? All right
then, we'll have it for Winifred. Now, Winifred,
there are one or two questions I want to ask you.
Who”—he stooped to strike a match on the sole of
his brown boot—"who was your father?”
This was unexpected. But Winnie was equal to
the occasion. "I—I hope, milord,” she faltered in
a voice which had suddenly become tearful, “I hope
I'm giving satisfaction. I—I'm very sorry about
the pudding, milord!"
“Not half so sorry as I was. You didn't have to
go without it. But you needn't cry. I'm not find-
ing fault. Only you strike me as—as not quite
used to the duties of your position, what? I should
like to know a little more about you. You can
sit down,” he added benignantly.
Winnie sat down, showing rather more of her
black silk stockings than is seemly in a housemaid.
“I'm very young, milord.”
“Very,” said Bernard.
“I shall improve with training, if your lordship
doesn't mind giving me a word now and then.”
“Charmed,” said Bernard.
Winnie's brown eyes flashed up at him from
under their black lashes. “It's nice to serve a gen-
tleman who takes an interest."


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"I take an interest in all my dependents," said
Bernard, blowing smoke rings. “But still you
haven't told me who your father was.”
"He—he was in the army, milord. He was
killed serving under Lord Methuen, and my mother
died, too, and my sister and me hadn't anything to
live on except what his late lordship allowed us.
He was very kind to us."
“Kind, was he? Now why?”
“His lordship was like you, milord-he took an
interest in all his dependents.”
“Yes, but he didn't go about providing them with
incomes, did he? I don't. Not unless they come
and provide me with suet rolypoly and other arti-
cles de luxe."
Winnie had not foreseen such a searching cross-
examination. Her invention was beginning to fal-
ter and she fidgeted with her apron.
“Hehe"-sudden inspiration came "he was
kind to us for my father's sake. He was always
very good to my father. He'd known him all his
life and he was like a son to him.”
“Oh, ah! Was he?” said Bernard, suddenly en-
lightened. He had heard—who had not?—that the
late Lord Mereworth had been "gay" in his youth,
and he jumped straight to a conclusion that would
have horrified Winnie if her innocence could have
been brought to understand it. "H'm—that ac-
counts. . . . And so you've lived here always and


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129
known Miss Winnie Mereworth all your life? Did
you know Miss Violet, too???
“Not so well as Miss Winnie, milord, but of
course I've often seen her.”
Bernard smoked in silence. Winnie had his face
in profile against the panelling; it was a handsome
profile, virile, able, and good-tempered. Bernard
was good-tempered; he was accustomed to go his
own way serenely without regard to what other
people thought. He turned to her at last.
"Look here, I want to ask you something: you
may think it rather an odd question, but it's oc-
curred to me that you may be able to help me and
incidentally Miss Mereworth as well. What's the
cause of the prejudice against me down here? Is
it the old story, or is it something peculiar to my-
self? I'm bothered if I can make out!"
Winnie looked at him for a moment—"It's Bir-
mingham.”
“Birmingham, eh ?”
“Yes. I'm sorry, but you ought to be told. You
don't belong here. You like all the wrong things.
You don't understand pictures or china or tapestry
and you're a teetotaller and you can't even ride.
You've done nothing all your life except make
money."
Bernard threw his head back with a shout of
laughter. “Oh, Lord! They don't like me to earn
my living? Is that it? Is it possible? I ought to


130
THE PURPLE PEARL
have existed beautifully on an allowance from my
stepmother instead of sullying my fingers in
trade”
He did not mean to reflect on Martin, far from
it; Martin's way of life was entirely all right for
Martin, though it would have been all wrong for
Bernard. But his words were unfortunately
chosen. Winnie got up. She was white, and for
the first time in their intercourse she was dignified.
“And then you wonder why we don't like you
down at Mereworth! You had better go back to
your old factory; perhaps in Birmingham they
don't mind hearing an em busqué sneer at the men
who go and fight!"


CHAPTER XIII
N the meantime, while Winnie was enjoying
herself at Castle Mereworth, her sister was
searching for her high and low. Violet did
not wish to publish Winnie's escapade; so, after
consultation with Ethel, she put the case into the
hands of a private enquiry agent, who promised to
find the truant within a week. This, however, was
easier said than done. Winnie had left no trace.
She never put her nose outside the Castle; no one
so much as knew of the existence of a third person
in it except Mrs. Lindsay, who never opened her
lips, and Bernard, who did not talk because he
had no one to talk to. He could not gossip about
his housemaid to Milner the agent. For her letters
the young conspirator had hit on an ingenious plan.
She wrote every week, and enclosed the envelope
under cover to a school friend in town who had
promised to act as postman. Thus they arrived
with the London postmark, judiciously varied from
Golders Green to Lavender Hill; but Winnie her-
self seemed to have dropped off the edge of the
universe.
Violet was less anxious than she might have been,
partly because of these letters, which breathed the
very spirit of gaiety, and partly because of another
• 131


132
THE PURPLE PEARL
strong preoccupying thought. The tiny seed of
hope sown by Winnie had grown and grown till it
shut out everything else. Did she believe that Mar-
tin was alive? She never asked herself that ques-
tion; but she went about her work with a veiled
brightness in her dreamy eyes which made Miss
Fleet, who was not in the secret, wonder. Violet
unconsciously changed a good deal during this
time. Her love, her idolatry for Martin was a force
to mould character; she did not lose in sweetness,
but she gained in strength.
One September morning Miss Mereworth was
driving to Chichester with her load of vegetables
when a warning bumpiness pulled her up. She
leaned out and looked at her tyre. Alas, it was
lamentably flat. She would have to put on the
spare wheel. When Violet learned to drive, a most
incongruous accomplishment, she had also been
taught to do running repairs, and she could and did
do them when necessary, but not very willingly.
It must be owned that she did not like spoiling her
hands. However, there was no help for it now;
Chichester and its garages were three miles away,
and Violet addressed herself to her task with res-
ignation.
“Jacking up” a car is hard work. Violet stooped,
tugging with both hands. A horse was coming
down the hill behind her; it halted.
“Shall I be snubbed if I offer to do that?"


THE PURPLE PEARL
133
It was Bernard Mereworth. Violet looked round
smiling. “No, you won't. I am no good—I think
my fingers are made of putty!"
"Ivory, ivory,” said Bernard. He dismounted,
tied up his horse to a gate, and took her place.
How the car jumped up under his powerful strokes !
Violet stood beside him, the wind blowing her skirts
about her.
“I didn't know you rode,” she said, by way of
making conversation.
“I don't,” said Bernard. “I stick on. I took
half a dozen lessons last time I was in Birming.
ham, and I bought a horse. I said I wanted him
for an elderly gentleman with nerves. That's true.
I shake in my boots all the time. But I stick on
-at least, I have so far.”
"Why did you never learn to ride when you were
a boy?”
“Because I liked cars better. That's Birming.
ham, you know.” He smiled at her. Bernard's .
smile was engagingly boyish. Violet did not fol-
low his allusion to Birmingham, and she would not
ask what he meant; even her answering smile
seemed like a disloyalty to Martin.
“There you are,” he said, rising to his feet and
rubbing his hands on his handkerchief-it crossed
Violet's mind that whenever she saw him he seemed
to be tinkering with cars and wiping his fingers.
“Shall I start her for you now?":
“If you will be so kind.”


134
THE PURPLE PEARL
The car began to throb and Violet offered her
hand for good-bye. This time he took and held it.
“I wonder—after all, we're kith and kin—I won-
der whether you'd mind answering a question ?”
“What question ?" Violet's fingers stirred uneas-
ily in his grasp. He dropped them at once.
"I was told the other day, never mind by whom,
that one reason why I'm not liked down here is be-
cause I come from Birmingham, and another is—
because I'm not in the trenches. Is that so with
you?” Violet flushed and looked down. “Don't
spare my feelings, I really want to know.”
“It does make a difference,” said Violet reluc-
tantly.
"Ah!”
He turned away and remounted. Violet watched
him ride down the lane. She was sorry for him
-yes, she was sorry; but what could she say?
There the fact remained; he had not gone, and she
could not feel as she did to those who had.
Before her thoughts were finished he turned and
came riding back.
“I wanted to tell you—I don't know if it will
make any difference, but I did join up. I was in
the Sappers. But they had me out and sent me
back to my job. We were making planes, you see."
“I am sorry!" Violet exclaimed impulsively. “I
didn't think_"
“Never mind what you thought, provided you
stop thinking it. It was rough luck, too,” he added,


THE PURPLE PEARL
135
his voice changing. “I didn't in the least want to
come home. I liked it, you know. I always loved
a scrap. I can bear being called an embusqué, but
it was annoying to be done out of all the fun.
Those months were about the only holiday I've ever
had in my life. Yes, I was very sick—very sick,
indeed. Well! that's enough about that. I've been
wondering—I know I've put my foot into it with
Miss Fleet, but, if I made her a humble apology,
do you think she'd bring you up to dine some eve-
ning?"
"If I told her what you have told me”
“No, no. I bar that. That was for you and no-
body else. Can't you soften her without?”
“I'll ask her, Lord Mereworth "
“Is it Birmingham that forbids you to call me
Bernard ?"
Violet was mute.
“Look here: when I came to town last spring, it
was with the express purpose of looking up my re-
lations and acquiring the rudiments of a family. I
haven't a soul of my own belonging to me, you
know. (You'll excuse my boring you with so much
about myself.) Well, I didn't exactly prosper. I
liked Martin, poor chap, and he snapped the nose
off my face. I liked you, and you ran away from
me. Now I'm not really an ogre, and that made
me feel uncomfy. But I'm a persistent sort of fel-
low, and I couldn't help thinking you might change
your mind if I could get you to see my point of


136
THE PURPLE PEARL
view. That's why I kept on coming, in spite of
Mrs. Adeane's pressing invitations, because I was
always hoping to make you understand.”
Violet was still silent.
“And now poor young Martin gets himself shot,
and I'm pitchforked into his place, and come down
here and turn you out of house and home. Too
heavy a handicap, is it?-All right, I won't bother
you any more. Napoo."
“Bernard !”
He wheeled round and looked back at her.
“Will Thursday evening do if I can soothe
Ethel?”
“Righto,” said Bernard. “Eight o'clock.”
“Dell, I've rashly asked some people to supper,
dinner, I mean, on Thursday. In your manifold
accomplishments, do you happen to know anything
of cooking?”
Winnie, who had come in to clear the table, stood
still with her tray in her arms. Since their last
unfortunate passage of arms she had not had any
more conversations with her master. He treated
her as he had always done, that is to say, he ur-
banely "pulled her leg,” and she treated him, as
Mrs. Lindsay observed, like the dirt under her feet.
She took a spiteful pleasure in making him uncom-
fortable. If she ever felt a twinge of pity she re-
called that unlucky speech about Martin and froze
again.


THE PURPLE PEARL 137
“Do you wish me to cook for you, milord ?”
“Not unless you can. Certainly not unless you
can.”
“Who is coming ?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Rector. Miss Fleet. Miss Mere-
worth.”
"Oh,” said Winnie. “Well, I can't both cook and
wait, milord. If you think Mrs. Lindsay—"
"No, I don't think Mrs. Lindsay. I've a man
coming down from town to do the waiting, but I
can't get a cook at such short notice, they tell me.
So I thought you might possibly make yourself
useful. If you aren't any very great shakes I won't
be too severe. You don't do much for your liv-
ing, you know, except exist beautifully and sweep
under the bed.”
Leaning against the mantelpiece with his back
to the fire, he smiled at Winnie. Winnie's nose
went up.
"I'm sorry if I don't give satisfaction, milord.
What were you thinking of having for dinner?”
"Either soup or fish, meat, pudding, and dessert.
Oh, and coffee—but I'll see to that myself. No
kickshaws. Think you can tackle it?”
“Would bloaters do, milord ?”
“No," said Bernard, "bloaters would not do.”
Winnie put down her tray and hurriedly blew
her nose. She would have liked to go away and
laugh. He was so long-suffering that he made her
feel ashamed of herself. She tucked the handker-


138 THE PURPLE PEARL
chief away and in a fit of remorse came hurriedly
to business. Not for nothing had Miss Mereworth
been educated in a French convent!
“Clear soup”—she ticked off the items on her
pretty fingers"a brace of pheasants-pâtés à la
russe-raspberry tarts, vanilla cream, ices. Quite
simple if it's only a dîner en famille Peaches.
Grapes. Hock and Burgundy. Will that do?”
"Do you propose to cook all that yourself ?''
“Oh, yes, I've often done it at school. We used
to take turns."
“You haven't much mercy in your composition,
have you?”
Winnie found herself suddenly growing warm.
"I've got thin,” said Bernard. “Lost eight
pounds. Had myself weighed last time I was in
Birmingham. Well, well.”
Winnie felt herself melting away into compunc-
tion; his plate of underdone cold mutton and boiled
potatoes was too much for her maternal instincts.
But she thought of Martin and hardened her heart.
"It's better, isn't it, milord, than the men get in
the trenches?”
She wished next minute that she had held her
tongue. Bernard's face lightened; he made two
steps of it across the room and dropped his hands
on her shoulders.
"You little thing, do you think I was afraid ?”
Then he released her and walked out into the
garden.


CHAPTER XIV
EN years after Miles Cordeaux was recap-
tured on the bridge at Waldheim, Martin
came to himself and found he was dead.
It was not really ten years or even ten hours,
and when he tried to move Martin found that he
was only too much alive, but his first impression
was that he was in his grave. He was lying
stretched out at full length, his arms by his sides,
and they were bound, and his head was bound; he
could not lift his hands or cry out; and though his
eyes were not bandaged it was dark—darker than
any dark room, darker than the darkest night. He
could not raise himself, but he felt about under
him with his fingers and found that what they
touched was smooth and hard and clay-cold; it was
neither brick nor soil, and for one appalling mo-
ment Martin thought it was really the leaden shell
of a coffin. He made some sort of inarticulate
noise between a gasp and a groan, and writhed in
his bonds.
"Do not do that,” said the harsh nasal twang
of old Schramm.
Martin lay still. He had been frightened to his
very soul, frightened like a child; but he had not
gone through four years in the trenches without
139


140
THE PURPLE PEARL
learning to control fear, and when the first hor-
rible shock was over his trained will gave him
sharp orders to keep quiet and think of anything
or any one but himself. But the tension was rather
cruel. Luckily it did not last long. Schramm's
footfall shuffled along the floor beside him, the
rustle of his dirty old clothes came close to Mar-
tin's ear-he struck a light.
Martin stared round. Dimly he had concluded
that he was in the "solitary” cell at Bollendorf,
though what Schramm was doing there he could
not imagine; nor was it usual even under Heinz's
iron rule to gag and tie up an officer prisoner.
But when Schramm's candle burnt up Martin saw
no familiar surroundings. He was in some sort
of roomy cellar perhaps twenty feet square by
seven feet high. Floor, walls, and roof were of
earth, shining damp in patches; there was nothing
whatever in it—not even a cobweb—except a small
door which fastened with a ponderous lock.
Though it was midsummer the air was so cold that
Martin shivered.
“So you have come to yourself?” Schramm held
the candle so near to Martin's face that a splash
of hot grease fell on his cheek. “Ach so! That is
a goot thing.”
Martin could not speak, could not even point
with his hand. He looked imploringly at Schramm
and rolled his head from side to side.
“Ach was, I dare say you would like me to take


142
THÉ PURPLE PEARL
escape_Cordeaux and I. You don't mean to say
it's the same night?"
“But of course—why not?''
"I remember—don't drop the candle grease into
my mouth, there's a good fellow-I remember how
we cut the wire; and we met Heinz up at the Wald
Villa; and Waldheim—we were to swim the river
at Waldheim.”
“Ja, gewiss—to swim the river.”
“And Miles—Miles went first!” Light came
suddenly into Martin's eyes. “Schramm! did he
did Herr Cordeaux get off?”
“Certainly not!” Schramm's tone was quite in-
dignant. "Is it likely that we should let him get
off? He is back at Bollendorf by now.”
“Oh.” Martin shut his eyes. Light-hearted
Miles back at Bollendorf! Martin felt that he
could have borne anything if only Miles had es-
caped— Miles had been so long in prison, and he
had thought he really was going to escape. this
time! But Heinz had been one too many for them.
“Did you sell us to the Commandant, Heinz?”
“Na—if you talk like that I put the gag in
again.”
“Please don't. I don't like the flavour of it. I
say, can I have some water ?”
“Are you thirsty ?!!
“Rather,” said Martin, faintly.
“Goot, you shall drink.” Schramm dragged
from his pocket a bottle of cheap country beer and


THE PURPLE PEARL
143
tilted it to Martin's lips. It was villainous stuff,
and half of it ran down his neck, but it helped him
to pull himself together. “There, that is better
than water, is it not?”
"Tophole," said Martin gratefully. What on
earth was the good of getting angry with Schramm?
Martin expressed gratitude not because he was en-
tirely in Schramm's power, but because, after all,
the wretched old Jew was kind according to his
lights. “Couldn't you loosen "
He broke off and the Jew scrambled to his feet.
The key rattled in the lock, the door opened: in
came Heinz. He took no notice of his tool except
to fling a single word over his shoulder—“Go."
Schramm crept out and shut the door, and Heinz,
stooping over Martin, slapped him lightly on the
cheek with his glove.
"I warned you, did I not, that it would be the
worse for you if I caught you again ?”
"Oh, you did recognize us, did you ?” said Mar-
tin. “I thought you couldn't be such a fool as you
looked.”
He had been frightened ten minutes ago but he
was not frightened now: he could not conceive
what was going to happen to him; it seemed quite
likely that he was going to be shot and not im-
possible that he was going to be tortured, but for
Heinz he had but one feeling—a reckless, defiant
rage.


144
THE PURPLE PEARL
“Do you understand that you are in my power?”
“I am not in your power.”
A smile flitted over the Commandant's hard face.
“We shall see. In the meanwhile I do not wish
to hurt you more than is necessary.” He knelt
down beside Martin and wiped the prisoner's face
with his own handkerchief, then carefully felt his
pulse. “You are suffering.”
Martin's almost imperceptible movement of the
shoulders signified, "What is that to you?”
“You were hurt in the scuffle on the bank?” He
ran his hands lightly but warily over Martin's
body. “Ah! you wince. Your knee"
He set down his torch and went out, to return
carrying a roll of lint and a basin of water, with
which he bathed and dressed the wrenched and
swollen limb. Martin's unlucky leg had never got
over being sprained in March, and after being
roughly handled in the struggle on the bridge, and
tied up by Schramm with cords that cut into the
flesh, it was horribly inflamed and painful. But
though Heinz was more gentle than Schramm, and
certainly not so dirty, Martin was not grateful to
him at all. He was perfectly certain now that
their whole escape had been a put-up job, and when
he thought of Miles's hopes and Miles's disappoint-
ment—not to speak of his own-he could have shot
Heinz in cold blood with pleasure.
“Now you are more comfortable, are you not?”


146 THE PURPLE PEARL
that what the row's about? Oh, Otto, Otto, most
admirable Otto, I thought you had more sense!”
Heinz went on with a dogged coolness which
moved Martin's unwilling admiration. “My grand-
father when he died told me one word. The second
you know and you are going to tell me. The third
I learnt ten days ago from a letter written to you
by your betrothed—”.
“To take a leaf out of your own book, Otto, you
lie. Miss Mereworth could not have told you the
third word because she does not know it.”
“Does she not? Heinz dragged a packet of
papers out of his coat. The blood rose to Martin's
cheek as he recognized in them two letters from
Violet and one from his stepmother. “You shall
hear what the gracious young lady says about the
Pearl.”
Heinz read out three lines from Violet's crested
sheet.
“"We have found out the second word in the
Puzzle. It was on a slip of paper which was tucked
away in Grandfather's spectacle case. The word
is ...
“So you see I now have two words. You will
give me the third.”
“And, when you have it, what then? You can't
go to England.”
“You are mistaken. I could go to England to-


THE PURPLE PEARL
147
morrow if I chose. It is simple enough if one
knows the way. I shall go if necessary; but in
the meanwhile, as I do not wish to lose my position
here, I shall work through a friend who is nat-
uralized and living in London.”
“And you engineered our escape and recapture in
order to get me into your power? You're an in-
fernally clever devil, Otto. I suppose I'm officially
dead, is that it?”
“Exactly."
“Whereas in reality I am—?!
“In the crypt of a ruined castle which is my
property, and which lies up among the hills out of
earshot of any road. No one comes near it now
that there are no more English tourists; no one
knows where you are except Schramm, who helped
me to bring you here; and Schramm will never
speak and cannot be bribed, because he knows that
if I were to lift my finger I could have him shot.”
Yes; Martin was in evil case. He saw that so
plainly that he had to switch his mind off the sub-
ject.
“And in England they will believe you are dead,"
said Heinz. “That will be painful for your be-
trothed, who is so fond of you. But how long
will she continue to weep? Perhaps not so very
long.” He unfolded the letter from Lady Grace
Mereworth. “Would you like to hear your lady
mother's opinion?”


148
THE PURPLE PEARL
He turned to the last page of Lady Grace's let-
ter. .
“... I saw Violet a week ago. Helena Adeane
tells me the Birmingham cousin, young Bernard
Mereworth, is immensely struck with her. He has
pots of money, so Violet ought to jump at him, for
now your great-uncle is dead she and Winnie are
alone in the world, and I hear they are left with
fifty pounds a year between them. ..."
Heinz flashed the torch into Martin's eyes.
“You don't like that-eh? Now will you tell me
the third word?”
“I'll see you damned first !" said Martin.


THE PURPLE PEARL
151
whom William didn't find it easy to be impudent;
but behind Bernard's back William's scornful ex-
pression had helped to worry poor Winnie. Not
that she knew it was scornful! Such an idea
would never have entered her mind. But when she
had to speak to him she felt something disagreeable
in his manner which made her glad to get back to
Mrs. Lindsay.
"Here is the coffee, William.” Winnie spoke ex-
actly as if she were still Miss Mereworth of the
Castle. “Take it in to the ladies first, and be sure
you don't spill the cream."
William yawned, folded up the Pink 'Un, and
took out a toothpick. “Take the tray at once,
please,” said Winnie imperiously, her large eyes
opening wide in her surprise.
“All in good time,” said William, employing the
toothpick. He sucked it thoughtfully and replaced
it, staring at Winnie, who had turned a most be-
coming pink. “You must have a dull time of it
down here, a pretty girl like you.” He put his
arm round Winnie's waist.
It says a good deal for Winnie's presence of mind
as well as for her sense of duty that she did not
throw the tray at him. She set it down on the
table without spilling a drop of cream, and then-
alas for the precepts of St. Hilaire!-administered
to William the soundest slap he had ever received.
“You horrid, miserable little reptile,” said Win-
nie, “how DARE.you?”


152 THE PURPLE PEARL
William clapped his hand to his nose. He was
no longer pale. “Oh, you will, will you, you little
vixen? I'll teach you, my girl-!”
"Reptile” is an energetic word; "vixen” in Wil-
liam's infuriated bass was even more telling. Ber-
nard, who had had his eye on William from the
first, said "Excuse me,” to the Rector, and jumped
up in a hurry. In the hall he found a striking and
dramatic group. He shut the dining-room door
prudently behind him, and next minute William
was on his back on the floor and had knocked his
head against the bottom stair. When the stars
cleared from his dazzled eyes his master was stand-
ing over him, hands in pockets.
"You'll be out of this house,” Bernard remarked,
"in exactly five minutes, or”
Whether William was out of the house in five
minutes or not, he was out of the hall in five sec-
onds. Bernard looked after him rather regretfully.
“He'll have a quite satisfactory eye of it,” he re-
marked, and then, turning to Winnie, “I was in
time, wasn't I ?”
“Oh! oh, how horrid !” Winnie pulled out a
handkerchief and scrubbed at her cheek. “No
no, he didn't quite, but he very nearly did. Oh,
thank you most awfully-nobody could have
banged him better!"
"Not even one of the men in the trenches.” Ber-
nard's eye swept Winnie from head to foot as he
picked up the tray in his arms. "Most admired


THE PURPLE PEARL
153
disorder, but perhaps I'd better carry this little
lot into the drawing-room. That was one of the
chaps that didn't need encouragement, what?"
The dinner had been a success. Bernard had
borne his unpopularity with unfeigned good hu-
mour, but he had not enjoyed it—who would?—
and when he had seen the Rector and his wife off
with a lantern, and had wrapped up Miss Fleet,
a Pompadour figure of unexpected stateliness with
her white hair rolled over a cushion, and had re-
ceived a smile for good-bye from Violet's sweet,
eyes, he felt that he had gone far to establish a
better understanding. The Rector was easy to win;
Miss Fleet was a tougher job, but he had always
felt that if they got on at all they would get on
very well; and Violet? Long ago in town Mrs.
Adeane had set out to marry Bernard to Violet,
and Bernard, while going his own way, had
watched her mancuvres with placid amusement.
One doesn't marry one's little sister. And now at
last Violet understood, and was willing to trust
him.
From her his thoughts strayed to another lady,
and with a reminiscent and anticipatory smile he
went off to the kitchen. But Mrs. Lindsay was
washing up alone.
“Where's Dell, Mrs. Lindsay?"
"I don't know, sir.”


154
THE PURPLE PEARL
“Oh, yes, I think you do,” said Bernard. “Try
hard. Come now !"
“She went to close the windows in the White
Droring-room, sir,” said Mrs. Lindsay reluctantly,
"but where she is now I couldn't reelly undertake to
say.”
“Quite,” said Bernard. He perfectly understood
that Mrs. Lindsay did not want him to find Dell:
did not want him to do anything he wanted, but
least of all that. Mrs. Lindsay's feelings did not
trouble Bernard. Winnie was still in the White
Droring-room, reaching half-heartedly for the big
window which had been thrown up by Bernard's
energetic hand beyond her reach. Only one light
was burning in the enormous room. Bernard, who
stepped as lightly as a cat, came up behind and
stretched a long arm over her shoulder. The win-
dow came down with a bang.
"You're rather a little bit of a thing, aren't you?''
he said, smiling into her startled face. « 'Not tall,
but of good appearance. Not half tall enough for
a housemaid. Are you fagged ?”
"A little. Thank you.”
Winnie was very subdued. Nothing in her life
had ever upset her so much as William's aston-
ishing behaviour. For the first time she had begun
to wonder whether it had been quite wise, quite
prudent of her to pretend to be a housemaid.
“What a shame to make you do all the work!
I ought to have been in the kitchen, too, waiting on


THE PURPLE PEARL
155
my betters. I should have done as well as Wil-
liam, eh ?”
“Better,” said Winnie with a small smile. She
stole a pensive glance at Bernard out of the tail
of her eye. Birmingham and all, he was comfort-
ably big and good to look at. Bernard was as-
sailed by a temptation more sudden and violent
than he had ever felt in his life; there was that
in his face that took Winnie aback; but he did no
more than cover her small fingers for a moment
rith his own.
"Better than the other embusqué, what?-oh,
very well, very well, we'll drop the subject if it
doesn't please your small highness. What I really
looked you up for was to thank you. You're a real
A1 Blue Ribbon chef! It was all tophole, and it
made a lot of difference to me, because I specially
wanted it to go off well.”
“Did V—did Miss Mereworth eat a proper din-
ner?”
“Two crumbs and an ice. No, she wasn't up to
much. I wish I knew what's wrong there.”
“Why?” Winnie's tone was suspicious.
"Because I happen to be rather fond of her,”
said Bernard calmly.
"Oh!” Winnie flushed all over her face. “You
mustn't say things like that!"
“Why not? She's my cousin; I am fond of her,
and I rather flatter myself she's going to be fond
of me.”


156
THE PURPLE PEARL
“It's quite possible to be your cousin without
being fond of you,” Winnie retorted with spirit,
"and if you think V—Miss Mereworth ever will be
you're quite mistaken. I've heard Miss Winnie say
how abominably you behaved to her in town!"
“No, have you?” Bernard was enjoying himself
thoroughly. “What did I do?”!
“You—you let Mrs. Adeane throw you at her
head!"
“Chucked me about like a cricket ball, didn't
she? I always was of a tractable disposition. But
I don't see why your young lady should have ob-
jected to that. My intentions were strictly hon-
ourable. It's not as if she had any other claim
upon her.”
Bernard was fishing in very shallow water.
“But she had!” Winnie's discretion went to the
winds. “She was going to marry Martin—and he's
lost out there in Germany-and she's just breaking
her heart!”
“Martin-Martin Mereworth? So that's what's
been at the bottom of it all? I knew there was
something of the sort!" Bernard's face changed.
“And now the fellow's got himself killed. Oh, poor
little Posy! What rotten hard luck!"
“He hasn't got himself killed !"
“Oh, I forgot, you aren't going to believe it, are
you?-you and Mrs. Lindsay?” Bernard laid his
hand on her shoulder. “Well! I wish to heaven
you might be right, little thing."


THE PURPLE PEARL
159
to. Schramm was so egotistical that he would have
cut off another man's head to save himself a tooth-
ache, and so stupid that he would have wondered
why the other man should object, but there was
not an ounce of wanton cruelty in him. “Na, you
want to get me into trouble with the Herr Com-
mandant, that's what you want. I know your lit-
tle games!"
“A thousand pounds the day I get back to Eng.
land—isn't that worth a bit of trouble?”
“But how do I know you would pay me, once
you got back to England ?”
“Didn't I swear it by the Virgin of Vianden ?"
"That is a good oath because one may rely on
Her to see that you keep it. But no.” Schramm
shook his head. “What good would a thousand
pounds do to me if I was shot? And I should be
shot if I helped you to escape. He is a wonderful
man, the Herr Commandant. Would you believe
it, last time he came to see you he grumbled at me
because he said I had been in here talking to you?
He declared that he could smell the smell of my
clothes. Now that is absurd because my clothes
have no smell. Ei! how did he find out? He has
eyes at the back of his head.”
Martin gave a stifled sigh. “Well, tell me the
war news, anyhow.”
It was October, 1918, but Schramm was nothing
if not patriotic. “We have taken fifty thousand
prisoners in France and sunk two Dreadnoughts—"


160
THE PURPLE PEARL
“Thank you, that'll do. What sort of weather
is it?"
"Weather? How should I know? It is a day
like another day.”
"Is it sunny?”
Schramm eyed Martin with a perplexed, dimly
benevolent expression.
“Ja gewiss-beautiful, beautiful.”
“Let me look out of the window for a minute
do, old fellow! I couldn't run away, I'm as lame
as a tree.”
"You would frighten the crows." Schramm went
off suddenly into a fit of chuckles. “With that
beard, ach Gott! If you could see yourself you
would not want to show yourself—not even to the
crows !"
“But it's beastly, being in the dark all the time,”
Martin pleaded. “You can't think how beastly it
is. I see things inside my head~"
He stopped, trembling
"Then you must be going mad.” Schramm
jumped up, clapping his hand to the revolver which
he carried on his hip. “And I shall not stay if
you are going mad. Mad people are dangerous—”
“Oh, for God's sake, Schramm, leave me the can.
dle!"
“For the Herr Commandant to find when he
comes? Na, you think only of yourself—”
“You dog, is this how you obey my orders ?”
The door flew open. On the threshold stood


THE PURPLE PEARL
161
Heinz, in riding clothes and carrying a heavy whip.
Schramm fell on his knees, but Heinz had no mercy.
Slash went the whip, savagely, over breast and head
and face. The wretched Jew rolled over scream-
ing in agony.
“You infernal bully!" Martin leapt up and
seized his arm. “The poor devil was doing no
harm—"
“Swine of an Englishman, would you dare?!
The diversion was effective. Martin was too
weak to keep his hold; he was hurled crashing to
the floor; but meanwhile Schramm had scuttled
out of the room. Heinz flung a hearty curse after
him and stooped over Martin, who lay where he
had fallen.
“The next time I find Schramm in here prattling
to you I will thrash the pair of you. Do you un-
derstand that, Lord Martin? Ay, I will flog the
skin off your back in spite of your Guardsman's
uniform !"
He held up the whip before Martin's eyes. Mar-
tin, who was still wearing the plaid knickerbockers
and green tweed jacket which Schramm had fur-
nished for his escape, surveyed himself with a
whimsical smile.
“My uniform, Otto?"
“Here it is. Put it on."
Heinz flung down a bundle, and Martin saw to"
his astonishment that it contained the clothes of
which he had divested himself at Bollendorf. He


162
THE PURPLE PEARL
did not want to put them on because they made
escape more difficult—which was, he supposed, the
reason why Heinz had brought them. But he was
too weak to resist. He sat up and with shaking
fingers began to unbutton the green jacket, Heinz
standing over him all the while.
“What is that?” Heinz slipped his hand sud-
denly into Martin's shirt.
It was a minute oilskin packet which Martin had
contrived to smuggle past the guards who searched
him at Bollendorf. It could not escape the Com-
mandant's piercing eye. Heinz tore it open and
examined the contents: a ring, and two or three
withered objects which had once been violets.
"Love gifts, ah !” Heinz put them carefully away
in his pocketbook. “I am glad those imbeciles at
Bollendorf overlooked this little packet.” He
smiled at Martin, whose very soul was sick with
rage. “So: now you are yourself again. Now sit
down on your bed—so." He set down his power-
ful electric torch so that a blaze of light was thrown
full over the prisoner.
"What on earth are you doing?” Martin asked
in bewilderment. The Commandant had drawn
back a step. He held a case in his hand, but what
it was Martin, blinded by the glare in his eyes,
could not see.
"Turn your head a trifle to the right; shake your
hair back; take this newspaper in your hand."


THE PURPLE PEARL 163
The astonished Martin, obeying, heard a soft
click.
“Are you taking my photograph, Otto?"
"Perhaps,” said Heinz drily. He took the news-
paper away and put it in his pocket. Martin, who
had only had time to see that the date was October,
followed it hungrily with his eyes. What would
he not have given to read that dirty sheet! He
could not conceive why Heinz should elect to take
his photograph with the current number of the
Kölnische Zeitung in his hand.
“And now to business,” said Heinz. Martin set
his teeth and shivered; he knew what was coming
next. Heinz was an adept in applying that pe-
culiar form of moral torture which consists in ask-
ing the same question over and over again. This
torture, which wears the nerves of the hardened
American jailbird to fiddlestrings, and reduces the
Parisian apaché to raving hysteria, Martin had
borne so far without flinching; but he never knew
how long his courage would last. Heinz stood over
him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"What is the third word, Lord Martin?
“What is the third word, Lord Martin ?
“What is the third word—?”.
“You obstinate devil!” The torture of the ques-
tion is trying to both sides, and Heinz glowered
at his prisoner as if he would have liked to shoot
him. Martin, white as paper, had not opened his


164
THE PURPLE PEARL
lips. “Why do you refuse? Because you are a
fool! What is the good of the treasure to you?
If you were free to-night you could not find it!
You have only two words and you will never get
the third.”
“Nor will you, Otto.”
"I never meant to keep you here more than a
week or two, but if you oblige me to keep you till
you go mad whose fault is that?”
“Clearly mine!” Martin murmured with the ghost
of a smile.
“Well, you will go mad before long. No man
can stand being shut up in the dark for ever.”
“When Germany is beaten my friends will find
me."
“Your friends, ha! your friends believe you are
dead. It was against the regulations, but out of
sheer kindness of heart I have myself written to
your lady mother expressing my regret for the death
of so-gallant and promising an officer”.
“I wonder how on earth you got the letter
through,” said Martin, frowning. “There's a lot
of underhand work going on with neutrals that
ought to be put a stop to; I shall make a row about
it in the Lords when I get back.”
“When you get back you will find your betrothed
married to your cousin."
“I think not, Otto."...
“Read this, then.”


THE PURPLE PEARL
165
Heinz thrust into his hand a slip of print cut
from an English paper.
“A marriage has been arranged between Miss
Viola Mereworth, granddaughter of the late Lord
Mereworth, and her cousin, the present peer. It
will be remembered that the title was held for a
week or two in July by Captain Lord Mereworth
of the Grenadier Guards, who was unhappily
drowned in trying to esc—”
Here the cutting ended. Martin let it fall and
dropped his head on his hands. It was not true;
such paragraphs are often mistaken; they had not
even got the name right; it could not, could not be
true !
“And now, Lord Martin," the harsh voice took
up its pitiless inquisition, “what is the third word?”
“Are you asleep, Herr Captain ?”
"No."
“Then get up.” Martin hesitated for a moment,
but finished by raising himself on his elbow. “Have
no fear, he has goneEi! He has beaten you, too,
then? But he is a devil, the Herr Commandant!"
By the light of Schramm's candle Martin wiped
the blood from his mouth. It was half an hour
after Heinz, baffled and cursing, had ridden off
from Falkenstein.


166
THE PURPLE PEARL
"Drink this water, you are faint. Na, you
stopped him beating me, but you could not stop
him beating you !" Schramm gave a big chuckle.
“But he is a hard one. It is a word and a blow,
with him.” Schramm twisted his shoulders un-
easily in his old jacket. “I shall be sore for a
week, and so will you. But stand up, Herr Cap-
tain.”
“Why, old fellow ?”
“Ei! you want to see the sunset, don't you?”
Martin gave a stifled cry. “Yes,” Schramm nodded
his head, “I will take you to see the sunset, and
you shall have a comb for your hair, and after that
I will bring water and you shall wash yourself
all over in the funny English way. That is what
the Herr Commandant gets by beating old
Schramm. I have served him faithfully, but there
is no gratitude, and I cannot work for ever to get
all kicks and no halfpence."
“Schramm, for God's sake help me to get away!"
“No, no, no, no, no, you go too fast and too far.
I will not do that, for then I should be shot. But
put your arm round my neck. You will not hit
me?"
“Couldn't if I tried.”
"You do not weigh much, that is certain,"
Schramm observed. Martin's weight thrown on
his shoulder was not enough to bend him down.
He led Martin to the door of the prison; a slow
journey, interrupted more than once by Martin's


THE PURPLE PEARL
167
gasps of pain. But what did pain or weakness
signify now? The low, arched doorway led into
a pitch-dark passage and that again into a second
underground vault, much bigger than Martin's, in
which Schramm had taken up his uncomfortable
quarters. This, too, was almost equally dark, but
what was that gleam of wild blue, unearthly radi-
ance at the far end? “Na—there is nothing there
to see!" muttered Schramm. "If one could look
into the street and see the shops and the people,
I don't say! But trees and sky, who cares for
them ?" '
Martin reeled with uncertain steps past
Schramm's pallet bed and oil cooking stove to the
distant window—a window that was scarcely more
than a ventilating shaft set in mediæval fortress
walls five feet thick. The sun was setting directly
opposite. It shone in on him in one wild, blinding
glory of crimson and gold, and under it, far off, lay
a triangular patch of hillside and forest all painted
in the same blazing colours. Martin gave a great,
gasping sob and pressed both hands on his burst-
ing eyeballs.
“Ei!” Schramm's voice was thick with self-sat-
isfaction. “The Herr Commandant is a great man,
but he should not have beaten old Schramm !"


THE PURPLE PEARL
169
mate grandchild? I never heard of one. Has she
been applying to you?”
“She's been my housemaid for the last three
months.”
“Where did you get her from ?”
"She told me she came from the village.”
“There isn't any girl called Winifred Dell liv-
ing in the village. There are no Dells and never
have been. What makes you think she is Lord
Mereworth's granddaughter?”
“She said her parents lived on an allowance from
him. Also there is a certain amount of family like-
ness. She is—er-distinctly a misfit in her pres-
ent situation.”
“I should look after the spoons if I were you.
Dell—Dell—I never heard the name"
Miss Fleet stopped short and stood looking at
Bernard with a most peculiar expression.
“What is she like, your Winifred Dell?!!
“Oh, I don't know. Nineteen or so. Shortish.
Brown eyes, brown hair.” Bernard had thought
he could speak of Winnie without giving himself
away, but for his life he could not quite keep his
countenance under Miss Fleet's shrewd eyes. They
raked him. A gleam passed over her face, not ex-
actly a smile, not exactly a frown; she rubbed her
nose; then turned her back on him and went on
mopping her boot.
“Shall I come up and have a look at your young
lady?"


172
THE PURPLE PEARL
“Won't you really? Promise? Well, then-Ber-
nard, did you ever hear of the Purple Pearl ?”
"Did I ever hear of the Purple Pearl? Yes, I
seem to remember my father talking about it.
Wasn't it the fount and origin of the family feud?"
"I expect I'd better begin at the very begin-
ning,” Violet said.
And did so, from old Monte Carlo Mereworth
up to date. Bernard listened, putting in a shrewd
question now and then.
"H’m ... Heinz isn't an uncommon name, but
Otto Heinz-it certainly is a rum coincidence.
And you say you're sure you put your word in the
letter?"
Violet nodded.
“And you're equally sure that you didn't mention
Martin's part?”
“Quite, quite sure. I should never have done
that. But I thought the one word alone couldn't
possibly matter. I couldn't make anything even
out of the two,” Violet owned, “but that's because
I'm stupid. Somebody cleverer than I might. I
thought it might amuse Martin to puzzle out the
anagram; and, if he had made anything out of it,
it would have been so splendid! You don't think
I oughtn't to have sent it, do you?”
“Bless your small heart, no. I should certainly
have sent it myself. Let's see: if our ideas are cor-
rect, this Heinz has the first word and the last,
and he knows that Martin has the middle. And


THE PURPLE PEARL
173
you say the poor chap disappeared just after, by
your calculations, your letter must have got to
Bollendorf? H'm, yes; it's an uncommon queer
yarn."
“I know I'm very silly to go on hoping, espe-
cially now it's so long since, and we haven't heard
anything,”
“There's nothing in that. If the fellow has kid-
napped him—for that's what it comes to in plain
English-he isn't likely to let him write home to
mamma. You have just as much reason for hope
as you ever had.”
"Only you don't think I ever did have much ?”
Violet's smile was wistful.
“I wouldn't say that,” was the unexpected reply.
“I think it's a most uncommon queer yarn."
“Oh, Bernard, I did so want to be contradicted!"
“I know you did. But I shouldn't have done it
if I hadn't thought it. It's only in your conscien-
tious new-fangled novels that coincidences don't
happen.”
They were sitting side by side on the barrow.
With a swift, impulsive movement, Violet turned
and buried her face on his shoulder. Bernard's
arm drew her close. “Poor little Posy,” he said
in his gentlest tone; and Bernard could be very gen-
tle. “You haven't had much of a time of it, have
you?"
“Oh, I haven't,” said Violet. “It's been so long
-I've never thought of any one but Martin all my


174
THE PURPLE PEARL
life, never, years before he ever thought of me.
There was even some one else at one time oh, no,
he never said so, but I knew. It did hurt som
and now this-oh, Bernard, I'm so tired of being
unhappy !"
"Poor little Posy,” said Bernard, stroking her
hair. That small, dark head was very close to his
heart. He did not guess, though, that Violet had
told him more than she had ever told a living soul.
She was chary of her confidence, easily frightened,
easily hurt; but she was never frightened of Ber-
nard.
“You are good to me,” she said. “Bernard, how
did I get on without you all these years? I never
knew how-how comfortable it would be to have a
brother!”
Bernard smiled. “Some day, when you're mar.
ried and I'm married, I'm going to get Martin's
leave to kiss you."
“You may now, if you like.”
He laughed and shook his head. “No, Posy.
I've done enough poaching on Master Martin's pre-
serves!”
Half an hour later, Bernard was coming down
the Grand Staircase with a bag in his hand just as
Winnie carried the lunch tray into the hall.
“Hullo, hullo!” He barred the door with his arm.
“Needn't carry that in there, Mary Jane. Massa's
going to town.”


THE PURPLE PEARL 175
“Oh!” Winnie tried not to look' disappointed.
Had she laboured all the morning over the kitchen
stove in vain? “How long for? For the day?”
“For the day, and the night, and next night, and
perhaps a week, and perhaps a month, and per-
haps he'll never come back any more. Put that
thing down." He took the tray out of her arms
and did it for her. “What would Beauty like
massa to bring her back for a fairing? A glass
slipper?”
Winnie had a clear notion that she was being
laughed at, but only the dimmest that she was
being made love to. She said nothing.
"No, I don't think we'll say a glass slipper; un-
comfy things, glass slippers, and not much good
for sweeping under beds in. How about a gold
ring?”
“Where are you going to?” Winnie's breath came
fast. “Oh, where where are you going to?''
"I'm going to town. On business. Wouldn't
you—wouldn't Beauty like to say good-bye to her
beast before he goes?”
His voice was seductively soft, his handsome head
was bent. There was really no possibility now of
mistaking his meaning. Winnie forgot Martin,
forgot Violet; she felt as though she and Bernard
were the only people in the world. He towered up
above her like Fate, so big and strong that it was
perfectly useless to think of running away. She
held up two small hands in front of her and backed


CHAPTER XVIII
GENTLEMAN to see you, Miss Violet.”
Violet glanced at the card. “Mr. Hen-
derson? I wonder who he is."
She went into the drawing-room, a slender figure
in grey, and saw standing on the hearthrug, hat
in one hand and gloves in the other, a tall man of
about forty-five with a bald, slanting head, who
made her a polite but deep and stiff bow. Violet
was not fanciful, but she took a dislike to him on
the spot. His teeth were too prominent, his eyes
were too fishy, and the shape of his head reminded
her of the German prisoners whom Ethel Fleet
had employed to get in her hay.
"I have the honour of speaking to Miss Violet
Mereworth ?”
“Yes."
“I have come to see you on a matter of business.
It is strictly private. Shall we be undisturbed ?''
"Certainly,” said Violet, puzzled by this pream-
ble. "Miss Fleet is out and will not be back till
one o'clock. What business can you have with
me? I never heard your name."
She had not asked him to sit down, she herself
remained standing, but Mr. Henderson pulled up
a chair and settled himself in it, one leg over the
177


178
THE PURPLE PEARL
other, very much at ease. "I want to have a com-
fortable chat with you.” He took out his cigar
case. “You permit me to smoke?”
"It is not usual to smoke in this room."
“No?" He struck a match and lit up. “In Ger-
many gentlemen smoke wherever they like."
Violet stood petrified. She had never been so
spoken to in her life. "I don't know if you imagine
I am alone in the house,” she said. “There are
men servants within call—and there is a German
internment camp at Singleton.”
“There are also English camps in Germany.
You, Fräulein, are betrothed to one of those brave
men who were lucky enough to get themselves taken
prisoner.”
"If you have anything to say,” said Violet, "say
it, and go.” She crossed the room and threw up
the window. She was glad to lean against it for
support, but she showed no weakness in step or
voice.
“Your friend is alive, Fräulein."
“Thank you, I know it.” In that moment Violet
felt that she had always known it. Martin was
not dead, and this was an emissary from Heinz.
Mr. Henderson showed some surprise. He turned
in his chair to stare at her.
“Donnerwetter! That is curious—if you are not
lying.”
"What have you come to say?"
“He is shut up in prison and there are only three


THE PURPLE PEARL
179
people who know where he is: my cousin in Ger-
many, his servant, and myself. At a word from
me he will—remain in prison. At a word from
you he will be released. That is simple, is it not?"
“A word from me?"
"You have a secret, Fräulein, which we wish to
possess."
“What secret?”
“The secret of the Mereworth treasure.”
“That old story?” said Violet. “That fairy tale?
You believe in it! How absurd! I thought Ger-
mans were intelligent if they were nothing else.”
"You had better speak to me politely, Fräulein.
For your own sake and for your lover's.”
"You had better speak to me politely, Mr. Hen-
derson. For a very little more I would give you
in charge as a German spy. My word against
yours? Yes, but in England you will find that my
word weighs more than yours. You say you have
Lord Mereworth in prison, but why should I be-
lieve you?”
“You have spirit,” said Mr. Henderson, leaning
back at ease and speaking rather indistinctly be-
cause he had not removed his cigar. “Good! I
like a lady to have spirit. Yet I don't think you
will hand me over to the police. You have no evi-
dence against me whatever and I am a naturalized
Englishman. Besides, it would be too dangerous."
He stood up. “You were told, were you not, that
your friend was shot in escaping across a river?


180
THE PURPLE PEARL
I am happy to tell you that he was neither shot nor
drowned and that his escape was what you English
call a put-up job. There were two men waiting
on the bank who overpowered him-yes, he made
a good fight, but one cannot do much when a cloth
dipped in chloroform is thrown over the head-
and carried him away insensible in a motor car
which was waiting down the road. The wealthy
German gentleman who laid the plot was the owner
of a venerable ruined castle-a fortress which
stands on the top of a hill and which is now shut
up and deserted. Under this castle there is a
crypt and beyond this crypt there is a dungeon,
and into this dungeon your lover was carried; and
he has remained there ever since.” He smiled at
Violet. “Now call the police."
"Fairy tales.” Violet shrugged her shoulders.
It was a pity Martin could not see her, for she had
never looked lovelier. “You expect me to be as
credulous as you are yourself.”
“But this is absurd !” said Mr. Henderson. He
looked quite grieved. “You are just such another
obstinate head as your lover.”
He took from his pocket and laid on the table
the gold signet ring which Martin always wore.
“You recognize that seal, do you not?”
“That proves nothing. It might have been taken
from him at Bollendorf.”
“These also?” Mr. Henderson shook out on the
table Martin's withered violets.


THE PURPLE PEARL
181
Violet closed her eyes. She could see nothing
but Martin's dark face, hear nothing but his voice:
“If these come back to you, you'll know I've gone
where I can't take any sort of violet."
“And this photograph, Fräulein; where was it
taken, and when ?”
He put into her hands the photograph taken by
Heinz in the crypt by electric torchlight. Care
fully developed and enlarged, it showed a pretty
clear view of the bare earthen walls, the ribbed
ceiling, the pallet bed, and Martin's seated figure
looking straight out of the picture with strained,
startled eyes. Yes, Martin unmistakably, but how
changed-how worn and exhausted! It was the
face of a man in lire straits, keeping a tight hand
on himself but not far off despair. Violet gazed at
it till her eyes dazzled; she slipped it inside her
dress and held it pressed against her heart.
“Yes, that is Lord Mereworth,” she said in a
lower voice, but still steady. “No, I will not give it
up. I will call the men if you try to take it.-
What is it you wish to know?”.
“The third word of the anagram, which Captain
Mereworth told you before he went to France."
“Why don't you ask him?"
“We have done so. Naturally. But we have not
so far—though I can assure you we have taken
strong measures-got it out of him."
"If I gave it you, what guarantee have I that
you would not simply murder him in prison ?"


THE PURPLE PEARL
183
let glanced out of the window—“for I see Miss
Fleet coming, and if she finds you here you will
certainly be in jail within half an hour.” Mr. Hen-
derson jumped up. He had heard tales of Miss
Fleet at the Red Lion. "If you don't want to meet
her you had better go by the back door,” Violet's
faintly disdainful voice followed him across the
hall; and the last he saw of her, she was picking
up in the tongs the cushion he had been sitting on,
and thrusting it under the grate.
“Mf!” said Miss Fleet, coming into the room,
"what a smell of burning_” She stopped and
looked first at the cushion, which was beginning
to smoulder, and then at Violet.
“It was dirty,” said Violet. “Ethel, do you know
who this is ?
“That photograph?” Miss Fleet took a leisurely
survey. "Why—my dear girl-it looks like poor
Martin Mereworth !”
“It is Martin, and he is not dead, after all.”
Miss Fleet walked over to the sideboard and
poured some whisky into a tumbler. “Drink that
up and then tell me the story.”
Violet was ashen-white now and trembling.
Ethel put her into a chair and sat on the arm of
it while Martin's story was retold. “They tried
to get the word out of him, but he won't speak. He
never would !” said Violet scornfully. “So now
they come to me. Ethel, tell meI'm such a goose,
I never know what I ought to do, but you're almost


184
THE PURPLE PEARL
like a man, you understand how men look at things
-tell me, ought I to tell them? I'm so afraid of
doing what Martin would think dishonourable!"
Miss Fleet picked up the photograph again and
studied it carefully. “Yes, that certainly is Mar-
tin Mereworth, and it looks as if it had been taken
in the dark underground, and the date on the paper
is October 10.” She rubbed her nose. "Yes, it's
difficult to decide what you ought to do. What
I should like would be to hand the fellow over to
the police. But that tale couldn't have been con-
cocted except by some one who had read your let-
ters to Martin and who knew all about the Mere-
worth family. There's no earthly reason why it
shouldn't all be true. I could have Mr. Henderson
in jail if I like inside of half an hour. But if it's
true”-she looked rather gravely at Violet_we
should be running a pretty heavy risk.”
“They would kill him. I know.” Violet dropped
her head on her arms. “But it's Martin's word.
He gave it me. I mustn't do what he would think
dishonourable. And if he refuses to give it up him-
self-oh, Ethel, may I tell-or mayn't I?”


THE PURPLE PEARL 187
sometimes whether Heinz had any other card up
his sleeve.
There were, however, three things that Schramm
refused to do. He would not take a message from
Martin to Miles Cordeaux; he would not tell Mar-
tin the name of the Castle where he was impris-
oned; and the only news that Martin could get
out of him about the war was that the British fleet
had all been sunk and the Army driven into the
Channel.
Martin was unarmed, while Schramm always
carried a revolver. Nevertheless Martin was
pretty sure, after his strength came back, that he
could have overpowered Schramm and taken the
key from him by force. But he could not do it
because he had given his word to the old man. Not
by foul play was Martin Mereworth going to es-
cape.
He stood still facing Schramm, his hands in his
pockets. “Don't lock me up now! It's three in
the afternoon. You'll be back by ten o'clock to-
night. Heinz never comes after midday.”
“But why don't you want to be locked up?''
“I've told you before—that dark hole frightens
me.”
“You will escape, and then ”
"If I did you would get a thousand pounds. No,
you would not be shot; you would have time enough
to make yourself scarce before Heinz found out.
But how could I escape? You will lock the stair-


188
THE PURPLE PEARL
case door behind you. As for the window-am I
a rat to get out a window like that?"
“No, nor a bird, nor a fish.” Schramm grinned.
“Ei, you would be none the better off if you got
out of a window like that!"
"Now I wonder,” said Martin to himself, “what
is on the other side of that window?”
Twelve miles away, the prison camp lay bleak
and bare in the November gloom.
Across the road, beyond the barbed wire pali-
sade, the river ran high, yellow, surging between
its sodden banks. Bollendorf camp lay low—too
low, the prison doctor said; he had to fight every
autumn against bronchitis and rheumatism and
ague. Mists crept about the woody hills. A pud-
dle of yesterday's rain stood at the door of every
bungalow. Picturesque in summer, by the end of
November it was a dismal swamp.
Yet it was not looking dismal to-day. Flags
were flying everywhere; the Union Jack over the
chapel, the Stars and Stripes over the library, the
Tricolour over the cookhouse in compliment to the
cooks. The Tricolour in a German prison camp!
Times were changed indeed. It was November of
1918.
A big military car drew up at the gate. In it
sat two men: the one lean, middle-aged, in uni.
form, with a string of ribbons across his breast:


THE PURPLE PEARL 189
the other in civilian clothes. Bernard Mereworth
and his friend, General Strickland.
"And so here we are at last,” said Bernard, step-
ping out. “Wish me luck, sir!"
“Sure you wouldn't like me to come in with you?”
Bernard laughed. “No, thanks very much, sir. I
must do this little job on my own. It's a deal too
hectic for a person of your responsibilities to get
himself mixed up in!"
“Quite sure? I'm not official, of course, but a
uniform of any sort is an asset in these days. He's
probably an ugly customer.”
"No, no, sir, I'll tackle him myself. You've done
quite enough as it is—toting me round in your own
car, and wangling that pass out of the local Soviet!
I should have had no end of bother but for you.”
“Oh, I've enjoyed it,” said Strickland drily.
“Very amusing way to spend a few days' leave.
Well, I'll leave you to yourself. You're a handy
man in a tight place, as I have good reason to know.
If you want me, you know where to find me—I
shall go to the Burg hotel in the village and wait."
The car shot off again; Bernard saluted, stand-
ing to attention till it was out of sight, and then
turned to the sentry at the gate. His sound com-
mercial education had covered French and Ger-
man.
“Can I see the Herr Commandant?”
"You have an order, sir?"


190
THE PURPLE PEARL
.
The tall Englishman produced it; an order in
form, signed and countersigned. The sentry, al-
ways deferential to Englishmen, became positively
obsequious. “If the gracious sir will enter”
Bernard entered. “Bauer! show the gracious sir
to the office of the Herr Commandant."
Bernard looked about for the unhappy prison.
ers, but none were to be seen. They had, in fact,
all gone to the cinema at Echternach to witness
“London in Flames," with Zeppelins dropping
bombs on Buckingham Palace, and the blazing
dome of St. Paul's toppling over into Westminster
Abbey.
But the Commandant had not gone to the cinema.
He was in no mood for cinemas. The full bitter-
ness of defeat was tasted by men like Heinz, for
whom it meant not only national ruin but the
wreck of his own career. His power was gone,
transferred to the representative of the local Sol.
diers' Council, who happened to be his own bat-
man. It was only as a favour that he was al-
lowed to retain his uniform, and the epaulettes
would have been torn from his shoulders by a party
of drunken Jäger whom he met in the streets of
Diekirch, if he had not managed to give them the
slip. Yes; he was in evil case, and he knew it.
He had been in a singularly restless mood all day,
and when the orderly came in he spoke without
looking up.
"Is there still no telegram for me?"


THE PURPLE PEARL
191
“Er—Colonel Heinz, I believe?”
Heinz wheeled round. One of the accursed Eng.
lish, and of the very worst type!
"My name's Mereworth,” drawled Bernard,
leisurely extracting a card. “I believe you had my
cousin, Captain Lord Mereworth of the Grenadier
Guards, under your charge for a bit?”
Was it fancy, or did the florid face alter and a
flicker of alarm come and go in the bright blue
eyes ?
“Yes; he was here from”—Heinz pretended to
consult a memorandum—“from, from, let me see,
from June 20 till his regretted death on August
19 last.”
Heinz had himself in hand again now, and his
features were set like a mask. But he had very
badly needed that moment's delay to collect his
startled wits. What on earth did this visit mean?
If it had only come twenty-four hours later!
"I've come over on behalf of the family to col-
lect particulars of his death."
Heinz drew a breath of relief. Was that all?
“Certainly—whatever information I can give. But
I fear I can add little to the letter which I had the
honour of addressing to his lady mother.”
“Oh, quite, and most fearfully good of you. But
there was a chap who escaped with him, wasn't
there? Cordeaux-I should like to see him, if I
may.”


192
THE PURPLE PEARL
"Surely. Ah, well! I fear that is not possible
to-day. Mr. Cordeaux has gone to Echternach."
“When will he be back?”!
Heinz shrugged his shoulders. “Impossible to
say."
"I might go on there and pick him up.”
“You would miss him. He will have tea at one
café, supper at another—it is a fair-sized town."
“How about to-morrow, then ?”
“To-morrow by all means." Heinz looked down,
He seemed to be making some mental calculation.
“To-morrow afternoon, shall we say? We have not
many regulations left in these days, but the camp
is not supposed to be open to visitors till after
twelve.”
"To-morrow afternoon be it. (Now I wonder
what you have up your sleeve?)” The last words
were not spoken aloud. “As I am here, may I have
a look round? There are a great many tall stories
going in England about prison camps, and I should
like to be able to put in a word of truth about what
I've seen with my own eyes—people do make such
futile asses of themselves about Germany, what?
What I always say is there must have been faults
on both sides, and we should have done just the
same ourselves
Bernard's amiable stupidity was a well-fitting
mask. Heinz got up hastily. “I shall be delighted
to show you round.”
They went out together. Twilight was drawing


THE PURPLE PEARL
193
on, and the square was almost empty; only one
haggard cripple was bargaining with old Schramm
for his apples and pears. Heinz took two steps
forward. He could not have that old fool hanging
about while this pestilent Englishman was on the
scenes!
“Out of this !”
Schramm, whose wits worked slowly, and who
had pursued his trade unrebuked for four years,
blinked up in bewilderment. Down came Heinz's
broad hand in a resounding slap, first on one cheek,
then on the other. All his suspense and exaspera-
tion found vent in cuffing Schramm.
“Out, dog, when I tell you to go!"
“But—but,” Schramm began to blubber. He
shuffled off towards the prison gates, leaving his
precious basket behind. With a well-planted kick
Heinz sent his pears and apples rolling on the
ground before he turned to rejoin Bernard.
"Excuse meone has to act sharply with these
vermin."
“You keep jolly good discipline," drawled Ber-
nard admiringly.
His hand was clenched deep in his pocket. Not
yet-not yet! He strolled round the camp with
Heinz, making affable remarks which had not even
a double meaning. His cue was to allay Heinz's
suspicions and if possible put him off his guard,
because he was profoundly suspicious himself.
What was the man up to? He couldn't murder


194
THE PURPLE PEARL
young Cordeaux! But he could keep him and Ber-
nard apart for a few hours, and that he was evi-
dently trying to do. Playing for time, was he?
Why?
Heinz took him in turn to messroom, chapel,
canteen, library. Nothing was concealed. Every-
thing was praised.
“Very nice,” said Bernard. “No end of a jolly
place. And is this the hospital ?”
“Yes, but there is no one in it.”
“Can I have a look round? I should like to be
able to say I've seen the whole show.”
“Oh, certainly.”
Bernard walked in. An anteroom with doors on
either side led into a single ward containing a
dozen empty beds, neat and clean under their
striped quilts. Nothing suspicious here; and yet
Bernard felt, like children in the nursery game,
that he was getting warm.”
“What's behind these doors? Bathrooms and
things, I suppose?” he asked, trying one.
Heinz unlocked and threw it wide. “Yes—bath-
rooms and offices.”
“Sounds like somebody coughing, what?”
"It is a dog. Since the armistice all your friends
keep dogs. Luckily for me, I sleep at the Wald
Villa. I am going there now, if you have seen all
you want. Can I set you on your way towards the
village?”
He was trying to steer Bernard towards the '


CHAPTER XX
ILES CORDEAUX was bored; he was
bored to desperation. He had read The
Favourite Wins three times and pitched it
into a corner of the tiny isolation ward, and was
now reduced to a jigsaw puzzle, which he balanced
on his knees upon a tray. After four years' cap-
tivity, now when freedom was in sight to go down
with influenza! True, his quarantine was not al-
lowed to trouble him much. Isolation or no isola-
tion, he knew that directly they came back from
Echternach Jimmy Browne and half a dozen other
choice spirits would come and pile themselves on
his bed and tell him all about it. But Miles didn't
want stories at second hand, he wanted to go to
Echternach himself. He of all people to get 'flu
at this most inauspicious 'time! He felt himself
very hardly used.
“I want to go 'ome, I want to go 'ome—whoa,
mare! Oh, dash the thing, if it hasn't gone under
the bed !”—Miles broke off his song to dive after a
piece of his puzzle "I want to go over the sea,
where the Kaiser can't throw bombs at me-jah,
jah, herein, aber ich have la grippe, Sie hadden
besser-hullo, aren't you English ?”
196


THE PURPLE PEARL
199
prove you made this place a hell to all the rest of
us. What did you do to Lascelles ? What did you
do to Smith? What did you do to Mereworth him-
self, if you come to that?'' Miles broke out fiercely.
He also turned to Bernard. "He gave him a week's
“solitary' in the dark cell simply because poor
Mereworth had him on mildly about his grand-
father. You don't know what a week in the dark
can mean. He was half blind and silly when he
came out. That's what made him so keen to es-
cape. Poor old chap! I shan't forget that week,
when I give evidence before the Peace Commission."
“Young, hotheaded, and insubordinate prison-
ers,” said Heinz with the coolest insolence, “may
find that their evidence is taken less seriously than
they hoped.”
Bernard, who had been sitting with folded arms,
a model of impartiality, took his pipe out of his
mouth and intervened.
“Bit futile all this, isn't it?” he said. “Suppose
you cut it and come to facts, Cordeaux. You say,
at least I think I understood you to say, that Colo-
nel Heinz engineered your escape with the object
of putting Mereworth out of the way. Does sound
a bit steep, doesn't it? What grounds have you
for thinking so?”
Miles was so angry with Heinz, and with Ber-
nard for not apparently being angry with Heinz,
that he was in two minds to refuse to say another
word. He thought Bernard probably a pacifist,


202
THE PURPLE PEARL
eve
going to make that stinkin' beast pay for it. If
the Peace Commission doesn't do the job I'll take
it on myself.”
He fell back, and with shaking hands tried to
light himself a cigarette. Miles had never been
so deeply moved in his life.
"Of all this,” said Heinz, “the Herr Lieutenant
has not one atom of proof. His tale is not even
consistent. If, as he says, I recognized them at
the Wald Villa, and if I was anxious to murder
Lord Martin because my grandfather had been serv-
ant in his family”—he laughed again—"really, one
can hardly take such nonsense seriously!—but if
this had been so, can you tell me, Herr Lieutenant,
why I should not have shot you both down like
dogs?”
“Can't conceive," said Miles. “Never could.
There was some hokey-pokey behind which I never
got the hang of—and if Martin understood it he
didn't tell me. But as to proving what I've said,
that's another pair of shoes. I told you we had a
confederate outside. I never would give his name
before, because I couldn't be sure he had betrayed
us, though it was a moral certainty; but I will now,
if you'll see he doesn't suffer for it. It was old
Schramm, the vegetable seller. He was Heinz's go-
between. You get hold of him, Mereworth; he'll
let you turn him inside out for a twenty-mark
piece-Aha! See there! He doesn't like that."
Miles' finger shot out, pointing at the Commandant,


THE PURPLE PEARL
203
who instantly composed his features to their for-
mer mocking smile. “You keep your eye on him,
or he'll make away with old Schramm. You'll find
he's gone to Echternach, too!”
Heinz had, in fact, been edging towards the door.
He turned on his heel and walked swiftly towards
Miles, his fierce face very dark. But Bernard
again intervened. He got up, unostentatiously put-
ting his large figure between Heinz and his pris-
oner.
"Well, here's something definite at last. Thank
the Lord for that, after all this suppose and sup-
pose. You won't object to my questioning this old
chap, Colonel Heinz, if I can get hold of him?
Simplest way of settling it, what?”.
Heinz, reflecting that he had kicked Schramm out
of the prison yard twenty minutes ago, nodded as-
sent with a mind tolerably at ease. He did not
mean Schramm to meet the big Englishman; he
had already decided that for the next ten days or
so Schramm could make himself comfortable in the
crypt next door to Martin. He held open the door
for Bernard to pass out-and then he turned back
for a moment to bend over Miles. Bernard, wheel-
ing in a flash, could not hear what was said, but
he saw the crimson flush of mingled rage and weak-
ness spring into the sick man's face.
Bernard reached out a long arm from behind,
took Heinz by the collar, and peeled him off back-
wards with commendable neatness and despatch.


204
THE PURPLE PEARL
Heinz reeled, and nearly came down; he staggered
back against the wall.
“Well, good-bye, Cordeaux,” said Bernard heart-
ily; adding, for his ear alone, with a reassuring
wink, “Don't you put yourself out; I'm seeing this
job through !"
Then he in his turn stood aside till the Com-
mandant, ashen-white now and with his belief in
the stupidity of English milords considerably
shaken, preceded him into the courtyard.
"Don't do that again, what?” said Bernard cas-
ually as he caught him up.
At the gate a curious scene was going on. Old
Schramm had been kicked and cuffed many a time,
and was more or less resigned to it; but never be-
fore had the Herr Commandant laid a finger on
what was far more precious to him than his human
dignity—his stock in trade. Fifty beatings would
not have roused Schramm to such fury as the sight
of his expensive pears and apples rolling in the
mud.
He was literally dancing outside the gate. Every
now and then he made a dart forward, only to be
driven back by the grinning sentry. The Comman-
dant had said he was to be kept out, and the sentry
meant to keep him out. Meanwhile other soldiers
had come up, and the contents of Schramm's bas-
ket were rapidly vanishing before his eyes.
"Ei, ei, my apples—ei, you thief-give them back
to me, gentlemen, pity a poor old man that has to


THE PURPLE PEARL
205
make a living—ei, you pigs, you swinehounds! I
wish the English would hang you all up in a row "
“Take him away!" said Heinz. “Drag him off,
some of you; I cannot have this noise going on.”
His manner was perfectly cool; he showed no fear
as he strolled at Bernard's side towards the gate,
but he knew that it was touch and go with him now.
“Come along, old fool!” A corporal, whose tunic
bulged with stolen apples, began to hustle Schramm
off. “Shut your foul mouth, old Schramm, or we'll
shut it for you "
He did not speak loud; but Bernard's ears were
quick.
“Hullo! What's that?” he said sharply. In a
moment he was at the old man's side. “Schramm?
Is your name Schramm? Speak up and don't be
afraid. I'm English.”
“Make him give me back my apples !" Schramm
wailed. “My beautiful apples !”
Bernard's hand went to his pocket. “That's for
your apples. And you shall have more money-
much more if you'll tell me how you helped Cap-
tain Mereworth to escape, and what's become of
him.”
Schramm's eyes went past Bernard to Heinz; he
cowered down, throwing up his arm—“Na-I never
said anything—indeed, indeed, Herr Comman-
dant-!"
“Kindly get back inside the gate, Colonel Heinz
-get back!” Bernard's voice rang out sharply.


206
THE PURPLE PEARL
He turned again to Schramm. “Nobody's going
to hurt you, old chap. It's quite safe. Speak up
and tell us all about it.”
Schramm's eyes opened wide. Was that the way
the cat jumped ? Never in his wildest dreams had
Schramm foreseen the day when an English civilian
would speak so to the Herr Commandant!
"Ach! if you are sure it is safe” He shook
himself down into his disordered clothes with a
wonderfully quick «return to his usual bearing.
“And if you will pay me well, I will certainly tell
you. Ja gewiss, Herr Commandant! Why not?
You should not have beaten old Schramm !"


CHAPTER XXI
N the Commandant's office, by the last light of
sunset, the truth was told at last, as Schramm
understood it. Heinz, leaning his square,
blond head on one hand, owned to himself that in
the last half hour—was it only half an hour?-
his affairs had gone very wrong. And that it
should have been Schramm who did all the mis-
chief! Who would have believed it? Yet there
before him sat Bernard Mereworth, cool as granite,
smoking his pipe, while Schramm poured his
damning tale into his ear.
“And you mean to tell me that Lord Mereworth”
-Bernard was thankful to shift the title which
had never been his—that he has been in this crypt
place ever since?”.
“Yes, mein Herr, from August to November. It
is now over three months.”
“In the dark for three months !"
Schramm eyed Bernard cunningly. “Na–I did
not say that. Old Schramm has a kind heart-
that has always been his trouble!”
Heinz shifted in his chair. Now this was surely
humbug; it could not-could not be that Schramm
had already played him false!
“He begged so hard that I could not refuse him
207


THE PURPLE PEARL 209
Falkenstein. And cheap at the price," Bernard
muttered to himself. He would rather have liked
to kick Schramm, but he was profoundly grateful
to him all the same. “Now take this note to Gen-
eral Strickland at the Burg Hotel and wait for an
answer.”
When the Jew had shuffled out, bowing sideways
to Bernard all the time, Bernard turned to Heinz,
to whom he had not spoken since they left the hos-
pital.
“Before you come with me to Vianden, Colonel
Heinz, I've a bit of business to settle.”
Heinz looked up with his quick, insolent smile.
“I listen.”
“You see how things stand. If I report this af-
fair to the Soldiers' Council you will be courtmar-
tialled. I will let you off on one condition.”
“What is that?"
“You kidnapped Lord Mereworth in order to get
the second word of the Mereworth Anagram. You
didn't get it.”
"No," said Heinz. He glanced out of the win-
dow. “No-not yet.”
"I want the third word—the word your grand-
father stole from mine."
Heinz sat at his table absolutely silent. He
frowned, and in his strong, clasped hands a Swan
fountain pen broke with a sudden snap: otherwise
he gave no sign of having heard what Bernard
said.


THE PURPLE PEARL 211
if you will promise to set me free directly he is in
your arms."
Bernard gave a short, involuntary laugh. "All
right; we'll cry quits when Lord Mereworth is in
my arms.” He dropped a strong hand on Heinz's
shoulder. “But don't you play any hanky-panky
with me. I'm an ugly customer when I'm an-
noyed. And now the word. I'll have the original
paper, please; I'm sure you know where to find it.”
Heinz unlocked a safe and from its innermost re-
cesses drew forth a sheet of crested paper yellow
with age. He smoothed it out on the table:
ASTRO.
By nightfall that evening, about an hour later,
Bernard was on his way from Bollendorf to Falken-
stein to rescue his cousin from his long captivity.
He was driving General Strickland's car, Heinz sit-
ting beside him, Schramm behind. In his pocket
Bernard carried a loaded automatic pistol, and he
had with his own hands disarmed Heinz. Further,
Strickland knew exactly what had happened and
where they were going. Bernard was taking no
chances. His mind, a supple instrument, turned
over every possible form of treachery as he drove
through the night. He did not mean to be tricked.
Martin and Violet might have the £40,000 and wel-
come, but Bernard wanted the Purple Pearl-no,
not for himself!


214
THE PURPLE PEARL
FALKENSTEIN, TUESDAY.
OTTO HEINZ:
I give you my word of honour as an English gen-
tleman that Schramm has had no hand in my
flight.
Yours faithfully,
EWORTH.
“Which comes of being too clever," Heinz mur-
mured. “You will do me the justice to admit that
I could not foresee this.”
“No," said Bernard, “no.”
He crossed to the long, incredibly narrow shaft
of the window.
"He could not have got out here?”
“There is no other way but the door I have just
unlocked.”
“What does it open on ?"
“Ah! that, I fear," said Heinz gently, “is what
your poor cousin did not know.”
He caught up Schramm's iron cooking pot, and
with a deft jerk of the arm hurled it up the shaft
into the night. One, two, three seconds Bernard
counted—and then, faint and far off, came a splash.
Heinz turned from the window and smiled straight
into Bernard's eyes.
“May I be the first to congratulate you, my Lord
Mereworth ?”
Bernard wheeled round on Schramm, who was
dancing with rage at the loss of his pot, as well as


THE PURPLE PEARL 215
with genuine grief. “What's below there? Could
he have swum it?”
“Swum it, when the cliff is three hundred feet
high like the wall of a house? As well expect my
pot to swim it-ei, you thief, you thief! Ach!
Herr Captain, why did you go? But naturally,
an English officer would not stay to be beaten—"
“To be what?” cried out Bernard.
"To be beaten! The Herr Commandant beat
him, I have seen the stripes on his face. See, here
is his whip"
Heinz backed away. He was no coward, but he
was terrified then. Bernard alone of his family-
Bernard the kindly, the placid—had inherited
Monte Carlo Mereworth's devastating temper.
Heinz, a big man and a powerful, was a child in
his hands.
“For two pins I'd put you through that window
after him," he said between his teeth. "Oh, yes,
you'd go, if I put you. I won't though. I prom-
ised you your life and you shall have it. But I'm
going to flog you with your own whip.”.
He did it, thoroughly.
Heinz, released, dropped at his feet and lay where
he had fallen. Bernard snapped the whip and
flung it down.
“And that's done,” he said. “Don't you cross
my path again in a hurry. I warned you before
I'm an ugly customer when I'm in a temper."


218
THE PURPLE PEARL
only because he was sick from his struggle in the
shaft, and when the cool wind had brought him
round he measured the drop below with an eye as
cool as a steeplejack's. What Heinz had never
heard was that Martin was a member of the Alpine
Club and a first rate mountaineer. He did not
know what giddiness meant. Yes; it was going to
be a difficult, a dangerous climb: he wished de-
voutly he had had a rope, but—and he slipped one
hand into a crack hardly big enough to hold a liz-
ard, and let go his grip of the sill—it could be
done, and he was going to do it.
And he did it: inch by inch, from crack to crack:
all but slipping when a stone overturned under his
foot: all but rolling over when his knee doubled
up with a stab of pain: all but fainting fifty feet
above the water from sheer exhaustion after the
prolonged unaccustomed strain : still he did it-or
at least he got within a few yards of the bottom
before the moonlit night turned black round him
and he dropped like a stone into the stream.
The shock of icy water roused him, and he struck
out for dear life. Luckily the river, though deep,
was narrow, and a dozen strokes brought him to
land. And there he lay for half an hour, dripping,
shivering, absolutely done. But he was free! And
presently Martin stood up, dressed himself, wrung
the water out of his unfortunate curls, shook his
fist at the frowning Castle and iron cliff which had
so nearly seen the end of him, and went on his way.


THE PURPLE PEARL 219
He knew exactly where he was-a dozen miles
from Vianden and sixty from the Dutch frontier.
But he had no money, no clothes except his
drenched and tattered uniform, and no food but
Schramm's bread, now sodden to a pulp; and his
knee was again giving trouble. Half an hour's
walking convinced him that he could not get to
Vianden that night. He needed a rest, food, and
dry clothes.
A mile from Falkenstein he came on a farm. The
yard gate was locked: Martin painfully clambered
over it, crossed on tiptoe to the kitchen window and
tried the catch, but it was fastened. Mercifully
there was no dog. In for a penny, in for a pound!
He found a cracked pane, broke it out with his bare
hand, turned the catch, and got in. With a thrill
of guilty joy he found himself in a kitchen before
the embers of a dying fire.
Martin lit a candle—he had had enough of the
dark. He stripped, rubbed himself dry with a
checked tablecloth, hung his clothes over a towel-
horse, and rummaged for food. A cupboard pro-
duced black bread, cheese that smelt like dead rats,
and a small blood-sausage. He couldn't find any
knives and forks, but he was used to that.
He could hear Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt snoring
overhead, a comfortable sound. Sitting by the fire,
draped in the tablecloth, he devoured the better
part of a loaf and gnawed off about three-quarters
of a pound of sausage, and then fell asleep. If


THE PURPLE PEARL
221
of soldiers were out scouring the country in every
direction. He wondered whether some other poor
devil had escaped from Bollendorf. He could not
suppose the men were after him: Heinz would
never dare to set soldiers on his trail: but the dan-
ger was much the same, for Martin was scarcely
keener to go back to a military prison than to be
retaken by Heinz.
It came on to pelt with rain and the wind was
in the east. Martin dared not go near a house and
could get no food except a raw turnip, which gave
him a pain in his stomach. He never liked turnips
much afterwards.
About midnight he crawled into Vianden, hoping
to find the tiny town asleep. In case he met any
one he had taken off his tunic and slung it round
his shoulders like a knapsack. Surely he could
pass, in the dark, for a countryman stooping under
his bundle! He turned a corner-and stopped.
Before him he saw the familiar, accursed field-
grey uniform and the flare of gas light on pointed
helmets. The bridge was guarded!
It was the last straw and Martin slunk back
feeling like a beaten dog. What on earth was he
to do? Get out of the town again, said Common
Sense; but how to face another night in the open ?
What was that cheerful glow? The hotel where
he had stayed on his last fishing expedition, five
years ago! It was brightly lit up and in a state of
bustle, and at the door he recognized the big car


224 THE PURPLE PEARL
car lamps before starting out again, put down the
matches and came to investigate. He had only once
before seen Martin, and would not have recognized
the alarming scarecrow before him if Martin, only
half reassured and badly shaken, had not looked
up at him with eyes that reminded him most viv-
idly of Violet's. Bernard crossed the yard in two
strides and threw his arm round the castaway.
“Martin, don't you know me? I'm Bernard
Mereworth, the Birmingham chap. I've come out
here to fetch you back !"


226
THE PURPLE PEARL
wrath. She was not sure now how much he had
meant, or whether she had behaved with proper
dignity. She ought to have said, “Unhand me, sir!"
but she hadn't, and whether she was engaged to
him or not Winnie really couldn't tell. The only
thing she did know was that the window of the
White Drawing-room was the pleasantest place in
the house.
“A letter for you, Miss Winnie.”
Mrs. Lindsay contrived to convey in her curtsey
whole volumes of disapproval. "For me?" said
Winnie, surprised. No one knew where she was!
She glanced at the address, and instantly blushed
all over her face from the roots of her hair to the
frills of her pretty lace blouse. She knew that
bold writing. Besides, there was only one person
in the world who would write to “Miss Winifred
Dell.”
"I am writing in the Luxembourg express, and
whether it is the Boche cattle trucks that make my
hand jump so, or writing to my little sweet, I don't
know; I'm rather afraid it's the cattle trucks! Yes,
I'm off to find Martin: when Beauty commands,
what can the Beast do but obey? I have had a
strenuous time in town, interviewing Lady Grace
Mereworth and young Cordeaux's people and many
brass hats, and pulling lots of wires. As to how
I got my passport you'd best not enquire; some-
body would get into hot water if it all came out.


228
THE PURPLE PEARL
parlour. To her entered Winnie, crimson, disor-
dered, Bernard's letter still clasped in one hand,
and flung herself headlong into Violet's arms.
“My darling !” said Violet. “Oh, Winnie! where
have you been ?”
“Bernard's housemaid ... Castle ..." said
Winnie in a muffled voice.
“WINNIE!”
“To find the Pearl—but I haven't, and he's going
to marry me!"
“Who is going to marry you?''
“William-I mean Bernard-William was the
footman.”
Violet held her off and gazed at her. Then she
began to laugh. “Did William want to marry you,
too?"
“No, he certainly didn't! But Bernard does.”
“And do you want to marry him ?”
“Oh, I don't know, I don't know—but I expect
I shall have to !"
Violet drew her little sister back into her arms.
She was thanking heaven that Winnie's escapade
had been no worse, but she was also amused and
more delighted by Winnie's news than words could
say. At the same time she was considerably per-
plexed. “Tell me all about it,” she said. “Does
he_no, he can't!—know who you are?”
And then Winnie poured out her story. It was
some time before Violet could make sense of it, be-
cause different bits came out anyhow one on top of


THE PURPLE PEARL
229
another. About Bernard, Winnie was hopelessly
fragmentary and confused; but Violet, being older
and wiser, understood the state of Winnie's feelings
better than Winnie did herself.
“He's so big,” Winnie explained, “and so hand-
some don't you think he's very handsome?"
(“Very,” said Violet with proper emphasis.) “But
I can't see why he wants to marry me when he
thinks I'm only a housemaid. But he evidently
does because"—Winnie referred to her letter—“he
says isn't Christmas a nice time to be married.”
“But why does he write, when he sees you every
day?"
“How can he see me when he's gone to Ger-
many?”
“Gone to Germany?” Violet turned as white as
her handkerchief.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? He's gone to find Mar-
tin!”
Violet sat down on a sofa. For a moment she
could not speak. She caught her sister's hand.
“Winnie, do you realize what a lucky child you
are? I hope you do. You ought to. There isn't
a man in a million who would have gone off like
that, as if it were a matter of course, without even
looking for a word of thanks—and Martin snubbed
him, too, I know he did. Oh! my darling, my
darling, now I do believe I shall see you again!"
She hid her face in the cushions. Violet had not
shed a tear when Ethel Fleet read out the news


THE PURPLE PEARL
231
Otto's brother.” It was because Ethel had spent
such a busy time in town, ferreting out Mr. Hen-
derson's antecedents, that she had been unable to
go to Castle Mereworth and interview Winifred
Dell. “What he came to say was that Martin
would-would be killed unless I gave them the
word. I didn't know what to do, so I asked Ethel.”
“Oh! what did she say?"
“She said, give it to him.”
“Oh, Violet, how awful!—Oh, well, if they
-threatened that about Martin you couldn't help
yourself. But, oh, what a pity! Because Bernard
would never let them hurt Martin."
"Ah, but I didn't know then that Bernard was
going out. Besides, after all, what does it mat-
ter? We have only the two words, and we couldn't
make any sense out of them.”
“Oh, Violet, but I did !”
“You did—what?"
“Look !” Winnie snatched up a pencil. “Mar-
tin's word was 'Dine,' you remember, and Grand-
father's was 'Ombe.' We put them together like
this: ‘Dine Ombe.' That was nonsense. But di-
rectly I went to work in earnest, I saw they were
the wrong way round. Look !” She wrote them
down in her best copperplate: "om BED IN e.”
“Now do you see? The Pearl is hidden in one of
the old carved bedsteads in the Castle! Of course
if we had the third word, Heinz's word, it would
tell us which one.”


CHAPTER XXIV
M ARTIN had a bath. Yes, he had a bath
before he had any dinner, and he stayed in
it so long that Bernard rapped at his door
to know if he was all right. He was reassured by
Martin's suave reply, “Thanks, I'm only scraping
the dirt off.”
Martin had a bath, and put on the clothes that
Bernard had thoughtfully brought out for him, and
was shaved and had his curls cut off by the best
barber in Vianden, and after that he came down to
dinner looking very much like himself. Marie had
fried the rumpsteak and potatoes and Bernard and
General Strickland came in and watched him dine,
in defiance of Martin's warning that he would prob-
ably eat with his fingers.
There was much to say, for Martin was clamour-
ing for war news, while Bernard and the Sapper
General were naturally keen to hear all that had
happened at Falkenstein. It must be confessed
that Martin might have made more of his romantic
adventure. As he described it, in his polite and
rather drawling voice, it was all rather a comical
tale; he expanded over the pail in which Schramm
had allowed him to wash himself, but he travelled
with a light foot over his interviews with Heinz.
234


236
THE PURPLE PEARL
"I can't tell you, sir, how grateful I am to you!”
said Martin, becoming warmer and more natural
directly Bernard was out of the room.
“I? I didn't do anything except trail behind the
traction engine. It was that fella laid out the
whole plan of campaign. Very well he did it, too.
Capable chap. I've rarely been more annoyed than
when those damn Munitions people had him out of
the Army. I'd just recommended him for a com-
mission. He'd have made a first rate officer.”
Martin, who had been sitting on one chair with
his feet on another, swung them to the ground and
stood up. "He-my cousin—was in the Army?”
Strickland stared at him. “Didn't you know?”'
“Never heard a word of it, sir. When was this?”
“Oh, right at the start; he was one of the Fifth
of August men. He stayed till the Ministry hoofed
him out. Went through Neuve Chapelle, as I have
reason to remember. He didn't want to go, and
I didn't want to lose him, but they said he was
needed at home, so there you were. Confound
them !" He picked up his candle. “Then I sup-
pose you didn't know he got the V.C.?”.
“Naturally not,” said Martin in his slowest
drawl. “What for, sir?”
“Savin' my life,” said Strickland. He grinned
at Martin. “So you see I'm interested. Get the
modest hero to tell you the story. It's picturesque.”
"But how on earth did he manage to keep it
dark? Mereworth's not a common name-if we


THE PURPLE PEARL
237
missed it in the Gazette ourselves, I can't think why
it wasn't spotted by other people who knew us!”
“Oh, he enlisted as Bernard Smith; there were
a lot of Smiths among the Fifth of August recruits,
and your cousin had a better reason for doin' it
than most of the crowd-he knew he wouldn't be
allowed to stay unless he could cover his tracks.
But they nosed him out, confound them !” An in-
eradicable grievance rankled in Strickland's tone.
“Lloyd George was always takin' our best men.
I'm goin' to bed.”
"In our branch of the family,” Martin's colour-
less voice added point to his speech, "he was com-
monly known as the embusqué.”
“Was he?” said Strickland, and his tone was dry.
"Excuse my sayin' so, but your branch of the
family don't seem distinguished for intelligence.
Good night to you.”
Bernard came back in high feather; he had been
in good spirits all the evening, but his mysterious
interview with Monsieur Faber had left him posi-
tively hilarious.
"I've been buying a wedding present,” he ex-
plained, displaying a small, soft, tissue paper par-
cel, "for a lady friend of mine-no, woman, I mean;
‘lady' is Birmingham, isn't it? You can pick up
all sorts of funny things in a place like this. Price-
less bargains. Absolutely unique. The line can't
be repeated." He grinned at Martin. He was
sorry for him, but he couldn't help enjoying his


THE PURPLE PEARL 239
like brothers. She killed one of my ducks, and
I shot one of her hens,” Bernard explained. “It
was sitting on a gatepost, and I felt I must have
a pot at it. I never dreamed I should hit, but I
did. 'Tis ever thus. I can't bag pheasants when
I do want to but I can bag hens when I don't. So
I carried it to Violet to make my apologies, and
Miss Fleet asked me to dinner to eat the remains."
“How amusing."
Bernard glanced at him. “Put my foot in it
again,” he murmured in a gloomy sotto voce. “Oh,
Birmingham, Birmingham!”
Martin was conscious of behaving very badly, but
he had such a consuming desire to fling the china
dog at Bernard's head that he was obliged to put
it down. He walked over to the window and stood
looking out into the night. After all, if they were
engaged there was no more to be said, and it cer-
tainly was not Bernard's fault. No man could be
blamed for falling in love with Violet, and evi-
dently Bernard had never heard the faintest whis-
per of her connection with Martin. It was Vio-
let's fault, and for Violet Martin felt nothing but a
profound, aching, inconsolable tenderness-poor
little Violet, so lonely, so forlorn! He came back
to the fireside and stretched out his hand for a
cigarette—and drew it back, remembering that they
were Bernard's. Everything was Bernard's! He
owed Bernard for the supper he had eaten and for
the services of the best barber in Vianden.


THE PURPLE PEARL
241
“Thanks. I'm afraid I've been a bit above my-
self to-night, but you see it's rather recent.”
“And the Pearl is to go to Mrs. Bernard Mere-
worth ?” Martin crossed the room and faced Ber-
nard with his dark eyes. “So far as I'm concerned
you can have it and welcome: I owe you my life
and I'm aware that you risked your own to save it.
Tackling Heinz on his own ground wasn't a par-
ticularly safe proceeding even with Strickland at
your back. Now that I know what good reason
you had for sticking in England I'm even more
grateful than I was before. It meant throwing up
the title and property: you'll regret them when
you're married and have a son of your own. And
you did it for a man you had never seen but once
and who on that occasion hadn't, I'm afraid, been
very civil to you. Nor have I to-night. I owe you
fifty apologies for my gracelessness, and it's not
much excuse that you never gave us much chance
to know what you were like. No excuse at all, be-
cause if we had met you differently you might have
met us differently, and not left me to hear about
you from a stranger. You shouldn't have done
that.”
Bernard tried to speak, but Martin checked him
with a quick apologetic movement. He meant to
have his say out.
“After all we belong to the same old stock and
the head of the family has a sort of right to know
when fresh distinctions come to it. I am, I sup-


244
THE PURPLE PEARL
He slammed the telegram down on the table. It
was signed “Dell.”
“Who on earth is Dell?”
“My housemaid."
"Your housemaid?”.
“The Head of the Family disapproves of the al-
liance." Bernard grinned. “I can only assure
you she's rather like you. When you had your
curls,”
“Bernard, I am weary of that joke. Shut up
about my curls. You have a crude taste in hu-
mour, and I can tell you it was no joke to me.
Heinz showed me a rotten newspaper clipping
which announced your engagement to Violet. I
expect he got this chap Henderson to put it into
some rotten Radical rag or other. Anyhow it was
Otto’s favourite instrument of torture, and when
you turned up in your festive frame of mind, and
did nothing but prattle about getting married, I-
well, we'll drop it now. But we shall have to start
home to-morrow. Didn't you say you had brought
a passport for me?"
“For my valet. Five feet ten and dark, with
melting violet eyes—oh, all right, I will shut up.
But why in such a hurry?”
"I should have thought it was obvious even to
Birmingham. Can't you see that if Heinz has got
that bit of news”
“Great Scotland Yard !" Bernard leapt to his
feet. “He did get it! Got it and burnt it under


THE PURPLE PEARL
245
my very nose! A wire came while I was putting
the screw on him in his office, and it was after
reading it that he collapsed and took me to Fal-
kenstein "
“Then he has all the words, and if, like you, he
has a dazzling genius for anagrams, he probably
knows by now where to find the Pearl”
"In Castle Mereworth. Oh, my Lord !" Ber-
nard swept up his overcoat on one arm and his bag
on the other, and made towards the door. “I say,
Martin, I'm no end sorry, but would you be up to
travelling to-night?”
“Surely; but why?”
“Because I must be off instanter. It's a race be-
tween us and Heinz who gets first to the Castle.
And there isn't a soul at home there except Mrs.
Lindsay and—my housemaid !”


248
THE PURPLE PEARL
really. Don't be cross, Win. Have you been hunt-
ing in the East Room ?”
“No, of course not, I've been darning my stock-
ings and practising my scales. Where's your hat?
Oh, you've pulled all your hair down! Never mind
-how pretty it is!—there's no one to see.” She
flew into the hall and returned with Violet's seal-
skin coat. “Put that on."
"But, my darling, you surely don't want me to
go now!” Violet protested, as the coat slipped over
her shoulders. “Winnie—I can't! Won't to-mor-
row do?”
"No, it won't.” Winnie buttoned the coat under
Violet's chin and pulled up the collar. Violet
weakly allowed herself to be dragged out into the
night. “Can you run?”
“Yes, I can, quite as well as you, miss!"
“Then let's. If I don't,” Winnie was pausing
to shut the window, “I shall burst!”
It was a mile and a half by road from "The
Barn” to the Castle, but the girls took a short cut
across the fields, and the stable clock had not fin-
ished striking eleven when they reached the court-
yard.
White as lace, the fantastic tracery of the west
front raised itself against the moonlit sky. Not
a light was to be seen. Mrs. Lindsay had gone to
bed, believing her young lady to have done the
same. There was no sound except the hoot of a
motor car far down the road. Violet, who heard


250
THE PURPLE PEARL
chamber, unfurnished, on one side of which Violet
recognized the Tower doorway, and on the other
the Tower staircase.
“Hurry!” said Winnie, dashing on ahead.
Violet followed more soberly. There were more
cobwebs about than she liked. But when she stood
in the East Room she could not help feeling a thrill
of excitement. Only three days had passed since
Winnie had got her clue, but the East Room
showed unmistakable signs of her activities.
It was an eight-sided room lit by a big mullioned
window. Walls and floor were of stone, but had
been covered with tapestry curtains and a rich
Aubusson carpet. Winnie had taken down the
hangings to examine the walls and rolled up the
carpet to search the floor. A tall cabinet had been
pulled into the middle of the room and its Dresden
cups and plates were stacked in a neat pile on the
window sill. “I thought I'd have a quick hunt
round first,” Winnie whispered. There was no one
to overhear, but she felt like whispering, “But I
was quite, quite sure it was really in”—she held
up her lamp—“the Bed.”
Violet eyed the bed, half-impressed, half-scep-
tical. It was a very old four-post bedstead, like
the one in Bernard's room, but still more deeply
carved. No two posts were alike, and its nymphs
and vine leaves were beautifully done, with the
richness and variety and deep, free cutting which
distinguish old hand carving from its modern ma-


252
THE PURPLE PEARL
the way. Winnie turned her attention to the other
post, but she did not seem to be much interested
in it, for most of the time she was watching her
sister. Violet was slow and sure—she punched
every knob and poked every hole
“I should try higher up if I were you,” said Win-
nie. “There isn't much room for anything down
there, it's so spindly."
Docile Violet transferred her attention to the
spot Winnie pointed out, where the carvings were
rich and thick. She hardly knew whether she ex-
pected to find anything or not. If there ever had
been such a jewel as the Purple Pearl, nearly a
century had gone by since Monte Carlo Mereworth
magpied it away. How many people had had the
chance of stealing it since then!
"I wonder if it was all a joke,” she said. “Win-
nie dear, you won't be too dreadfully disappointed,
will you, if-oh!"
A bunch of carved grapes shot out in her face
with such unexpected violence that it nearly hit
her on the nose. She had touched the spring at
last. This post of the old bed was hollow !
"00-0-0-oooh! Put your hand in and feel!” said
Winnie in an awestruck whisper.
Violet, kneeling upright, slipped her slender bare
arm into the hollow. It was six inches square, but
how deep it was she could not tell, for it was cram-
full. She pulled out the first object that came to
hand. It was a diamond dog-collar necklace which


THE PURPLE PEARL
255
across the sill, carrying a loaded revolver in his
hand.
“You never said a truer word, my ladies. You
will not have them. I shall have them. Permit
me to introduce myself.” He clicked his heels to-
gether and bowed from the waist. “Colonel Otto
Heinz, at your service.”
Violet raised her head. It seemed to Winnie
that she had never seen her sister before.
“You? You ?” she cried. “You shall never have
them !” She sprang up, shaking her skirts, send-
ing the jewels flying in every direction to the four
corners of the room. “Scream, Winnie, scream-
Help! Help!"


CHAPTER XXVI
X TITHIN half an hour Martin had put to-
gether a bundle of necessaries for him-
self and his cousin while Bernard ruth-
lessly woke up General Strickland to arrange about
passports and to get permission to borrow Strick-
land's car. It was not yet ten o'clock when they
packed themselves in, Bernard at the wheel, Mar-
tin wrapped in a fur coat at his side, holding the
map and a torch; Marie waved them a regretful
farewell from the terrace; and the long, low, ninety-
horsepower Army car shot away into the night.
Of the first part of that journey neither Bernard
nor Martin had afterwards any very clear recol-
lection, Bernard because his attention was fixed on
picking out his way across Belgium by the aid of
map and torch, Martin because he was too tired
to think coherently of anything. He fell asleep in
broad daylight and slept for some hours with his
head on Bernard's shoulder, waking to find him-
self tucked up in rugs, and Bernard's unchanging
profile above him gazing down the long, level road
that led to the coast.
From Boulogne they were lucky enough to find a
leave boat on the point of sailing, and in Dover
256


THE PURPLE PEARL
257
Bernard expected to pick up his own car, which he
had stabled at a garage when they crossed to
France. It was at this point, however, that their
luck, which had carried them safe across Belgium,
deserted them. The Channel was rough, the boat
was delayed, and when they got off the pier no
car was to be seen. It took Bernard forty minutes
to rouse up the garage, and by the time the car was
ready it was eight o'clock. Martin had been
stretched at ease on one of the sofas of the “Lord
Warden,” when Bernard came in silent and frown-
ing and swept him up.
“You might have let me finish my coffee,” Mar-
tin grumbled as they thundered out of Dover. Ber-
nard remained dumb. “Why this gloom? We've
done pretty well so far. There's still a war on,
dear fellow—you can't expect a coupé-lit from door
to door!”
“I should like to punch Gibson's head.”
Gibson was the proprietor of the garage. Mar-
tin raised his eyebrows. “Overtired, overtired,” he
murmured sympathetically. “Come to think of it,
you were motoring all last night and most of the
night before; besides, you've had a Channel cross-
ing which must have—er—taken a good deal out of
you—"
"All my dinner and most of my breakfast,” said
Bernard with feeling. “But no, it's not that. The
fact is, I'm bothered about what's going on at the
Castle, Martin. Heinz has had twenty-four hours'


THE PURPLE PEARL
261
It was Miss Fleet: dressed in a big motor coat
put on over a blue flannel dressing-gown. She
stood in the gap through which they would have
to back, her feet-small feet in bronze slippers—
slightly apart and her hands in her pockets.
“I have taken your number,” she said in a leis-
urely voice, “and I shall report you to the police
in Chichester to-morrow "
"No, you won't,” said Bernard, “not when you
know who we are."
"Oh, it's you! Your lamps were in my eyes and
I couldn't see. Is that Violet in the car?”! She
peered up at the furred figure by Bernard's side.
Martin took off his cap and smiled, holding out his
hand. “Oh! it's Martin Mereworth. How d'ye
do? Glad to see you back. Though we shall be
sorry to lose him as a neighbour,” she nodded to
Bernard, "he behaved very well on the whole, after
I taught him not to shoot my hens.”
“Miss Fleet, why did you take me for Violet?”
"Only because I can't think where she is. I left
her sitting by the fire, and when I came down twenty
minutes later she had vanished. I suppose she took
a fancy to go for a stroll in the grounds; it seems
rather late in the year for that sort of thing, but
her coat was missing out of the hall.” She glanced
from Martin to Bernard with her intelligent eyes,
shrewdly guessing what her news meant to both
of them.
“Do you mind moving?” said Bernard. “Sorry


THE PURPLE PEARL
265
up the ladder. They both set foot on it, Heinz
above, Bernard below, when Winnie rushed into
the fray. She was not going to see the Pearl car-
ried off before her eyes, not she! Having no idea
that Bernard was anywhere in the neighbourhood,
she seized the ladder in her small but determined
hands and gave it a vigorous shove which sent it
toppling over with a crash. Heinz: described a
sweeping parabola and landed in a furze bush, Ber-
nard, not having so far to fall, simple tumbled off
on his back. And then Winnie recognized him. A
brief but expressive silence reigned.
“Damn!” said Bernard.
He got up.
“Oh, dear! Oh, but, Bernard, he really has got
the Pearl!” said Winnie apologetically. “Do go
and find it, it must be somewhere in among the
furze !"
"I'll make you pay for this, young lady!” said
Bernard.
Limping across to investigate the furze bush, he
found the Pearl still clasped in Heinz's hand.
Bernard had already tied up Mr. Henderson with
means of tying up Heinz, but he fell back on the
simple and effective method which is in vogue in
the British army when prisoners are captured on
the grand scale. Having made sure (a) that
Heinz would not run away, (b) that Winnie had


CHAPTER XXVII
N Boxing Day, 1918, there was a double wed-
ding at Castle Mereworth.
At the Castle, the wheels of life were
running smoothly again within a fortnight of Mar-
tin's return, for no particular reason, so far as
Bernard could see, except that it did not seem to
occur to Martin that the wheels of his life could
ever run otherwise. He said, “Please," and
“Thank you,” and expected the situation to ar-
range itself, apparently taking for granted that
whatever happened he would not be uncomfortable
in his own house, and the entire countryside seemed
willing to stand round, as Bernard said, and hand
him what he wanted on a tray.
The day after the defeat of Heinz Bernard
called an informal committee meeting in Miss
Fleet's study, at which there were present, besides
himself and Martin and Violet and Winnie, two of
the best known London experts in precious stones;
and the Mereworth treasure was turned out on the
table to be examined, sorted, and roughly estimated
by the gentlemen from Hatton Garden. Jotted
down on a half sheet of paper, the figures made
Bernard whistle and Winnie say, “Oh, dear!"
267


274
THE PURPLE PEARL
plush drawing-room suite, and paper roses on the
overmantel in honour of the honeymoon pair. Mrs.
Thompson herself was out; she had gone to a Box.
ing Night party, and Bernard had given her leave
of absence till next day.
The table was laid for supper-Winnie had laid
it; and Winnie, in her first evening dress with the
Purple Pearl conspicuously displayed, was making
toast before the fire. They had not arrived in time
for her to cook pâtes à la russe and similar dainties,
so she had sent Bernard out to buy a pork pie. She
heard the click of his latchkey, and then his cheer-
ful whistle as he hung up his hat in the hall, and
she called to him through the door.
“Take off your boots before you come in, Bernie,
I've put your slippers to warm.”
Bernard came in, sat down in the big armchair
which he had carried in for this occasion from his
own den, and pulled Winnie down on his knee.
“Now isn't this jolly ?” he said. “Do you wish
you were in Violet's shoes, enjoying the dissipa-
tions of the gay city of Paree? Because I don't.”
"Lovely,” said Winnie with a sigh of content.
“Besides, Martin will have to go back to his regi.
ment quite soon. Of course it's for his country so
one mustn't grumble.” A shadow darkened her
brow for a moment; somewhere in her heart there
lingered a faint regret that Bernard hadn't done
anything for his country“Still I shouldn't like
you to have to go away.”


276
THE PURPLE PEARL
thing the like of which Winnie had seen once be-
fore, and only once, when her grandfather unlocked
his cabinet to show them the most precious treas-
ures of the Family.
“Why, it's a V.C. !” she said in awestruck tones.
“Oh, Bernard, how did you get hold of it? Did
you buy it?"
“Er-no. I had it given me.”
“What an extraordinary thing for any one to give
away! Who by?”
“Er-his Christian name was George.”
Winnie looked up in a flash. “Bernard, I don't
understand! Don't chaff me over a thing like this.
It isn't kind of you."
"Infant, I'm not chaffing.” Bernard gathered
her into his arms. "I meant to tell you in any
case, even if Martin hadn't given the show away.
I got it at Neuve Chapelle. It was all Strickland's
doing. That's why he's always been so civil to
me.”
"You won it yourself? You were a soldier, too?”
She raised her head after a long silence, the tears
hanging on her eyelashes, and pinned the Cross
on the breast of Bernard's rough tweed jacket.
“No, you're not to take it off. You're to wear
it to-night to please memy knight-errant-my
embusqué!"
THE END