NEDL TRANSFER
HN IPAD 5.



FROM
TEE GRANGE
STOW Mass


RELY
760


THE SHADOW OF
MALREWARD


THE BORZOI
MYSTERY STORIES
I THE WHITE ROOK
By J. B. Harris-Burland
“Exciting, entertaining, and mystifying.
A detective story to warm the cockles of a
Sherlockian. Carries a story along with
the thrills and no end of unexpected situa-
tions."— Oakland Tribune.
II THE SOLITARY HOUSE
By E. R. Punshon
“Here is a story to start reading about
9 P. M. if you want to make a night of it in
the old armchair. If the wind is moaning
in the chimney so much the better. . . . A
story which is 100 p. c. thrill."- Boston
Record.
III THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
By J. B. Harris-Burland
IV THE MIDDLE-TEMPLE MURDER
By J. S. Fletcher
(To be published Fall of 1919.)


THE SHADOW OF
MALREWARD
BY
J. B. HARRIS-BURLAND
NEW YORK ALFRED · A · KNOPF MCMXIX


KD 5631
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, INO.
SARAR VARO
COLLEGE
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATE OF AMERICA


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
CHAPTER I
Towards the close of a hot summer's day two young men
cycled down the long slope that led from the high moorland
to the village of Norton.
The one was a writer and the other a writer of some emi.
nence, and each in his own way felt that the scene which lay
before him was not to be hurried over, but to be enjoyed as
long as possible.
The valley faced west and ran down to the sea. On either
side of it rose precipitous slopes not more than half a mile
apart, even at the mouth. The space between the two great
rocky walls that were clad with verdure from base to summit
was filled with a glory of azure and gold and crimson. The
water lay smooth as a sheet of glass, and like a mirror re-
flected the splendour of the sunset. Against the glowing sky
the rugged cliffs stood out sharp and dark as if they had
been cut out of black cardboard. The summit of one was
crowned with a great pile of irregular buildings that seemed
as if it were part of the rock on which it stood. Half-way
down the opposite side there was a small house which would
have been invisible but for the fact that it stood on a project-
ing ledge and so was silhouetted against the sky. Half a
mile inland from the sea the village of Norton nestled among
the orchards and grasslands of the sheltered vale.
“That is Norton-Malreward on the left,” said Richard
Loryat; “ that little place on the right is the ‘ Den.' I believe
it used to be the dower house, but Sir Philip Malreward uses
it as a laboratory and workshop.”


4
THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
The other man made no reply. His lips tightened, and the
lines deepened on his face as he stared at Norton-Malreward.
He was tall, thin-faced, dark — even saturnine as the red
glow of the setting sun fell upon his features. Loryat was
a sturdy, broad-shouldered Saxon, with fair crisp hair and
blue eyes, and almost as great a contrast as could be found
to his lean saturnine companion. The two men had met a
week previously and had made friends over a bottle of excel-
lent port, in a small inn. Loryat had been sketching, and
John Kentisbury had been touring the country in search of
atmosphere for a new book. It was on Loryat's suggestion
that they had turned aside from their route to visit the pic.
turesque village of Norton.
But now, as Loryat looked at his companion's face he felt
uncomfortable. It almost seemed to him as though John
Kentisbury were slowly moving down from the moorland into
the blackness and lurid fires of hell. The man's face sug.
gested Mephistopheles in a red limelight. It had always been
gloomy and thoughtful, but now it could only be described
by the one word “terrible.” Loryat wondered whether
Kentisbury had ever been to this part of the world before,
and whether it held some dark memory for him.
“I believe Sir Philip Malreward is away in Borneo," he
said after a long pause, “but Lady Malreward is at home,
and I am sure she will give us permission to go over the
house. I came here last year and she was most kind. She
let me sketch whatever I wanted - ah, there is a beautiful
woman if you like! — and in such a setting as Norton-Malre-
ward, I can tell you, Kentisbury ”
“I know Lady Malreward,” Kentisbury interrupted curtly,
“ and nothing on earth would persuade me to enter her house.”
Loryat looked at his companion in surprise, and a dozen
questions were in his mind. But he only said —
“Ah, you have been in this part of the world before.”
“ Never," was the abrupt reply, and the tone of it was so
fierce that Loryat changed the subject.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 5
“I'd like a spin before we reach the village,” he said.
“The air in this valley is stilling. Shall we go ahead?”
“Yes, certainly.” And Kentisbury released the pressure on
his brake so suddenly that his bicycle shot several yards ahead
of the other.
A sharp run of three minutes brought them to the village,
and they stopped outside the Malreward Arms, which was
the only inn in the place.
At eight o'clock they sat down to an excellent meal of a
fowl, new potatoes, green peas, and a gooseberry tart with
cream. John Kentisbury was genial, and even in a jesting
mood. As a rule, he could be a pleasant, if somewhat ab.
stracted companion; but this was the first occasion on which
he had given way to absolute mirth and merriment.
Possibly it was the reaction from the mood which had
brought that terrible look into his face and eyes as they
descended the hill.
When they had finished dinner they lit their pipes and asked
the landlord to join them in a glass of port. The two young
men made a point of this at every inn, though it was a custom
long out of date even in the remotest country districts. John
Kentisbury gained thereby a good deal of material for his
literary work, and Loryat learnt of the most interesting bits of
scenery in the neighbourhood.
“ Is her ladyship at home? ” asked Loryat when he had
filled the landlord's glass with wine.
Mr. Gist, a small, meagre Cockney, with a red face, cleared
his throat.
“Yes, sir,” he replied slowly, as if weighing his words.
"I think I may say as 'er ladyship is at 'ome. 'Ere's your
very good 'ealth, gentlemen.”
Loryat nodded and sipped his wine.
“And Sir Philip?” asked Kentisbury. “Is he still
abroad? »
Mr. Gist paused with his glass half-way to his lips and stared
at the speaker with his small bloodshot eyes.


6 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Is it possible you ain't 'eard, sir?” he said in a whisper.
“Heard what?”
“Of Sir Philip's death, sir. 'E's bin dead this four
months.”
Loryat was looking straight at his companion's face, as the
landlord unburdened himself proudly of this piece of news.
But John Kentisbury did not betray his thoughts by so much
as the flicker of an eyelid. He only smiled — the merest
ghost of a smile.”
" I've been abroad for six months,” he said in an even voice,
“and I only returned three weeks ago. So I have not heard
any news of Sir Philip's death. But my friend — surely,
Loryat, you must have heard of the death of so great a man
as Sir Philip Malreward.”
“Not in my line,” said the artist quietly. “ I'd forgotten
all about the Malrewards till I came into this neighbourhood
again. Then the beautiful - ”
He paused, checked by a look in Kentisbury's eyes. “How
very sad,” he said lamely.
Mr. Gist drained his glass and wiped his mouth. “I don't
know as 'e ain't well out of it,” he said after a pause. “I
don't believe in old men marrying young women. Forty year
there were between them. It can't be expected as a young
and pretty woman "
“How did Sir Philip die?” Kentisbury broke in, and his
voice was so harsh that Mr. Gist moved his chair back half
an inch, and the legs grated on the stone floor.
“One of them fevers, sir," the landlord replied; “'er
ladyship knew of it. It took 'em twenty days to get the re-
mains down to the coast — burnt 'em, they did, and brought
along the ashes in a tin box. Chidley were the only white man
with 'im.”
“Who is Chidley?” asked Dick Loryat not because he
wanted to know, but in case Kentisbury might speak before
him. For some reason or other he did not care to hear an-


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 7
other question asked by Kentisbury in the same tone as the
last one.
“Ralph Chidley,” said Mr. Gist, “'e was Sir Philip's serv.
ant — not so much a servant, mind you, as an 'elper in 'is
work. 'E were a rare clever man were Ralph Chidley, and
may be now for aught I know, though I reckon as part of 'is
cleverness were imbibed — if you understand me — from 'is
master. 'E'll be 'ere tonight. They're bringing the body
'ome - which reminds me I ought to ’ave been at the station,
so as to show my respec's; but I don't think as I'll do more
than meet the procession at the foot of the 'ill.”
“So the ashes are being brought back tonight,” said Ken-
tisbury quietly. “I hope we are not detaining you."
“Not at all, sir, not at all. The train don't git in till
nine and then they ’ave to drive eleven mile; not till ’arf-
past ten do we expect them. But if you'll excuse me, gen-
tlemen, I think I'll ’ave to be gettin' along in a few minutes,
so as to change into my black clothes. We all of us 'ad
great respec' for Sir Philip.”
As he spoke, he looked meaningly at his glass, and Loryat
filled it to the brim.
“ 'Ere's your good 'ealth again, gents," said Mr. Gist,
" and may death and disaster keep far away from you both.”
Kentisbury smiled grimly at the odd toast. Then he rose
to his feet and yawned. Mr. Gist took his departure with
apologies for staying so long.
“An odd character, eh? ” said Loryat, filling his pipe.
“Those cockney fellows are funny when they try to imitate
the old-fashioned landlord of a village inn — well, what do
you say to bed? We've done a good fifty miles up and down
hill.”
“ I'm going out to see what our landlord calls the 'pro-
cession.'"
“Well, you can please yourself. I'm going to bed.”
John Kentisbury made no reply, and Loryat walked towards


8 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
the door. When he reached it, however, he turned and looked
at his companion.
“You'd better come to bed, old chap,” he said quietly.
“No, thank you," Kentisbury answered, with a laugh.
“One doesn't get a chance like this every day. Think of the
scene, my dear fellow; of the ashes brought through swamp
and forest, over thousands of miles of land and sea; of the
arrival here in this little village; of the faithful tenants -
all in black — standing round and waiting, perhaps even
wondering where Borneo is, and why Sir Philip should have
chosen to die there. Then the terrific ascent up the hill to
Norton-Malreward; the carriage followed by a respectful
crowd, most of whom ought to be in bed and asleep. It will
be a fine sight, Loryat, either for the brush of an artist or the
pen of a writer. Of course if you painted it, you'd have to
put in a moon.”
Loryat frowned. His companion had spoken bitterly and
contemptuously of things that are not generally made the
subject for scorn and laughter. And once more there was
that strange look on the lean, sallow face, and a gleam of
malice in the dark eyes.
“There will probably be a moon tonight,” he said curtly,
and then he left the room.
John Kentisbury stood for a moment motionless. Then he
flung himself into a creaking armchair, and began to fill his
pipe.
For a quarter of an hour he smoked, leaning back with
folded arms and closed eyes. Then he roused himself from
his reverie, and, taking a leather case out of his pocket, he
extracted a letter. The envelope was so worn that the sides
fell apart as he touched it.
He read the letter through from beginning to end, and then
replaced it in the leather case. But a minute later he took it
out again and re-read the last few lines.
"I shall always love you, Jack," said the writer. “But
circumstances must keep us apart. I cannot do without
pipe.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
9
money; I cannot do without the beautiful things of the world.
Good-bye, dear; I shall never forget you — never.”
He smiled, and it was the first time he had ever smiled
during the perusal of that letter, which had been read a thou-
sand times.
“ The beautiful things of this world,” he said to himself.
“I wonder if Sir Philip Malreward might have been con-
sidered to be one of them.
Half an hour later John Kentisbury left the inn in the
company of his landlord, now transformed from a genial
Boniface to something between a low comedian and an under-
taker's assistant.
“We'll go a little way up the 'ill,” said Mr. Gist. “They'll
'ave to go slow up the 'ill, and you'll ’ave a better chance
of seeing.”
The moon had risen above the moorland in the east, and
the valley was flooded with light. Kentisbury followed the
landlord up the steep hill, till they were a hundred feet above
the village. The road that led to the railway station wound
its way up the valley like a piece of white ribbon.
“ That's them,” said Mr. Gist, pointing at three specks now
visible in the distance. “The 'earse and the kerridge as 'er
ladyship rides in, and another, with Chidley, I've no doubt.”
John Kentisbury made no reply. He glanced at the three
specks on the white road, and then at the black mass of the
villagers who had assembled at the foot of the hill. The
sound of voices and laughter occasionally broke the silence,
and then died away as though any noise were out of place
on so solemn an occasion.
“I shall walk with 'em up to the 'ouse,” said Mr. Gist,
" like the rest. I don't doubt Chidley will ’ave 'is eyes open,
and e'll put a black mark agin any one as don't walk up to
the 'ouse."


10 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“I shall stay where I am," Kentisbury replied, “ or rather
under the shadow of those trees”; and moving away from the
centre of the road, he stood in the darkness by the edge of a
small coppice. Mr. Gist walked quickly down the hill, evi-
dently anxious to show himself in the front rank of the
mourners.
A few minutes later there was the sound of wheels, and
the beat of horses' hoofs, and at the same moment sparks
of light began to glow among the crowd, and the sparks
flared out into smoky flames.
“ Torches,” said Kentisbury to himself; “how absurd!”
Then something long and black crawled slowly up the hill
- a gigantic open hearse drawn by four black horses, and
on either side of it walked six men with flaming torches. Be-
hind it were two broughams, each drawn by a pair of chest-
nuts, and behind them a long line of men and women, walk-
ing two and two, and trailing down the white road like a
snake.
As the hearse passed Kentisbury, he saw that it was empty,
save for a small object that glittered in the moonlight.
“Not the original tin box," he thought; "a silver casket,
I expect.”
Then came the first brougham, and the blinds were drawn.
Lady Malreward's grief was not to be looked on by the vul-
gar crowd. The windows of the second carriage were open,
however, and Kentisbury had a close view of a small lean
white face, clean-shaven, save for a short closely-cropped white
beard.
"Ralph Chidley, I suppose,” he said to himself; "the only
real mourner of the lot, I daresay.”
For five minutes longer the tramp of feet went past him
up the hill. It was not till the sound had died away that he
left the shadow of the trees. Then, looking up the steep
ascent, he saw a few lights twinkling like glow-worms, and
at the very summit of the great precipice the towers and ram-


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 11
parts of Norton-Malreward stood silver grey against the deep
blue of the sky.
“All is vanity,” he muttered to himself. Then, turning ab-
ruptly on his heel, he walked quickly down the hill to the al.
most empty village.


CHAPTER II
“And to my faithful servant, and helper, Ralph Chidley,
I bequeath the sum of twenty thousand pounds and my house
known as the ‘Den’ with all the garden land appertaining
thereto, and all the furniture and chattels therein contained,
and I hereby express a hope that he will be able to complete
such work as I may leave unfinished at the time of my death,
for which purpose I bequeath him the further sum of five
thousand pounds to be expended on scientific research.”
Mr. Jesson, the lawyer, paused, and sipped a glass of water.
He had already read a long list of small legacies to servants,
and he thought this a suitable place to pause. The magnitude
of the bequest had startled every one save Lady Malreward,
who probably knew of it beforehand.
For a few moments there was silence, and every one looked
at Ralph Chidley, who was staring at the polished oak of the
table; his small wrinkled face was quite expressionless, and
no one could have told whether he was thinking of the legacy
or of his dead master.
“No reward can be too great for faithful service,” said Lady
Malreward, breaking the silence, “and no one is more deserv-
ing than you, Chidley, of a great reward."
She spoke quietly, and there was a note of sadness in her
voice, but there was a look of genuine pleasure as she held out
her slim white hand to her husband's old friend and servant.
There was a charm about Dorothy Malreward that endowed her
simplest act of courtesy or kindness with a value that was
quite out of proportion to the act itself. Every one in the
room felt that Sir Philip ought not to have left so large a
sum of money to a man who had been born in one of the
12


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 13
cottages on the estate. And yet Lady Malreward, who was
the loser by the legacy, and who was bowed down by a great
sorrow was able to congratulate Ralph Chidley on his good
fortune, and to do it in such a manner as to leave no doubt
that she was genuinely pleased.
“And to my dear wife, Dorothy Malreward,” the lawyer
continued, clearing his throat, “I leave all the residue of my
real and personal estate, knowing that she will use it in such
a way as I should wish, and deal as kindly and justly with
my tenants as I have endeavoured to do through all my life.”
Again the lawyer paused, and this time he leant back in his
chair and began to fold up the piece of parchment that lay
before him.
“Is that all? ” asked Lady Malreward, rising to her feet.
“There is a condition that you shall reside at Norton-Mal.
reward for eighteen months after Sir Philip's decease,” the
lawyer replied.
“ And nothing else?”
“No," answered the lawyer.
A few minutes later the room was empty save for Mr. Jesson
and Lady Malreward. The latter stood by an open window
that looked out across the valley, and her eyes were fixed on a
small grey building on the opposite slope. It had once been
the dower house of the family. But there was no longer any
need of a dower house. Sir Philip Malreward was the last of
his race and she, his widow, had control of all the land, save
that house and garden, as far as she could see up the valley,
and over the edge of the hill on to the moorland.
The lawyer was still seated at the table, and was working
out a sum on a sheet of foolscap. Then he looked up and
saw the slender black figure outlined against the window.
The pale beautiful face, with its crown of auburn hair, formed
a marked contrast to the widow's weeds.
“Something will have to be sold,” he said, rising from his
chair and walking towards the window. “I suppose you don't
intend to dispute this legacy to Ralph Chidley.”


14 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ Certainly not, Mr. Jesson. Why should I? The man
has deserved it.”
“I thought perhaps you might be thinking of 'undue in-
fluence.' There is no doubt that Sir Philip was very much
influenced by Ralph Chidley in all his affairs."
" I should not think of disputing the will,” Lady Malreward
said coldly. “My husband had every right to leave the money
to whomsoever he chose. The sum of £25,000 means noth-
ing to me, but if it was £250,000 I should not complain.”
“ Part of the estate must be sold.”
“Certainly. Sell the outlying farms at Hoyle. But
surely business can be discussed later on. Will you stay here
tonight?”
“No, thank you, Lady Malreward. I want to catch the
5.30 at Talbridge.”
“Very well. Please give the orders about the motor. I
wish to be alone.”
The lawyer bowed and withdrew. Lady Malreward still
remained by the window, but now that she was alone the
sadness had passed away from her face and a light came into
her dark brown eyes.
“All this is mine," she thought as she looked across the
valley, and then towards the moorland. “Every stone and
tree, every cottage and field and wood. It is all mine, to
do what I will with, and my life is my own — to use as I
please.”
The door at the far end of the dining-hall opened, and a
footman entered, looking sombre and awkward in his new
black livery.
“ If you please, my lady, may Mr. Chidley speak to you?”
“Chidley? ” she queried with a frown. “Yes, Martin; I
will see him in here."
The man departed, and a few moments later Ralph Chidley
was ushered into the room. He came forward slowly, and did
not speak till he reached the window.
“I hope your ladyship bears no ill-will,” he said humbly,


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 15
man
e in
nuch
vard
oney
oth.
But
ere
che
and with his eyes fixed on the ground as though not daring
to lift them to Lady Malreward's face.
“Why should I bear you ill-will, Mr. Chidley? ”
“Your ladyship might think that I took advantage of my
long service - of my close friendship — if I may dare to use
the word — with Sir Philip. But I can assure your lady.
ship - ”
“No assurances are necessary,” she interrupted. “Is this
all you wished to say, Mr. Chidley?”.
“Not all, my lady. I have been entrusted with a sacred
mission, and with the delivery of this letter it is complete.”
He drew a piece of oiled silk out of his pocket, unfolded it,
and produced a dirty envelope.
“My master and benefactor," he said impressively, “ asked
me to deliver this to your ladyship in case he never returned
from the expedition alive."
Lady Malreward took the letter from his hand, and, turning
it over, saw the impression of her husband's signet-ring on
the red wax. Then she shivered. The old man, who stood
before her, a mean and almost ludicrous figure in his black
frock-coat and shabby black trousers, which obviously were
part of a dress-suit, had brought back to her the tangled for.
ests and poison-laden swamps of a distant land. The struggle
to reach the coast, the hardships manfully endured, came be-
fore her eyes with the sight of that dirty piece of oiled silk.
He had certainly been a faithful servant, and had earned his
reward.
“Do you know the contents ? ” she asked mechanically.
“I mean, did my husband tell you the contents, in case the
message was of great importance, and the missive might be
lost?”
Ralph Chidley bowed his head, as though at a graveside.
“Sir Philip told me, my lady,” he said in a low voice,“ in
case the letter might be lost.”
Dorothy Malreward coloured. It was intolerable to think
that this man knew the contents of the letter.


16 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“I shall always regard it as a sacred confidence, my lady,”
Chidley continued. “It was the only thing that Sir Philip
could do under the circumstances, and if I had been killed by
the natives or had died of fever "
“You are a brave man,” she said quietly, “and have done
your duty faithfully. You will continue to do it, I am sure,
for the sake of the man who was proud to call you a friend.”
The small wrinkled face was inscrutable, and the thin line
of the lips seemed to contract, as Dorothy Malreward spoke
these few kindly words. Then Ralph Chidley held out his
brown hand.
“My mission is complete, my lady,” he said, " at any rate
80 far as you are concerned. I hope that you will find com-
fort in your great sorrow.”
Dorothy Malreward only hesitated for a second before she
took the outstretched hand, and that momentary hesitation was
an index to her thoughts. Then she smiled — just the right
sort of sad smile that was expected of her.
“Good-bye, Mr. Chidley,” she said in a low voice; “you
won't forget to come and see me now and then, will you? I
shall never forget all you have done for me."
He gripped her slender fingers hard as he bowed his head
over them. And she was seized with a sudden sense of loathing
and fear. It seemed to her as though this man, who had been
through so much for her sake, held her in his power, and
would not loose his hold on her until she lay lifeless in his
hands.
But the feeling passed as quickly as it had come. Chidley
let go of her fingers and shambled across the room towards
the door. There was nothing terrible about him now. He
was only a bent and mean-looking old man in shabby black
clothes — more like a clerk who had passed all his life in an
office than an explorer who had fought his way back to civili-
zation from the darkness of a tropical forest.
When Dorothy Malreward was alone she seated herself in
a chair by the great mullioned window, and looked at the letter,


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 17
which she had laid down on the table. She stretched out her
hand to touch it, and then drew back, and sat there staring at
the red seal.
"A few last words of advice,” she said to herself, “a re-
buke, perhaps, for the shortness of my last letter — nothing
pleasant, I am sure of that. I knew Philip too well."
She looked away from the letter, and leant her arms on the
stone sill of the open window, and as she gazed out across the
valley, the past came back to her -- that bitter past in which
she had goaded a strong mind to madness. Seven years of
wedded life, and in all that time not a word of love for the
husband who had given her everything, scarcely an act of
kindness; only coldness and contempt and even hatred. What
a record for those last seven years!
And then he had left her to go on this expedition, and
since even the worm will turn, his last words had been harsh
and bitter — the first, the only harsh and bitter words he had
spoken to her.
“You are sending me out to my death,” he had said as
they parted. “ I'm too old for this sort of thing; but I'd rather
die in a fever swamp than live in the hell you've made out of
my home.”
The words rang in her ears now.
She once more stretched out her hand, and, picking up the
letter, opened the envelope with a small silver paper-knife.
After all, the man was dead, and his reproaches had no power
to hurt her. If she had loved him, it would have been differ-
ent. As it was, she smiled, and taking the thin piece of paper
from its envelope, read the contents, which were as follows:-
“ DEAR DOROTHY,
" I've got a touch of the fever. It may be nothing
much, and it may be a good deal. In case it turns out
to be the latter, I thought I'd write you a few lines before
I get foolish and delirious.
“ The memory of my last words to you have rankled in my


18 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
brain ever since we parted. I want you to forget and forgive
them. I loved you very dearly when I married you, and have
always loved you. I failed to win your love, and this must be
my excuse for what I said to you in an outburst of misery
and despair.
“ It may be that God has taken me at my word, and that
I am to die in this wretched hole. In any case you must take
what I am going to say to you as the last words of a man who
thinks that he is going to die; for if I live, the letter will never
be sent to you.
“For some months it has been in my mind to make an
alteration in my will. It seemed right and proper to me that
as you had married me for my money, I should leave you the
use of this money for only so long as you remained a widow
and did not marry again. This is what most men would have
done under the circumstances, and what many men do even
in the case of the most affectionate wives.
“Since I have been out here, however, I have decided to
make the question of remarriage an affair rather of honour
than of the law. I know you to be an honourable woman,
whatever faults you may possess, and I am sure that if I give
you your legal freedom you will respect my last and most
solemn wishes.
“Believing as I do that there is a conscious life after death,
and that it is in the power of the dead to return and watch
over those whom they love, I beseech you to spare me the
agony of seeing you married to another man.
“I could not prevent you from marrying again, even
by making a will whereby remarriage would deprive you of
a fortune, but I could make such a marriage a great sacrifice
on your part.
“I have preferred, my dear Dorothy, to deal with you in
a more kindly spirit, and one which I trust will go far to
make you think well of me, when I am no longer with you.
I have made a fresh will, in which I have left my property
in the hands of trustees, and only give you a life interest


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 19
in the estate. If you marry again, this interest is to cease,
and a cousin on my mother's side will inherit the whole of my
fortune.
“I have, however, given written instructions, signed and
witnessed, to Ralph Chidley that this will is to be considered
as revoked, and is to be destroyed, if you will make a solemn
promise to him, in the presence of two other witnesses, that
you will not marry again. It is to be only a promise, given
on your word of honour, and is not in any way to be con-
sidered as a legal oath, the breaking of which will entail the
loss of the property.
“When you have made the promise, you can break it, if
your conscience will allow you to do so, and you will not lose
a penny of your inheritance.
“And now, my dear Dorothy, I will wish you good-bye.
You will never see me again, but I firmly believe that I shall
see you, and watch over you. My great love for you will
purchase this for me, in spite of death.
“I am, and hope that I shall always be,
“Your loving husband,
“ Philip MALREWARD."
a penny,
my dear Doron
i firmly belie
Lady Malreward read this long missive with emotions that
swayed between hope and fear and shame. When she had
finished, she folded up the letter, and replaced it in its en-
velope. Then she stared out of the window at the “ Den," a
small grey lump of stone upon the opposite side of the valley.
"Ralph Chidley knows everything,” she said to herself,
" and I am in his power. If he chooses to destroy his written
and signed instructions, and produce the will — ” She leant
forward, and catching hold of the letter, gripped it tightly in
her hand.
“There is this at any rate,” she thought. “I must guard
it carefully. It is worth a great fortune.”
Then, as if seized by some sudden impulse, she rose to her
feet, and hurried into the long library, where the light stream-


20 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
ing through stained glass windows fell on tier after tier of
books. She went to a safe in the corner of the room, unlocked
it, and put the letter in a small steel drawer. Then she closed
the door, turned the key in the lock, and walking over to the
fireplace, rang the bell.
“Has Mr. Jesson gone? ” she asked the servant who an-
swered the summons.
“Yes, m'lady — ten minutes ago - in the Daimler."
“ And Mr. Chidley?”
“Yes, m'lady. He walked.”
“Order the white car around at once," she said curtly. “I
shall be ready to leave in five minutes."


22 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Men change their minds,” she said curtly. “I trust you
entirely, but surely it is best to have the matter settled at
once.”
Chidley made no reply, and neither of them spoke again
till they reached the “ Den.” The house itself stood on the
very edge of a small precipice, and the plateau at the back
had been made into a large and beautifully arranged garden.
The entrance was through this garden to a doorway at the
back of the house.
" I'm afraid the place is not very habitable,” said Lady
Malreward, as she entered the small square hall, which was
thick with dust, and littered with old packing-cases.
“I can soon make it so. For the present it answers. Will
your ladyship be pleased to come this way.”
He opened a door at the far end of the hall, and they
entered a large room with a big mullioned window that faced
the valley. The walls were lined with bookcases, filled en.
tirely with volumes relating to engineering and natural science.
Ralph Chidley wiped a thick layer of dust off a wooden chair.
“Please sit down,” he said. “I will fetch the papers.”
“And the witnesses,” she said. “Will the chauffeur do?”
“ Certainly. But I had forgotten the witnesses. There
is no one else in the house. I will see what I can do if you
will wait here a few minutes. I'll go down to the village in
the car, if necessary."
“Then bring two. I don't care for my servants to be wit.
nesses."
He departed, and Lady Malreward, left to her own devices,
rose from her chair and opened one of the windows.
For a few minutes she stood there motionless. She was
roused by the sound of footsteps and voices in the hall.
Chidley was returning with the witnesses, and it was quite
evident that he had not been down to Norton to find them.
Then the door opened, and she turned and found herself
face to face with John Kentisbury.
As the young man saw Lady Malreward, he paused in the


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 23
doorway. Then he stepped aside and allowed Chidley to pass.
" These gentlemen were just coming up the road, your lady.
ship,” said the latter; "they wished permission to sketch the
house from the garden. They will be only too willing to
oblige your ladyship in this little matter.”
Lady Malreward bowed slightly, and then held out her hand
to Kentisbury. He could not well refuse to take it. He
muttered some words of condolence.
“Mr. Kentisbury and I have met before,” she said quietly
to Dick Loryat; and then to Kentisbury, “Please introduce
me to your friend.”
“Mr. Loryat — Lady Malreward.”
Dick Loryat coloured. Hitherto he had only guessed at
the relations which had once existed between Kentisbury and
this beautiful woman; but now, as he saw them face to face,
he knew the truth. He felt the strain of the situation almost
as keenly as his friend, and was far less able to control his
features.
“I hope I can be of service to you,” he stammered. “I
think we have met before.”
“Did you say your name was Loryat, sir? ” queried Chid.
ley.
“Yes, Richard Loryat."
“ The son of Alexander Loryat of Paynesworthy?”
“Yes. Did you know my father? ”
“No, sir,” Chidley replied, “but I believe your mother was
a Miss Tressil.”
“ Yes, she was. Did you know her?”
Ralph Chidley shook his head. “Very strange,” he mut.
tered, “ very strange.”
“ Tressil? ” queried Lady Malreward, who had caught the
name, but had not paid much attention to the conversation.
"Sir Philip's mother was a Tressil.”
“Precisely, your ladyship, precisely,” said Chidley, " that
is why May I - er — speak to you a moment? I am
sure these gentlemen will excuse us.”


24 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Lady Malreward hesitated, and then went out into the hall,
followed by Ralph Chidley, who closed the door behind him.
“This is a serious business,” said Kentisbury, with a laagh.
“I did not know, of course, when I came in here. But I in.
tend to see it through now."
Loryat shook his head doubtfully.
“I seem to be the centre of interest at present,” he said,
after a pause; " and yet I should have thought "
He paused; then he strolled across the room to the window
and drummed with his fingers upon the leaded panes.
Kentisbury was about to make some sardonic comment on
the proceedings when the door opened, and Ralph Chidley re-
turned, alone.
“I am sorry to have seemed rude, gentlemen,” he said, “but
you will see, when I have explained to you the matter in which
you have so kindly consented to help us, that I was forced
to consult privately with Lady Malreward before taking you
both into our confidence. I will now, if you will permit me,
explain to you the circumstances under which the present oc-
casion has arisen. Lady Malreward prefers not to be
present. The whole business is naturally very painful to
her.”
He dusted some chairs, and asked the two young men to
sit down. Then, as briefly and clearly as possible, he put
the facts before them. When he had finished, Kentisbury
looked at his companion and smiled.
"I should like to know that we are not compounding a
felony," he said, after a pause.
“I can satisfy both you gentlemen,” Chidley said with a
smile. “You will find everything in order. Sir Philip fore-
saw that I might be placed in a difficult position. He has
therefore written both the will and the instructions to de.
stroy it with his own hand, and the witnesses to the two docu-
ments are the same. Therefore if the will is genuine, it may
be presumed that the instructions are not a forgery, particu.
larly as the will itself states that it is not to take effect if the


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 25
aforesaid instructions are carried out. Do I make it plain
to you, gentlemen ? ”
Kentisbury nodded, but Loryat pressed the tips of his fin.
gers together and looked down thoughtfully at the dirty car.
pet.
“You will read the will, I suppose,” he said, after a few
moments' deliberation.
“You shall read it yourself, Mr. Loryat, and also the letter
of instructions. You are more interested in it than you sup-
pose. By a strange coincidence you are named in it, and if
the will were to hold good, and Lady Malreward were to
marry again, you would inherit the whole estate.”
“Great Scott! ” ejaculated Kentisbury. “Look here, Lor.
yat, I'd be careful if I were you. You'd better get legal ad-
vice before you consent to the destruction of the will.”
Ralph Chidley smiled. “I don't think that is necessary,"
he said in a hard voice. “The instructions are precise, and
are embodied in the will. There can be no error, no possibility
of fraud.”
“Of course not,” broke in Loryat, roughly. “Now please
let us get to business. I want to sketch the house before it's
dark.”
Chidley handed a sheet of thick paper to Loryat, and the
latter read the document through from beginning to end.
“May my friend read it?” he asked.
“Certainly! I wish you both to be satisfied that there is
no fraud.”
Kentisbury perused the will, and there was an ugly expres.
sion on his face as he handed back the paper to Chidley.
“I thought better of Sir Philip Malreward,” he said curtly.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean that the man was a knave or a fool.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Chidley, angrily. “I will not have my
master, my friend and benefactor, spoken of in such terms.
Sir Philip was a great and a good man.”
“ He was a knave or a fool,” Kentisbury repeated coldly.


26 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“If he placed such trust in any woman, he was a fool; if he
wished to tempt her to dishonour, he was a knave.”
“Sir, I must not hear such words from you. Shame on
you! If I were not an old man — ”
“I apologize," said Kentisbury in answer to an appealing
look from his friend. “But I am a plain man, and one ac-
customed to speak what is in my mind. I should not have
spoken here, on such an occasion as this. May I have a few
words with Lady Malreward?”
“I will tell her you are ready, sir."
“I wish to speak with her alone.”
“I will ask her if she is willing for you to do so," said the
old man, glancing suspiciously at Kentisbury's face. Then he
left the room. He did not return for several minutes, during
which Kentisbury gave free vent to his opinion of Sir Philip
Malreward.
“Her ladyship will see you,” said Chidley, in a sullen
voice. “Will you step this way?"
Kentisbury followed the old man into a room which looked
out on the garden. Everything was thick with dust, and the
floor, which was covered with oilcloth, was littered with
scraps of dirty paper and various bits of rubbish.
“I must apologize for the state of this place,” said Lady
Malreward, when Chidley had departed and closed the door
behind him. “But my poor husband would never allow a
thing to be touched, even in his absence. He locked the door
when he went away, and the house has never been entered
since. Mr. Chidley came here last night, I believe. The
place has been left to him.”
“In the other will? ” queried Kentisbury.
“In both wills."
“It is of this new one I wish to speak to you,” said Kentis.
bury, after a pause. “I wish, if you will allow me, to
give you a few words of advice.”
“I am not in need of advice, Mr. Kentisbury,” she answered
coldly. He looked at the outline of her face, which showed


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 27
clearly against the dark oak of one of the cupboards, and for
a moment his hard face softened, and there was almost a
look of tenderness in his eyes. But the momentary expres-
sion gave place to a grim scowl and a tightening of the lips.
“I shall give it you, in any case,” he said, after a pause.
“A trap has been laid for you, and you are about to fall
into it.”
“A trap? ” she queried. “Please remember you are speak.
ing of my husband, Mr. Kentisbury.”
“You must let the will stand,” he continued, as though he
had not heard the interruption. “You must not bind your-
self with this promise.”
“Ah, your friend has persuaded you,” she said, with delib.
erate insolence. “He is the Mr. Richard Loryat mentioned
in the will. Chidley told me. Your friend thinks that if
the will is allowed to stand he may have a chance of inherit-
ing the estate.”
“You are quite mistaken,” he replied, without any trace
of anger in his voice. “Dick Loryat is not that sort of man
at all.”
“Why do you wish me not to make this promise? ”
"Because it will bind you for life, Lady Malreward.
Whereas the will — well, there may come a time when you
will be glad to sacrifice the money. If you let the will stand,
you can do so.”
She looked hard at him, as though trying to read his
thoughts. Then she coloured with anger.
“You dare to speak to me like this,” she said in a trem.
bling voice,“ on the day of my husband's funeral?”
“I must speak now, Lady Malreward, or it will be too
late. Besides, Sir Philip has been dead for more than four
months, and though I believe that you wish to show a devout
respect for his memory, I am quite sure it is a matter of
propriety and not sentiment.”
She looked for a moment as if she could have struck him
in the face. Then her lips quivered, and she turned away


28 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
from him and burst into tears. John Kentisbury had be-
haved like a brute and he knew it. But he also knew that
this woman had made him what he was on the day that she
had destroyed his reverence for her sex.
“ You must not make this promise,” he persisted. “I
have some regard for you left, or I should not earn your
hatred by trying to save you from a grave mistake. The
promise will be binding in the sight of God. If you go back
on your word — I tremble to think of such a thing."
“Of course, I shall keep my promise,” she sobbed.
“Then if you are never going to marry again,” he said
quietly, “there is no need to make that promise at all. Let
the will stand. Believe me, if you do this, you will be
freed from a burden that may crush your whole life.”
She did not answer him, but stared out of the window
at the sunlit garden.
“There are other difficulties to be considered,” he continued,
"and I should recommend you to wait until you have had
legal advice. I am not at all sure that we are doing the
proper thing in destroying this will without consulting a
lawyer. If any one besides ourselves gets to know of it,
there may be trouble. Awkward questions will certainly be
asked. Unpleasant suspicions will be aroused. My friend
and I can be depended on to say nothing. But Ralph Chid.
ley — well, it might suit Mr. Chidley's purpose to speak.”
Lady Malreward turned and moved slowly towards the
door. Her white face was wet with tears.
“I have decided,” she said quietly. “Nothing you say can
make any difference. My husband wished me to promise -
I will do so and keep my word.”
“But think, Lady Malreward,” he cried, springing forward
so that he barred her path. “You are only twenty-six, and
you are very beautiful. Perhaps life holds something yet
in store for you. You have never known what it is to love
- but you may know — one of these days — and then -
you will also know what it is to suffer."


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 29
She quivered as though he had struck her a blow. Then
she looked him steadily in the eyes, and he stepped aside to
let her pass.
"Thank you,” she said quietly. “Now will you kindly
come into the other room and be a witness to my words."


CHAPTER IV
“ The light's too bad,” said Loryat, as he rose from his
little folding stool and began to clean one of his brushes.
“I worked as fast as I could; but no man can keep pace
with the sun.”
“The colouring is gorgeous,” Kentisbury replied, as he
looked critically at the canvas, “and you've got the idea of
the place, anyway."
“The idea, eh? You mean the house and trees standing
out black against the flaming sky, as if there was nothing be-
yond them, as though they stood on the edge of the world.”
“Yes, you've got that right enough, but that isn't what
I meant. You've only painted the house from the outside,
and yet somehow you suggest that it has been the scene of
a great tragedy.”
He looked at the house as if by staring at it he could
read the secret thoughts of the woman he had once loved.
He knew that she was still there, and that her motor was
still waiting at the gate. It was nearly two hours since she had
made her solemn vow, but she was still there in the house.
What had she and Ralph Chidley to say to each other that she
remained so long in the place? What plans were they mak.
ing for the future, this hard, beautiful woman and the ugly
old man whose only virtue seemed to be an intense devo-
tion to his dead master.
“Well, let's clear off,” said Loryat, breaking in upon
the silence. “ I'm hungry.”
Kentisbury laughed at this interruption of his thoughts.
It was so like the practical Loryat to think of food when
there was so much else to think about.
“ Very well,” he replied, “ I'm ready"; and they moved
30


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 31
across the grass lawn toward the gate, their feet making no
noise on the soft turf.
Then a scream broke the silence - a long, terrible scream
such as might have come from the lips of a woman stretched
on the rack.
The two young men ran across the lawn to the hall door,
where they encountered the chauffeur.
“You 'eard it, sir,” said the man, quickly. “You 'eard it
-'er ladyship’s voice?”
Kentisbury thrust him aside and entered the house. The
hall was in darkness, but far down the passage a thin line
of light came from a door that was ajar. Loryat followed,
and stumbling over an empty packing-case crashed down on
to the floor.
The door at the end of the passage was flung open, and
Ralph Chidley appeared with a lighted candle in his hand.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked sternly.“ Gen-
tlemen, you forget that this is a private house. It is not
an inn, open to every brawler.”
“We heard a scream,” said Kentisbury, coming close to
him, and looking down at him with a dark, threatening face.
“That was enough for us — our right of entry. Where is
Lady Malreward?”
The answer was given by the appearance of Lady Mal.
reward herself. She came quietly out of the door and stood
behind Chidley - a tall, sombre figure in black, with the
light of the candle gleaming on her copper-coloured hair,
“What has happened, Mr. Kentisbury?” she asked in a
cold, even voice.
“That is what I want to know. I heard a scream just
now.”
She smiled. “It was kind of you to come,” she replied.
“ It was I who screamed, but not for help. I was frightened.
Jones, please go back to the car at once. I shall be start-
ing home in a few minutes."
The chauffeur retired, thoroughly abashed by the tone


32 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
of Lady Malreward's voice. He closed the hall door be-
hind him. Richard Loryat fumbled awkwardly with his cap.
Kentisbury was quite self-possessed, and met the wrath in
Chidley's eyes with a steady, inquiring gaze.
“Why did you scream, Lady Malreward? ” he asked, look-
ing not at her but at Chidley. “What has this man been
doing — what has he been saying?”
“Nothing? How ridiculous you are, Mr. Kentisbury!
Please don't make a scene.”
“I want to know the truth,” he continued fiercely; and,
pushing roughly past Ralph Chidley, he came close to Lady
Malreward.
“I am at your service ,you know," he said.
“Very well, then,” she answered. “ It was a mouse."
Kentisbury made no reply to this statement, but the look on
his face said as plainly as words that he did not believe
her.
“Come into the room,” she said quietly. “You can see
the mouse if you like. It is dead, and won't hurt you."
She entered the room, and Kentisbury followed. Behind
them came Loryat and Chidley. It was the room which had
once been used as a laboratory. There was a candle on the
deal table, and Chidley set down the other beside it. To
Loryat the room seemed weird and ghostly in the dim light.
The long lines of glass bottles, the scraps of dirty paper
and rubbish on the floor, the dust which lay thick over every-
thing, gave the place a melancholy and desolate air which
even the presence of four people could not dispel.
“You will find the mouse under the sink,” said Chidley.
“ Ladies are, as you know, foolish about such things.”
And sure enough, under the porcelain sink Kentisbury
found a dead mouse. He picked it up and laid it on the
table. The tiny grey body was lacerated as though it had
been mauled by a cat or caught in a steel trap. Lady Mal-
reward gave a little shriek of terror and turned her face away.
Ralph Chidley smiled.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 33
“You see her ladyship spoke the truth,” he said quietly.
Kentisbury did not answer, but regarded the dead animal
with interest.
“Who killed it?” he asked after a pause.
“I did,” Chidley replied.
“ With what?”
Chidley picked up a piece of the lid of a broken box from
the floor. Two long rusty wire nails protruded from the end
of it.
“A nice weapon,” said Kentisbury; “ and you, Lady Mal.
reward? Was it the live mouse that frightened you, or the
dead one? ”
“The live, of course,” she answered; and then meeting
his stern gaze, the colour came into her cheeks. “Really,
Mr. Kentisbury,” she continued, “one would think that a
crime had been committed — that you were a detective from
Scotland Yard.”
“I am only curious," he muttered.
“Curiosity is a disease,” said Chidley, slowly, “and if it
is not checked in time it is often fatal.”
Kentisbury folded his arms and looked sternly at the little
man with the wrinkled face.
“If I knew," he said slowly, “ that you'd done anything
to make Lady Malreward scream with pain or terror, I'd
whip you with that bit of wood and I wouldn't take the nails
out of it either.”
“Mr. Kentisbury!” cried Lady Malreward. “How dare
you speak like that to Mr. Chidley – in his own house?”
“You're a liar!” Kentisbury continued, looking Chidley
straight in the face. “You didn't kill the mouse with that
bit of stick, and you've been frightening Lady Malreward.
If she doesn't mind, well and good. But be careful how you
behave in the future. Come along, Loryat. I wish you good-
night, Lady Malreward.”
He walked to the door. Then he returned, and, picking
up the dead mouse from the table, thrust it into his pocket.


34 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“You don't mind me removing this?” he said, with a
sneer. “Lady Malreward might scream again.”
“Not at all,” Chidley replied. “You're welcome to it.”
Loryat followed his friend out of the room, and looking
back as he passed through the door, he saw a picture that
remainded in his memory for many days.
Lady Malreward was standing on the far side of the table,
and her face threw a gigantic shadow on wall and ceiling.
Her eyes were fixed on the door, and they did not seem to
see Loryat, but to be looking beyond him, possibly at Kentis-
bury, who was in the passage. The two candles guttered in
the draught from the open door, and all round the room the
glass bottles twinkled like eyes when the light caught some
curve of their surface. To one side, so that half of his face
was in shadow, stood Ralph Chidley, looking at Lady Mal-
reward with a cruel smile on his lips. Both man and woman
were quite motionless, and there was nothing peculiar in the
scene. Yet it photographed itself on Loryat's brain as some-
thing horrible and unnatural.
“Come along, Loryat,” said Kentisbury's harsh voice, and
the spell was broken. The young man bowed and said “Good-
night.” Then he followed his friend down the passage, and
they groped their way carefully across the hall.
"Ah, that's good," said Kentisbury, flinging open the door
and drawing in a deep breath. “It's stuffy in that place.”
They walked to the gate and found the chauffeur standing
there.
“Keep watch,” said Kentisbury in a low voice. “Your
mistress may need help. I have left the hall door open. If
she calls, go quick to her assistance.”
“Yes, sir; s'welp me bob I will,” the man answered. “I
don't like the looks of the man as 'eld the candle, though the
folk round 'ere say 'e be one of the best.”
Kentisbury and Loryat walked down the hill in silence.
At the foot of the hill the two young men paused,
as if by mutual consent, and Loryatlit a cigarette.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 35
Kentisbury watched his face in the flame of the match.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“Everything,” Loryat replied, “ up there. You were right
about the picture I was painting. There's something horrible
about the place.”
“Wants a good spring cleaning,” said Kentisbury, with a
harsh laugh; “but you caught the spirit of it all right."
“Why did Lady Malreward scream like that?”
"I don't know — perhaps it was the mouse.”
“Why were you so ridiculous about the mouse?” queried
Loryat. “You've got it in your pocket still.”
“Yes. I'm going to have a good look at it when I get
home."
“Why?"
“To prove that Chidley lied when he said he killed it
with that bit of wood.”
“And what will that prove?”
“Merely that Chidley is a liar.”
For a few moments there was silence. Then Loryat laughed.
“I see,” he said. “You think that a man who can lie
about unimportant trifles will certainly not tell the truth in
matters of importance; you think that Lady Malreward was
frightened by something else."
“Precisely. I've no idea what it was. Possibly some-
thing Chidley told her about her late husband. Borneo is
the sort of place where horrible things might happen.”
Loryat gazed up the steep slope, and saw that a light still
gleamed in one of the windows of the “Den.” Then suddenly
a fiercer, brighter light came round a bend in the road, and
raced towards them with the speed of a train.
The two men stepped aside on to the grass as the motor
swept past them, and they did not move will the light had van-
ished among the houses of the village.
“Lady Malreward goes home,” said Kentisbury, quietly,
" and there is really no reason why we should stand here all
night.”


CHAPTER V
The next morning Loryat received a letter which recalled
him to London, and shortly after breakfast he bicycled to
Talbridge to catch a train to town. Kentisbury accompanied
him to the station.
“It's an infernal nuisance,” said the young artist as they
stood together on the platform. “I had looked forward
to another five days at least. But a man's fallen ill, and
I've got to do his work."
“Paint his pictures?”
"No. I don't make any money out of my pictures. I
work on a paper - little fashion-plates and that sort of thing.
A man must have bread and cheese.”
“Ah, you've been taughi chat, have you? ” said Kentisbury,
grimly.
“Yes, we all have to learn that. If it were only a matter
of myself — but it isn't. I'm engaged to be married — I
must make a steady income, and what I'm doing is certain
enough. I have to do my serious work in my spare time."
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Kentisbury said grimly. “ I've
been through the mill myself. After all, food, clothing, and
shelter are more important than art. Well, I'm glad to have
met you, Loryat. When I go back to town, I hope to see
more of you. You have my address, haven't you?”
“Yes. 20a, Duke Street, St. James's.”
“And yours is — I'm afraid I've forgotten.”
“7, White Road, Shepherd's Bush.”
Kentisbury made a note in a handsome gold-mounted pocket-
book and then laughed.
“I held an inquest on the mouse last night,” he said.
36


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 37
“What was the verdict? ”
“Murder.”
“By Ralph Chidley? ”
“Perhaps; but the crime was committed some days ago.
Chidley is a liar.”
The arrival of the train put an end to the conversation,
and Loryat having seen his bicycle safely into the guard's van
took a seat in a third class carriage.
“Good-bye, Kentisbury,” he said, leaning out of the win-
dow, and holding out his hand. “You won't be staying here
long, I suppose.”
“Not very long. I don't like the place. Good-bye. I'm
glad we met.”
The train moved off, and Loryat settled himself down in
a corner of the carriage and closed his eyes. He had nothing
to read and much to think about. From the expression on his
face his thoughts were not pleasant ones. Now that his holi.
day was over, and he was being carried back into the work
which was only slavery to a man who disliked it, he found
himself face to face with the problem of how to live and
support a wife on a small salary.
He had not solved the problem when he reached the ter.
minus, and for the next half-hour he thrust it out of his
mind. He bicycled from Paddington to Shepherd's Bush to
save the railway fare and the carriage of his machine, and
cycling in London requires concentration of thought.
The sight of his lodgings, which seemed meaner and more
stuffy than usual after three weeks spent in the open air, re-
vived his discontent with things in general.
He washed, changed into a blue serge suit, and went out
to get his meal at a small eating-house at the corner of the
road.
When he had finished his meal he took a tram to Hammer.
smith Broadway, and walked from there to a street of tiny
red-brick houses in West Kensington. He knocked at the
door of No. 22, and was shown into a small drawing-room,


38 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
where there was hardly room to turn round with one's arms
stretched out.
Barely half a minute elapsed before a young girl entered the
room. She was slim, with dark hair and grey eyes and a
delicate oval face. She came forward shyly and took both his
outstretched hands.
“We did not expect you home so soon,” she said quietly.
He looked at her for a moment without speaking. Then he
drew her towards him and clasped her in his arms.
“My dearest,” he said in a low voice, “I'm glad to get
back to you. You're the only thing that makes London habit-
able for me. What is the matter, dear? You don't seem
pleased to see me.”
“Yes, Dick, yes,” she replied. Then she thrust him
gently from her and, sitting down on a chair, began to cry.
“What is it, dear?” he asked tenderly.
“I - I'm going away tomorrow.”
“Going away? Where?”
“ Mother insists on my going,” said Beryl. “ I've got to
earn something. We — we can't go on like this — mother is
so poor. I must try.com b ed sternly. “What are you
“Where are you going?” he asked sternly. “What are you
going to do? ”
"I answered an advertisement,” she said, drying her eyes
with her handkerchief. “I have been chosen out of five hun-
dred applicants. I am going as a companion.”
“As a companion? That is the life of a slave, Beryl.”
“I don't think it need be so, Dick. A lady of position "
“Ah, they're the worst. She'll treat you like a servant.
Who is it? I hope she lives in London.”
“No, dear. She lives very far away — at a place called
Norton-Malreward.”
“At Norton-Malreward?” he queried sharply. “You are
going to Lady Malreward? ”
“Yes, dear. Do you know her?”
“I do,” he answered grimly, “and you must not go.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 39
“I must not go? ” Beryl Lyte asked, with a look of sur-
prise in her grey eyes. “What do you mean, Dick?”
“I- I don't think you'd like Lady Malreward,” he stam-
mered. “I've just come from Norton-Malreward. I've met
her."
“Oh, have you? ” she cried. “Do tell me all about her.”
Then her face fell as she looked at him inquiringly. “You
don't like her? ” she asked.
“I don't think you'd be happy,” he replied evasively. “I
don't approve of the idea at all. How is it you've told me
nothing about it?”
“I did not wish you to know, Dick, till it was all set.
tled.”
“You knew I would not approve, eh? ”
“I thought you would try to persuade me not to go. And I
must go. I must!”
She spoke so fiercely and with such emphasis that he
looked at her in surprise.
“Why must you go, Beryl?” he asked. “Can't you trust
me? Can't you wait for me?”
“Yes, yes, dear,” she cried, laying her hand upon his arm
and looking up into his face. “I will wait for you — always.
But in the meantime I must work. I can't sit here waiting
with folded hands. Mother insists on my earning money.
I'm so ignorant; I can't be anything but a companion or
something of that sort.”
“And if I had come back when I had intended,” he said
slowly, “ I should have found you gone."
“ Yes, Dick, I was afraid — you would not let me go.”
She seated herself on a miniature settee, and he placed
himself beside her. The piece of furniture was so small
that they were necessarily close together.
“You ought to have taken me into your confidence," he
said. “I'm glad I came back when I did. If I had come
back and found you gone, I should have thought bitter things
about you — for a little while.”


40 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Why don't you wish me to go to Lady Malreward? " sho
askod.
He was silent. He could not put forward any very good
reason why Beryl should not go to Malreward.
“Is she old, and sour, and bad-tempered ? " the girl asked
after a pause. “Do you think I shall be unhappy?”
“ Lady Malreward is young and a very beautiful woman,"
he replied. “She is said to be kind, and she is certainly
charming."
She looked at him suspiciously, and then laughed at her
own suspicions.
“Tell me how you met her,” she said, " and all you know
about her.”
He told of the cycling tour, of Kentisbury, and how the
latter knew Lady Malreward, of the “ Den," and how he had
sketched it, of the death of Sir Philip Malreward, of the
great castle perched on the cliffs. But there were certain
things that he kept to himself — those of which he had no
right to speak.
When he had finished, the girl looked at him with flushed
cheeks and sparkling eyes.
“ It sounds a delightful part of the world,” she cried, " and
Lady Malreward must be so lonely, poor thing. How dread.
ful for her to lose her husband like that! I shall certainly
go and try to cheer her up.”
“I'd rather you — didn't,” he said doggedly.
“Why, Dick?”
“Because I - because I want you here in London with me."
“Is that the only reason? ”
“Yes,” he replied; and indeed he had no other reason to
give. He only had a foreboding that the arrangement would
not prove satisfactory.
For a minute there was silence, and then Beryl laid her
hand timidly on her lover's arm.
“ You don't mind very much, dear, do you? ” she whispered.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 41
-
-
"I must do something — go somewhere — and — ” She
suddenly rose to her feet, and, resting her arms on the mantel-
piece, laid her head between them. Loryat could hear no
sound, but he knew that she was crying.
“I wish — I could give you a home,” he stammered.“ It
cuts me to the heart to see you like this. You had better
go to Lady Malreward. I'm sure she will be very kind to
you."
She ilung her arms round his neck and kissed him passion-
ately. A few moments later she had calmed down, and the
storm had left no traces save an unusual pallor of her face.
They sat hand-in-hand and talked of the future until Mrs.
Lyte entered the room and began to discourse on the social
advantages to be gained by a visit — so she termed it – to
Lady Malreward of Norton-Malreward.


CHAPTER VI
Lady Malreward sat alone in the great hall of her house,
waiting for the gong to sound for dinner. She was thinking
not of her past life, but of the life that lay before her.
A solemn promise made to a dead man — no, not even that
- a promise made to three living men! What was that?
How long would she be forced to keep it? Richard Chidley
could be bribed to silence — perhaps. The man Loryat had
passed out of her life. John Kentisbury! Ah! perhaps even
John Kentisbury, the man she had wronged, could be brought
back to the leash again. He had once been ready to obey
her lightest word, and what had happened once might easily
happen again.
“ I do not love him," she said to herself, “but perhaps he
still loves me. Perhaps I can bend him to my will. And then
one day, perhaps, I shall know what it is to love, the pains
and the splendours of it, the tears and the smiles. Ah, that
will be life — that will be life!”
Never a thought for the dead man who had loved her, for
the man who had taken her from a home of poverty and en-
dowed her with his wealth. The past was over and done
with. She only thought of the future. That was her theory
of life — that the future was all-important, and the past
nothing.
A footman in black livery entered the room silently, and held
out a small silver salver.
Lady Malreward took a small grey envelope from the tray
and opened it very deliberately, as though she wished to hide,
even from herself, the fact that she was eager to learn its
contents.
42


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
The letter ran as follows: —
“DEAR LADY MALREWARD,
“ It is very kind of you to think of offering me a few
days' quiet shooting on your estate, and I would gladly
avail myself of the offer if it were not that my work demands
all my time at present.
“Hoping to see you again next summer, and with kind
regards,
"I am,
“ Yours sincerely,
“ JOHN KENTISBURY.”
Lady Malreward stared at the letter for a few seconds,
and the colour slowly came into her cheeks. She had not
asked him to stay at the house, only to come down to the inn
and kill some of her pheasants for her. He had declined,
as any business man might have declined. But she thought
she could read between the lines, and what she read was
like a blow in the face.
She tore the letter across and across and threw the pieces
into the fire.
“He shall come,” she said to herself, as she watched the
paper flare and crumple into ashes. “I didn't much care
when I wrote, but now — I will make him come.”
Then the door opened, and Beryl Lyte entered the room.
She closed the door behind her, and then came forward
to the fire, holding a letter in her hand.
She was dressed in a simple but inexpensive dress of soft-
rose-coloured silk, and wore no jewellery, save a necklace of
small gold beads, which had been left her by her grand-
mother.
“ Dinner is late, Beryl,” said Dorothy Malreward, as the girl
held out her hands to the fire. “I do hope you don't find your
room cold. You've got a fire, of course? ”
“Oh, yes, thank you - a splendid fire. I have been sitting


44 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
over it and forgot the time. I was afraid I was late. I had
a letter by the post they brought from Talbridge — a long
letter.”
Dorothy Malreward looked up at her and smiled.
“Fortunate little Beryl,” she said quietly. “The days when
I had those kind of letters seem very, very long ago.”
A look of pity came into the girl's face. She supposed Lady
Malreward was thinking of her dead husband, and of the
early days of their courtship. Of course, Lady Malreward
was thinking of nothing of the sort.
“It is from a friend of mine," Beryl continued. “He is
coming down here."
“Oh, Mr. Loryat, I suppose?”
There was a change in Lady Malreward's voice as she
spoke, and it did not escape Beryl's notice.
“You — you don't mind, do you? ” she stammered.
“Mind, my dear child? Of course not. I hope you'll ask
him up to lunch or dinner, or any meal you please. He is
a very fortunate man, and I like fortunate men. Why don't
you ask him to come and stay here?”
“Oh, Lady Malreward - how kind of you!”
“Kind? Not at all. My aunt, Mrs. Hailes, is coming
next week. Ask Mr. Loryat to come, and bring his friend
with him — the tall, dark man who was with him in the
summer.”
“Mr. Kentisbury?”
“Yes, that is his name. One man in the house is a nuisance,
but two can look after themselves. Does Mr. Loryat shoot? ”
“Yes - when he gets a chance."
“Well, tell them both to bring their guns. There's plenty of
rough shooting.”
“Oh, Lady Malreward, it is sweet of you! How can I
thank you?”
“Don't thank me, Beryl, till you know if they can both
come. Mind, I won't have one man in the house. Of course,
if I were entertaining, I'd make up a party; but I'm not going


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 45
anywhere, and I am not supposed to have any visitors, except
in a very quiet way indeed. I'd like to do what I can for
you, however. Mr. Loryat struck me as being a very sensible,
good sort of young man.”
“I'll write tomorrow - no, tonight and it will be in time
for the postman who brings the letters.”
"I'll send him a little note myself,” said Lady Malreward,
looking intently at the fire.


CHAPTER VII
“ It is very good of you to have come with me,” said Loryat,
leaning forward from his corner in the railway carriage and
lighting his pipe.
“I certainly didn't want to come,” Kentisbury replied
grufly. “I don't like Lady Malreward.”
" It will only be for a few days, old chap," said Loryat,
“ and you don't know what those days mean to me. Of course,
after what she said in her invitation, I absolutely couldn't go
alone.”
“If I'd been in your place I should have gone alone.”
“Well, I simply couldn't do it, Kentisbury. We shall be
out shooting all day, or at any rate you can be. And you want
a mental rest. You look fagged out.”
Kentisbury shrugged his shoulders and continued to read his
evening paper.
When the first invitation to Norton-Malreward had come,
he had resisted the temptation to accept it. The second had
been put in a different form, and, after much hestitation, he
had given way to Loryat's pleadings. He had seen much of
Richard Loryat during the past six months, and had formed
a close friendship with the young man whose temperament
differed so greatly from his own. He had given way, so he told
himself, solely to please his friend; but as he sat in the railway
carriage, pretending to read his paper, he knew that he could
not salve his conscience with this excuse. He had been
tempted, and had yielded to temptation. That was the plain,
the honest truth of it.
He did not speak again till the train slowed down and
46


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 47
stopped at Talbridge. Then he picked up his gun-case and
turned to Loryat.
“I shall walk," he said. “It is only four o'clock, and I
can get to Norton-Malreward in time to dress for dinner.”
“Walk, my dear fellow? ”
“Yes, why not? I'm down here for exercise. I may as
well start at once. It's going to be a fine night, but very
cold. I'd rather get warm with walking.”
Loryat shrugged his shoulders. “ I'd offer to walk with
you,” he said, “but ”
“Oh, yes, I understand, my dear Loryat — you want a
little chat before dinner. I don't.”
A footman was waiting for them on the platform, and he
took their gun-cases and rugs to the carriage. Kentisbury
saw to the rest of the luggage, and, when Loryat was. seated,
closed the door and leant through the window.
“Tell Lady Malreward that I'll arrive about six,” he said,
" and that I'm walking for exercise.” Then he lowered
his voice. “I want time to think,” he continued. “I want
to be alone. I feel as if I must walk — furiously.”
The carriage drove off, and Kentisbury paused in the shelter
of the station to light his pipe. Then he started to walk over
the level stretch of moorland which extended to the edge of
the long slope leading down to Norton-Malreward. It was
still twilight, and he could see his way plainly on the white
straight road. On either side the desolate moor lay ghostly
and silent — a blurred expanse of grey.
Before another half-hour had passed he heard the sound
of footsteps behind him, and he stopped, looking back into the
darkness.
Then he laughed at his fancies, and continued his journey.
A few minutes later the steps behind quickened, and broke
into a run. Kentisbury knew now that he was being followed,
and he stopped again. A dim figure passed him, and then re-
turned.


48 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Are you Mr. Kentisbury?” asked a voice.
“Yes, I am. What do you want?”.
“I am Chidley. I went to the station to meet you, but got
there too late. They told me you were walking."
“ What do you want?" asked Kentisbury, sternly.
“Only your company. It is a dull and lonely road, and
I'm glad to have a companion.”
“Very well,” Kentisbury replied. “Let us go on. I'm
bound to be at Malreward in time for dinner.”
For two minutes they walked side by side in silence.
Kentisbury's long legs gave him the advantage in speed,
but the little man seemed to keep up with him without ap-
parent effort. Kentisbury was the first to speak.
“You say you went to meet me at the station?” he queried
abruptly. “What do you mean?”
“You must not go to Norton-Malreward, Mr. Kentisbury."
“Must not? What are you talking about?”
“ If you are wise, you will not go to Malreward,” Chidley
continued. “I went to the station to warn you.”
“ To warn me? Really, Mr. Chidley! ”
“Yes, to warn you,” the harsh voice continued. “If you
have any regard for Lady Malreward, you will not go to her
house.”
“This is gross impertinence. Come, you'd better either
walk in front, or else keep behind. I'm not very good.
tempered, and I may forget you're an old man.”
“I am speaking to you as a friend," said Mr. Chidley.
“I needn't go into details. You know that you ought not to
be going to Malreward.”
Kentisbury was silent. He knew that perfectly well, but he
did not wish to be reminded of the fact by Mr. Chidley.
“You had better sleep at the inn tonight,” the old man
continued. “You can make some excuse, and go home to-
morrow. I am in earnest. I should not have walked to Tal.
bridge to jest with you, or offer you a deliberate insult. I
beseech you not to go to Malreward.”


50 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“It does not matter who I am,” said the voice, and this
time it did not sound so near, “but I know what I am talking
about. You must not go to Malreward.”
Kentisbury made a dash towards the place whence the voice
seemed to come, but he encountered nothing. It is a matter
of common knowledge that it is very difficult to locate the
direction of a sound in the darkness.
“If you go to Malreward,” the voice continued, “ you will
die, as surely as though Malreward were heaven.”
Kentisbury struck a match, but the wind blew it out, and
the light could have done no more than show the stranger
Kentisbury's own face. Then he began to walk down the hill
with long, swinging strides. The sound of quick footsteps
followed him for a little while and then ceased.
“Some game of Chidley's,” he said to himself. “The fool
thinks he can frighten me.”
He did not reach the village till six o'clock and it took
him half an hour to climb the steep ascent to the castle. He
was shown into one of the small drawing-rooms, where Lady
Malreward was sitting alone by the fire. She rose to greet
him with a smile.
“You dear, foolish fellow," she said as they shook hands.
“Whatever induced you to walk all the way from the sta-
tion?”
"I was cold,” he replied, " and I wanted exercise. I knew
I should be in time to dress for dinner."
For a few moments there was silence. Then Lady Malre-
ward told Kentisbury he might smoke; and he lit a cigarette.
“It was good of you to come,” she said, after another pause.
“Good of you to sacrifice your own personal wishes for your
friend.”
“I am very busy,” he said curtly, “otherwise I would
have accepted your first invitation.”
“Of course, Jack, of course. I knew it wasn't an idle
excuse. But I couldn't have Mr. Loryat alone, could I? One
man is such a nuisance in the house.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 51
“Oh, yes, I understand,” he replied. He was anxious if
possible to acquiesce in the fiction invented by Lady Malre-
ward.
“I think you'll find plenty of birds,” she continued, switch-
ing off suddenly to another topic. “Of course, we didn't rear
any birds last season, as Sir Philip was not in England; but
no one has shot on the estate for more than a year.”
“I am sure we shall have very good sport, Lady Malre-
ward.”
“I must go upstairs and dress,” she said with a smile.
“Please make yourself at home. I want you to enjoy your-
self here. Shall I show you your room? ”
“ Thank you,” he replied; and he followed her into the
hall and up the broad staircase, that was one of the most
splendid features of Malreward. She threw open the door
of his room, and he saw a large, cheerful apartment,
luxuriously furnished, and lit with a dozen tall wax candles.
A huge fire blazed in the grate and threw a cheerful light
on glazed chintz and polished mahogany and oak-panelled
walls. There were a sofa and two armchairs, a writing.
table, with pens and ink, and a large clean sheet of white
blotting-paper. It was not the sort of room that is usually
given to a bachelor in a large country house.
"That door on the left opens into a bathroom,” she said,
“and the one to the right into a dressing-room.” Then she
left the room.
Kentisbury smiled. Then he went to the dressing-table and
stared at a large copper bowl filled with pink roses. She
had remembered that they were his favourite flowers, and that
above all he liked them in a copper bowl.
“It's a rummy business,” said Loryat, as he and Kentisbury
sat together in the smoking-room that night, “ and, to tell you
the honest truth, I can't make head or tail of it."
Kentisbury, who had just told his friend of his adventures


52 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
on the moor, laughed, and commenced to fill his pipe.
It was nearly midnight when the two young men went up to
bed.
“Early breakfast, eh?” said Loryat, as he paused outside
Kentisbury's bedroom.
“Yes - half-past seven. Good-night.”
“Good-night, old chap.”
Kentisbury entered his room and locked the door. Then
he drew back the heavy curtains over the window and opened
one of the long narrow panes that swung outwards on a
hinge. The moon was up and the valley between the cliffs
was flooded with light. Norton was in darkness, but far
above it, like a beacon, glowed a star of yellow light.
“Chidley keeps late hours for an old man," muttered
Kentisbury. Then he walked slowly over to the dressing.
table, and, lifting the copper bowl in his two hands, buried
his face in the roses and drew in a long breath. There was
no perfume: all their value lay in their appearance. John
Kentisbury smiled.


CHAPTER VIII
The next evening Lady Malreward and Kentisbury found
themselves, whether by design or chance, alone in the great
hall of Malreward Castle. The woman was leaning forward
with clasped hands and a hard look in her eyes.
“I want to have a talk with you, Jack," she said suddenly,
" unless you are too sleepy to listen to me.”
He started to an upright position and smiled.
" I'm awfully sorry," he exclaimed. “You must think me
rude. But I'm not used to this open-air life.”
“Come a little closer to me,” she said in a quiet voice.
He moved his chair, so that he was not more than a yard
away from her.
“What is it? ” he asked with a smile.
“I want to talk with you about what happened in the
summer," she said, after a pause. “You advised me not to
make that promise, to let the original will stand.”
“ Certainly. And my mind is unalterable on that point."
“You are right,” she continued. “I-I am not very quick
to grasp a situation. I am feeble-witted in comparison with
a man like you. I ought never to have made that promise.
If I could take it back, and let the second will stand, I would
do so."
Kentisbury looked at her sharply, and they stared at the
fire.
“What you have done is irrevocable,” he said, after a
pause; “ the second will has been destroyed. The first stands.
You are bound by your promise till the end of your life.”
“Yet, if I choose, I can break it."
53


54 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Kentisbury shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. But
his silence was as eloquent as words.
“You would think me contemptible if I were to break my
promise," she continued, after a long silence. “But can't
you imagine a case where a woman would be justified in
throwing everything — even honour — to the four winds of
heaven? "
"I can imagine no such case,” he answered coldly. But
he knew that he lied.
“You lack imagination,” she said, with a smile. “I know
that if I loved a man, and my own happiness as well as his
depended on the breaking of this promise, I should be doing
wrong to keep my word. The promise was not made to the
dead.”
“Was it not?” asked Kentisbury, quietly.
“ Jack," she continued in a low voice, “ if you were in love
with a woman, and she had bound herself by a promise such
as I have made, would you help her to keep that promise,
or would you use your influence to persuade her to break
cad.
it? "
“I'm afraid my answer would not help you," he replied
steadily, but without looking at her. “A personal element
must, of course, enter into a man's decision. But looking at
the matter as a question of right and wrong — ”
She broke in upon his words with a bitter laugh.
“You mean that a man would do as he pleased,” she cried,
“but that a woman should be bound — as a slave.”
“ It would be different,” he said slowly. “The man did
not make the promise.”
Lady Malreward smiled. Then she knelt down by the fire
and pretended to busy herself with a log that had fallen
away from its fellows. Her change of position had brought
her nearer to Kentisbury — so near, in fact, that her shoulder
almost touched his knee.
“ You are very hard, Jack," she said in a low voice. “I


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 55
chair
and
at her
am young, and with many years of life before me. I did
not know what I was doing when I made the promise. I did
not understand – but now that I have thought it over — it
seems so horrible.”
" It does not matter what I say,” he replied. “I am not
the judge. Looking at the question from a worldly point
of view, you are in the power of Ralph Chidley. If you
broke your promise, he would proclaim it from the house-
tops. He was Sir Philip's devoted friend.”
“But you? ” she insisted. “You are my friend, are you
not? And Mr. Loryat? He is your friend. If Ralph Chid-
ley were to die - ".
She turned her head and looked up at his face, resting
one hand on the arm of his chair. For a moment he kept
his eyes fixed on the blazing logs, and his lips were tightly
pressed together. Then he looked down at her and saw that
her cheeks were stained with tears.
“Ralph Chidley,” he began. Then he laid his hand on
hers, gripped it tightly, laid the other hand on her shoulder,
and drew her towards him.
“You know that I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, “or
you would not dare to speak to me like this. You know that
if a thousand promises lay between you and me, I would
break them all.”
For a moment there was silence. Dorothy Malreward
turned her head away, and the colour rushed into her cheeks.
Kentisbury's two hands still gripped her, but he remained
motionless, and looked fiercely down into her face. .
“You hear me?” he continued, after a pause, “I, who
know that you have made a solemn promise not to marry
again, have so little sense of shame and honour that I ask you
to break that promise, and if there is a God who will punish,
I will bear your punishment as well as my own.”
“Leave go of me!” she cried faintly. “For pity's sake,
Jack, let go of me!”
He took his hands away, and she cowered on the floor,


56 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
covering her face with her arms as if to ward off a blow. Ho
rose to his feet and glanced nervously at the door and the
windows. He hoped no one would enter at that moment,
that there was no chink in the curtains through which some
curious servant might pry. Then his eyes fell on the gallery,
which was in darkness. He did not know that the door lead-
ing to it was locked.
And then, in an instant, he forgot his fears and his mad
lack of prudence. They had formed but a tiny obstacle
to bar the torrent of his passion. In a moment they were
swept away, and he only thought of the woman who crouched
on the floor, of what he had said to her, of the answer she had
yet to give.
“You think me a mean hound,” he said in a low voice,
“a man who talks about right and wrong, and then acts like
a scoundrel. But I'm not as bad as you think. If you marry
me, you shall give up every penny of your fortune; it shall
be just as though you had refused to promise, and the second
will had not been destroyed. The money shall go to Loryat.”
Lady Malreward made no reply. She placed her arms on
the seat of the chair, and her face was hidden between them.
Her shoulders moved convulsively.
" As for Sir Philip's wishes,” he continued doggedly, “ they
are nothing, so long as you do not take his money. He had
no right to place you in such a position as this, to tempt
you to make this promise. I do not consider him in the
matter at all.”
Her only answer was a stifled laugh. His lips tightened,
and, leaning down, he gripped Lady Malreward by the arm
and turned her half round, so that he could see her face.
She was smiling, and only making a poor effort to control her
mirth. .
“You are laughing at me,” he said coldly. In an instant
— at the sound of her laughter — his passion seemed to have
died away, and left him harsh and pitiless.
She rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could as-


58 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
He flung himself into his chair, and frowned.
“You're trying to make a fool of me,” he muttered.
“No, Jack dear,” she answered, sitting down, and holding
out her hands to the fire. “ I'm only trying to bring you down
to the level of common sense. I am not strong enough to
stand a scene. I nearly had hysterics just now. A nice thing
it would have been, wouldn't it, if Aunt Julia had come in
and found me in hysterics. Let us talk quietly, and let us
go back to what we were talking about when you — when
you - "
“When I made a fool of myself,” he interrupted harshly.
“No, Jack dear, that is not what I was going to say; but
let us talk of things in the abstract. I was asking you if you
did not think there were circumstances under which I might
break my promise. You said there were not.”
Kentisbury bit his lip and coloured. The words were gently
spoken, but they were a bitter reproach.
“I spoke of right and wrong," he answered, fiercely. “If
a man is willing to do wrong in the name of love, that is
his own affair. He is ready to face the punishment."
“And the woman? ” she said softly.
“She would be tempted by the man. The world would say
that. The man would bear her punishment as well as his
own."
“Then if I were tempted," she persisted, “and sinned with
my eyes open, I should be held blameless — by the world? ”
“Yes, if the temptation were great.”
“And my own conscience,” she whispered, “the voice, some
say, of God?”
The man rose unsteadily to his feet. He could stand no
more of this sort of thing.
“ I love you,” he muttered savagely, “and you shall marry
me.”
“We are talking of things in the abstract, Jack, not of you,
but of all men.”
“Bah! What do I care about things in the abstract? You


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 59
must please yourself. I am speaking and thinking of my-
self. No other man shall marry you. I will take care of
that."
She laughed nervously. Then she looked up at the gallery
and gave a sudden start. It was a fine piece of acting, and
deceived John Kentisbury. He thought she had seen or heard
something. He came close to her, and lit a cigarette with
elaborate coolness.
“What is it?” he asked under his breath.
“Some one — gallery,” she replied, looking at the fire.
“Excuse me, Lady Malreward,” he said aloud; “I want
to ask Loryat something before the post goes out,” and he
left the room.
Lady Malreward laughed at the success of her ruse, and
wondered why she had not thought of it before. It had cer-
tainly put an end to a very awkward situation. When Kentis-
bury returned, he could not take up the conversation at the
point where it had ceased.
Then she heard the gallery door open, and she looked up
with parted lips and fear in her eyes. There was the flame
of a match, and she saw Kentisbury standing in the door.
way.
“There is no one here,” he said, coming forward to the rail.
“ Are you certain ? ” she asked, in a more anxious voice
than might have been expected, seeing that she knew no one
was there.
“Quite sure,” he replied; and, blowing out the match, he
climbed over the rail and swarmed down an oak pillar to the
ground.
"I went upstairs,” he continued, when he was by her side,
" and saw no one on the landing — heard no one moving about
at all.”
“You weren't quick enough,” she said, with a weary smile.
"Well, after all, it doesn't matter."
“On the contrary," he replied savagely, “it matters very
much.”


60 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ It could only have been one of the servants," she con-
tinued, " and the servants don't count. Did you find the door
to the gallery unlocked?”
“Yes, of course."
“Was the key in it?”
“I didn't notice."
Lady Malreward moved towards the door. “ The key is
kept in my bedroom,” she said slowly, “in a locked drawer,
and the door opening into the gallery has been locked for the
past six months. I think I will go up to my room, Jack, and
see if the key has been taken."
She left him and made her way to her bedroom.
“ There was some one there after all,” she said to herself.
“This is terrible, and I thought I was making a fool of him."
But when she unlocked the drawer in her room, she found
the key of the gallery door. It was still on a steel ring with
several others, exactly in the place where she kept it.


CHAPTER IX
The next afternoon, as Kentisbury and Loryat returned from
shooting over the hills, on the far side of the valley, they
encountered Ralph Chidley in the village. The old man at-
tempted to pass by with a mere word of greeting, but Kentis.
bury barred the way.
"You're the very man I want to see,” he said with a smile.
“I am busy — very busy,” Chidley muttered.
“Go on, Loryat,” said Kentisbury to his companion; “I
want a word with Mr. Chidley."
“What is it that you want? ” asked Chidley, as Loryat
walked out of earshot. “ I am in a hurry. I must be home
by five o'clock. I am making experiments, and there is some-
thing I cannot leave for long."
“I will walk part of the way with you. One doesn't want
to talk here, with half the village staring out of their door.
ways and windows."
They walked up the hill towards the “Den,” and Kentis-
bury was silent till they had passed out of the village.
“What was the meaning of that tomfoolery the evening I
arrived? ” he asked abruptly. “Why did you run away from
me? and who was the man who came and spoke to me after-
wards? ”
“I saw the White Horseman,” said the old man.
“The White Horseman? Who the devil is that?”
“He rides on the moor. We country folk believe in him.
He is the messenger of death.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Kentisbury, looking hard at
Chidley's face. But in the dusk he could not see whether the
old man really believed what he was saying.
61


62 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“You do not know,” Chidley continued. “We do."
“And was it that gentleman who spoke to me?”
“ Perhaps. I know nothing of that. I did not wait to
hear; for they say that those who hear him die.”
“He talked of death,” Kentisbury exclaimed with a laugh.
“He said that if I went to Malreward I should die."
“He speaks the truth,” Chidley muttered. “He always
speaks the truth.”
Kentisbury swung round and gripped his companion by the
shoulder.
" I'm not a fool,” he growled savagely. “Come! I intend
to get to the bottom of this business. This man was an ac-
complice of yours. The two of you are up to some game.
You want to keep me away from Malreward. Well, you won't
do it.”
The little man stood motionless and silent. He did not
even appear to resent the hard grip of Kentisbury's hand on
his shoulder.
“I won't stand any nonsense,” Kentisbury continued; “ and
if either you or your friend try on any of your tricks again,
I'll show you that I'm not a child.”
As he finished speaking, he gave Chidley a violent push, and
sent the old man staggering away from him.
“Heaven forbid that death should be my friend,” said Mr.
Chidley, quietly, and he began to move up the hill. Kentis-
bury hesitated for a moment, and then, turning on his heel,
walked quickly back into Norton-Malreward.
“ Have you ever heard of the White Horseman?” he asked
at dinner that night.
“Yes,” replied Lady Malreward. “Most people about here
have seen it, or think they have.”
“Like all those sort of things,” said Mrs. Hailes, an elderly
woman with a rather hard face," the apparition means death."
“You are not quite right, auntie dear. They don't mind
seeing him, but if he speaks to them - ”.
“Has any one ever heard the gentleman's voice? " Kentis-


THE SHADOW OF MALKEWARD 63
bury interrupted hastily; and as he spoke he looked meaningly
at Loryat, and the latter understood that he was expected to
keep his mouth shut.
"No one since I have lived here,” Lady Malreward an-
swered; "but I believe some twenty years ago one of the foot-
men here heard the voice, and died a week afterwards."
" That is certainly true,” said Mrs. Hailes. “His sister is
now my cook.”
Lady Malreward sat in front of the fire in her bedroom and
smoked a cigarette. As a rule, she never smoked at all; but
there were occasions on which she found tobacco soothing to
her nerves, and this was one of them.
" Jack is still in love with me," she thought. “It is wonder-
ful. If I only loved him, what a splendid husband he would
make! He would be my slave; he would do anything for a
smile — for a kiss."
That was the burden of her thoughts - that a man whom
she had cruelly injured had come back to her, and was wait-
ing to sacrifice his honour for her sake. She wondered what
this love might be that made such fools of men and women.
As yet, she had never known what it was to love any one but
herself.
“Men are fools,” she said to herself, “and women - ”
A dull sound broke the silence. It was a sound that could
not possibly be mistaken for anything else — the distant report
of a gun.
Lady Malreward ran to the door of her bedroom and opened
it. Then she stepped out into the passage and listened. There
was nothing to be heard.
The next moment, however, another door opened, further
down the passage, and Beryl appeared, silhouetted against
the lighted room behind her. She hurried forward, and caught
Lady Malreward by the arm.
“What was it? ” she asked nervously. “Did you hear it?”
“Of course I heard it, or I shouldn't be here.”
the passa
the lio, the patroment, card.


64 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Then a light appeared at the end of the long corridor, and
two men moved along the wide landing. One of them was
Loryat, hastily dressed in a pair of serge trousers and a Nor.
folk jacket. The other a footman, clad in an overcoat. Lady
Malreward, conscious that she was not unpleasing to look at,
hastened towards them; but Beryl remained by the door listen-
ing.
When Lady Malreward joined the two men, they were out-
side Kentisbury's door, and were trying to break it open.
But the door, made of solid mahogany, resisted all their ef.
forts. Loryat Alung his sturdy weight against it in vain, and
took no notice of Lady Malreward. Then others began to ar.
rive — the butler, fat and sleepy-eyed, in a purple silk dress.
ing-gown that had once belonged to Sir Philip, another foot-
man, three or four terrified maidservants, peering over the
balusters, and shrinking back into the darkness when any of
the men looked at them.
“Kentisbury!” shouted Loryat. “Are you there, old
chap? »
There was no answer, and the men redoubled their efforts
to break down the door.
“ Bring up a bench from the hall,” said Loryat.
Two men ran down the stairs to obey the orders, and Loryat
turned to Lady Malreward.
“He asked for his gun to be sent up to his room," he whis.
pered.
The woman turned faint, and would have fallen if Loryat
had not caught her by the arm. The idea had flashed into
her mind that John Kentisbury had killed himself. But she
quickly recovered from her terror. Why should he kill him.
self when, for all that he knew to the contrary, that which he
most desired was within his reach?
The men came up with a heavy oak bench, and four pairs
of hands gripped it and launched it at the lock of the door.
The first blow broke two legs off the bench and split the


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 65
-
-
--
-
---
--
--
---
carved back in half. The second sent the back flying off in
two pieces. The third achieved its purpose. The lock was
torn from the woodwork and the door crashed open, show.
ing a lighted room beyond and some one lying on the floor
at the foot of the bed.
In an instant Loryat turned and, catching Lady Malre-
ward by the arm, thrust her aside so that she could not
see the room.
“Please go to your bedroom,” he said harshly. “This is
no place for women.”
She did not move, and was apparently paralysed with
terror. He half led, half dragged her across the landing.
“ I'm not a child,” she protested.
“No, but you're a woman. Please go to your room."
Then he saw Beryl in a distant doorway.
“Beryl!” he cried, “please come and see after Lady
Malreward.”
“I will go to her,” said Dorothy Malreward with dignity.
“Please tell me directly you know — what has happened.”
“I will — at once,” he replied, and he watched her walk
slowly down the passage, saw Beryl come forward to meet
her and take her by the arm. Then he turned on his heel
and went into Kentisbury's room and closed the door be-
hind him.
“ 'E's dead, sir,” said one of the footmen, “ 'e's dead.”
Loryat thrust the man aside, and knelt down beside the
body of John Kentisbury. There was, unfortunately, but
little doubt that the servant had spoken the truth. The ter-
rible gunshot wound in the side would have torn the life
out of any living creature. Loryat turned his head away
and covered his face with his hands.
“Go for the police and a doctor!” he cried hoarsely,
" at once, Martin. You'd better take one of the cars. Ed.
wards, give me a sheet from the bed, quickly."
The footman departed, and the butler whose fat, flabby


66 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
face was white as death, tore off a sheet and brought it to
Loryat in a crun.pled heap. The two men spread it over
the body, and Loryat rose to his feet.
“You've touched nothing?” he asked, in a low voice;
“you've moved nothing?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Edwards. “We ain't done nothing
but see if the poor gentleman were alive.”
“Nothing must be touched,” Loryat continued, looking
round the room. “ Nothing must be moved." Then his eyes
fell on the gun which lay with its butt about sixteen inches
from the body and its muzzle pointing away and towards the
window.
“No one has touched the gun?” he asked.
“No one, sir,” the man replied.
Loryat knelt down and examined the weapon without mov-
ing it.
“Give me a candle,” he said, and held out his hand.
When they gave him the candle, he held the light close to
the muzzle. He saw that one of the barrels had been fired, but
that the other was clean and bright. Then he looked at the
trigger. A piece of fine red silk was attached to one of them.
“Good Heavens!” he muttered. “Suicide!”
Then he remembered that a trigger has to be pulled toward
the butt to fire a gun, and that any pressure directed towards
the muzzle would have no effect. He continued his inves-
tigations, and found that the piece of red silk passed through
one of the castors of an armchair, and that the end of it lay
close to one of Kentisbury's hands.
He rose to his feet and walked to the window, which was
open. He leant his arms on the sill and drank in the cool
night air. He was faint and dizzy, and it was an effort to
breathe. Without a doubt Kentisbury had died by his own
hand. It was too awful to contemplate, almost impossible to
believe! A quarter of an hour previously Kentisbury had
been alive — and now he was dead. And he had taken his
own life. The gun had been sent up to his room by his own


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 67
orders. And why? Because he was afraid of a foolish old
man? It seemed hardly credible — and yet — things might
look very black for Ralph Chidley.
“What are we to do, sir?”
The butler's voice broke in upon his thoughts, and he
turned sharply away from the window.
“Nothing can be done till the police come,” he replied.
“You two fellows had better stay outside the door and see
that no one enters the room.”
He closed the window and fastened it, and then, when the
two servants were on the landing, he pulled the door to from
the outside.
Then, after a moment's hesitation, he walked down the
passage and knocked at Lady Malreward's door. It was
opened by Dorothy Malreward herself.
“Can I come in?” he asked, “or would you rather I
talked to you downstairs? ”
“ Yes; come in,” she replied. It was no time to think of
the proprieties. Mrs. Grundy seems a very poor creature in
the presence of death.
As he entered, Beryl Lyte, who was sitting before the fire
with a rug round her feet, looked up at him. Her face was
white as a sheet, and the cloud of dark hair which framed it
accentuated the pallor.
“Well? ” asked Dorothy Malreward in a low voice.
“He is dead,” Loryat answered. He knew that nothing
was to be gained by telling a lie; that in any case the truth
would be known before many minutes had elapsed.
Beryl gave a little cry of terror, and covered her face with
her hands. But Lady Malreward stood motionless, as though
she had been turned into stone. Then she slowly moved up
one of her hands, and placed it on the mantel-piece.
“Dead?” she echoed. “Murdered?”
“Perhaps. We don't know as yet.”
She stretched out a hand as if to touch his arm; then it
dropped to her side.


68 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“You — know?” she said jerkily.
Loryat shook his head. “We've sent for the police and the
doctor,” he continued. “They will know.”
“He has — killed himself,” she said mechanically.
“ We don't know, Lady Malreward.”
“But -- it is possible.”
“Yes,” Loryat answered," it is possible.”
She stared at him for a moment with horror in her eyes,
as though she were looking at some hideous monster. Then
she reeled forward, and he caught her in his arms in time to
save her from falling to the floor.


CHAPTER X
Half an hour later the village policeman and the doctor
arrived upon the scene. The constable was a wise-looking
man of average intelligence, but his chief wisdom consisted in
saying as little as possible.
The doctor's examination was very brief, and after having
expressed an opinion that the wound was consistent with the
theory of suicide, he left the room and went to see Lady
Malreward, who was in need of his services.
“What do you make of it?” asked Loryat when the doc-
tor had departed, and the policeman had concluded a some-
what cursory investigation of the room.
The man pursed his lips and shook his head. Then he
began to write something down in a note-book, and continued
to write for ten minutes. At the end of that time he walked
to the window, opened it, and examined the stone ledge out-
side.
“Any marks? ” queried Loryat.
“No, sir; not as I can see in this light."
“Have you sent for any one to help you?”
“Aye, sir — inspector up at Talbridge.”
“ Did you ask for the car to be sent with the message? ”
“ Aye, sir.”
For a few minutes there was silence. Loryat seated him.
self in a chair with his back to the body that lay under the
white sheet. His face was very pale, and his limbs were
trembling, as though he had just undergone some terrible
exertion. The policeman moved heavily to and fro about the
room, regardless of the fact that his muddy boots were leave
69


70
THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
ing innumerable marks on the carpet, and were possibly ob-
literating clues that might be invaluable to a keen-eyed de-
tective.
“Why was the gun here?” he asked, coming to a stand.
still by the side of Loryat's chair.
“I will explain that at the inquest,” Loryat replied curtly.
He felt quite unable to go into the matter at any length, and
a plain answer would only have led to a dozen other ques-
tions.
“ Perhaps you will, sir,” the policeman answered tartly.
“There be more in this than meets the eye.”
Loryat rested his chin on his hands and stared at the fire.
Then, after a while, he rose to his feet, left the room, and
made his way downstairs. He found the doctor in the dining-
room eating sandwiches and sipping a brandy and soda.
“How is Lady Malreward? ” he asked.
“Better,” Dr. Renfrew replied, “ but pretty bad.”
“We're all that,” Loryat said drily. Then he reached out
his hand for the decanter, and, pouring some brandy into a
wineglass, drained it down with a gulp.
“ And Miss Lyte?” he added.
“She's fairly steady. She seems a level-headed, sensible
sort of girl.”
“She is,” Loryat answered. “May I have one of those
sandwiches ? ” and he took one without waiting for a reply.
The doctor, a tall, lean man with a fair moustache and a
careworn face, frowned. For some reason or other he had
taken an instinctive dislike to Loryat.
“ You are a friend of Mr. Kentisbury? " the doctor asked
after a lengthy silence.
“Yes, I am,” Loryat replied.
“Trouble of some sort, I suppose?”
“ Not that I know of.”
After this brief conversation neither of the two men spoke to
each other again. When ten minutes had elapsed the doc-
tor went upstairs, and Loryat was left to his own thoughts.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 71
He lit a pipe, and, resting his elbows on the table, stared
into the darkness beyond the tiny circle of light.
The room was cold, for it was some hours since the fire
had died down into grey ashes, but Loryat did not notice the
chilliness of the atmosphere. His face was Aushed and his
head throbbed. He felt like one in a fever.
The terrible tragedy, coming as it did at a time when he
was supremely happy, had fallen on him with crushing vio-
lence. He had no doubt in his own mind what had happened.
Poor Kentisbury was still in love with Lady Malreward, and
Lady Malreward had bound herself by a solemn promise never
to marry again. There had been a painful, a terrible scene
between them, and Kentisbury had gone to his room and
killed himself.
Then he heard a noise behind him, and, looking round, he
saw that the door was open and a dim figure was standing
in the doorway. The figure moved forward into the light
thrown by the candles on the table, and he saw that it was
Lady Malreward. Her face was ghastly, and she was so
weak that when she seated herself in a chair she seemed to
fall into it. He hurried to her side.
“What is it, Lady Malreward? ” he asked kindly. “What
can I do for you?”
“Shut the door," she whispered. “I want to speak to
you.”
He closed the door and returned to the table. She clasped
her hands together and looked up at his stern, honest face.
“ The inspector will be here soon,” she gasped. “He will
ask many questions — you — you will keep my secret? ”
“What secret, Lady Malreward?”
“The will — and my promise. Swear to me that you will
say nothing.”
“Why should I say anything about it? ” Loryat asked,
after a pause. “What has it to do with poor Kentisbury's
death?”
“Nothing — nothing!” she cried piteously. “But so many


72 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
questions will be asked - and then there will be the in.
quest — ”
“Don't you think it would be better not to — er — talk
about such things now?"
“You think I am selfish and heartless, Mr. Loryat, but it
isn't that. A woman must think of herself — even at a time
like this. The story of our acquaintance will come to light
- of our first meeting. But nothing must be said about
the will — about my promise.”
“Nothing shall be said, Lady Malreward, so far as I
am concerned. I cannot, of course, answer for Mr.
Chidley."
“He will be silent for his own sake; but I was afraid
that you — unintentionally, of course - "
“You may rest assured that I shall say nothing."
“Swear it,” she cried, " by all you hold sacred.”
“ It is quite unnecessary for me to take an oath,” Loryat
replied. “My word is good enough.”
“Yes, yes. I know it is. Please forgive me.”
Loryat looked at her sternly. He was certain now that
Kentisbury had killed himself for love of this woman, and
that she wished to hide the fact from the public.
“I-I feel as though I would like to die,” she cried,
after a pause; and then, burying her face between her arms,
she began to sob bitterly, giving way to such a paroxysm of
grief that Loryat was frightened.
" Where is Dr. Renfrew?” he asked.
She made no reply; so he crossed the room to the fireplace
and rang the bell. When he had done so, he made his way
into the hall and closed the door behind him. When a few
minutes had elapsed a footman appeared, still clad in an
overcoat.
“Where is the doctor, Martin? ” asked Loryat.
“He's gone down into the village, sir. He were sent for
by an old woman as they think is dying. He'll return as
soon as he can.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 73
“Please send one of the maids to Miss Lyte, and tell her
to say that Lady Malreward is in the dining-room and wants
her at once."
The man departed, and Loryat was about to make his way
upstairs when he heard the sound of a motor outside, and a
moment later there was a ring at the bell. He opened the
door himself and admitted two men, one a policeman in
uniform and the other a tall, thin man, with a cadaverous
face and a black moustache and closely cropped beard.
“ Inspector Collis, from Talbridge,” said the tall man.
“Come in. I am Loryat - a friend of Mr. Kentisbury.”
The two men entered, and Loryat noticed that their coats
were wet with rain.
“Will you come upstairs with me?” he asked. “A con-
stable is still in the room.”
“ Has he been there all the time?” asked the inspector.
“Yes; so far as I know.”
“Roberts, you can stay down here in the hall,” said the
inspector. “Now, Mr. Loryat, if you don't mind showing
me the way.”
Loryat led the way upstairs and opened the door of Ken-
tisbury's bedroom.
“Locked, eh? ” said Mr. Collis. “Broke it open? ”
“Yes,” Loryat replied, and then followed the inspector
into the room. The constable was sitting by the fire, and did
not move as they entered. Mr. Collis walked up to him and
struck him on the shoulder.
“ Asleep, eh?” he said sharply, as the man rose to his
feet and blinked his eyes.
“No, sir. I were just sitting quiet — that were all.”
“What have you found? Tell me all about it as quick as
you can.”
The man told his story, and when he had finished, Mr.
Collis turned to Loryat.
“Now, sir, please. What happened before the police ar.
rived?”


74 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Loryat told him, as briefly as possible.
“Thank you, sir. Other witnesses downstairs, I suppose?”
“ Yes.”
“I will see them later,” he said quickly. Then seating him.
self in a chair, he took off his muddy boots and placed them
on the fender.
“You've made a nice mess here, Jarvis,” he said to the
constable. “What do you mean by it, eh? ”
The policeman muttered some words of excuse, but the in-
spector cut him short.
“Go to the kitchen," said Mr. Collis, curtly, “and get me
a lantern and a tape measure.”
The man departed with a sullen look on his face. The in-
spector walked over to the body, drew back the sheet, and
knelt down on the carpet. Loryat stood by the fireplace and
looked down at the empty grate. For more than two minutes
there was silence. Then there was a knock at the door.
“Who it that? ” asked the inspector.
“Jarvis, sir. I've brought the things you asked for."
“Right. Put them on the floor inside the door, and
go down to Roberts. Get some food, if they'll give you
any."
The man opened the door, pushed through a lantern and
a tape measure, and then departed. Mr. Collis took the piece
of yellow tape, and, returning to the body, made innumerable
measurements. Loryat still stood with his back to the scene.
For another five minutes there was silence, save for the
faint sound of Mr. Collis's movements. Then the inspector
covered the body with the sheet, and, rising from the floor,
came to Loryat's side.
“The worst part of the job is over,” he said in a low voice.
“Will you come outside with me? I want to have a look
at the garden."
Then he walked to one of the windows, which was open,
and hung out a towel as a mark.
Loryat accompanied the inspector downstairs, and as he left


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 75
the room he saw the light streaming from a bedroom down
the passage and a slight figure leaning out from the doorway
and showing up plainly against the light.
The inspector sent Roberts upstairs to keep watch in the
chamber of death, lit the lantern, and told Jarvis to accompany
them into the garden. Loryat put on a mackintosh when he
saw the arrows of rain glittering in the light that came from
the hall door.
The three men made their way along a gravel terrace which
ran the whole length of the front of Malreward Castle and
stopped beneath a lighted window, where the white towel
showed plainly. He took the lantern from the policeman's
hand and examined the ground carefully.
“Footmarks,” said Loryat.
“Yes, but that is nothing. I dare say many people walk
along this terrace in the course of the day.” And so saying,
he threw the light on the wall, which was overgrown with ivy.
The main stem was three inches in diameter, and would have
borne a man's weight easily.
The light flashed to and fro among the glossy green leaves,
attracting the moths from their homes of darkness, pausing
while the inspector scrutinized some particular spot, and then
moving like a sword from one window to another over a
large surface of the building. Loryat watched, standing close
behind Mr. Collis; but he saw nothing worthy of notice. Not
a leaf of the ivy had been disturbed, not a twig broken.
“No one has been in that way,” said the inspector, de-
cisively.
“Has anybody been in there at all? ” queried Loryat.
“Possibly, possibly,” said Mr. Collis; and, falling on his
knees, he began once more to search about on the ground.
At last he apparently found something of interest, for he took
the tape measure from his pocket and made some measurements.
Then he rose to his feet.
“Go indoors, Jarvis,” he said to the policeman, “and ask
them to let me have a short ladder that will reach up to the


76 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
first-floor windows — some ladder that is kept outside the
house — a ladder that is exactly fourteen inches wide.”
The man departed, and Mr. Collis turned to Loryat.
“The man used a ladder,” he said quietly. “I'd like to
have the same one, if possible. One may as well do all one
can do tonight. This rain will play the dickens with every.
thing."
The rain, indeed, was now coming down hard, and the
noise of it in the ivy was loud and continuous. The wind,
too, was rising from the southwest, and it was bitterly cold
as it swept in from the sea.
“Wouldn't you rather go indoors, Mr. Loryat? ” asked the
inspector. “ This may be a long business. They'll probably
have to go and wake the head gardener, who, I have no
doubt, is sleeping peacefully.”
“No; I think I'll stay here. I'd rather be here than in-
doors."
“Well, we won't waste our time. We may as well see if
we can trace the man through the grounds.”
They spent twenty minutes in searching the terrace and the
narrow strip of garden which lay beneath it. On the other
side of the garden the rock dropped sheer down for fifty feet,
and the wall which bordered this precipice was the boundary
of the estate. The park and the several acres of lawn and
shrubbery and garden lay on the other side of the house,
stretching along the summit of the hill.
Their search was practically fruitless. They found some
footprints along the lower walk by the wall, and some more
that led along the terrace – which was rather thickly gravelled
- and ceased where the gravel ended by the edge of the wide,
short drive that led to the main road.
Shouts and the gleam of another lantern brought them back
again to the place beneath the window. A man was holding a
light, short ladder on his shoulder.
“Don't put it down,” shouted the inspector, “till I tell
you.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 77
Then he pointed out the exact spot where he wished it to
be placed, and it was not precisely the spot where it had been
before, but fourteen inches to the left of it.
“Thank you,” he said. “Will you kindly hold it?” Then
he ascended slowly, rung after rung, with the lantern in his
hand.
He was five minutes at the top of the ladder, and Loryat
saw that he was closely examining the ivy and the stone of the
window ledge. Then the inspector descended.
“The ladder can remain here,” he said to the man who
had brought it on his shoulder. “ Are you one of the gar-
deners?”
“Yes; head gardener.”
“Your name?”
“Buchanan.”
“Where do you keep this ladder, Mr. Buchanan?”
“Where I'm keeping the pots and things.”
“Is there a door, and is it locked ? ”
“A door there is, but I'll no say whether it were locked
last night.”
“Does any one in the house know where the ladder is
kept? ”
“I will na say no; but they had to come to me to find it."
“Take me to the shed, or whatever it is. The rest of you
can go in. Jarvis, you stay in the hall. Mr. Loryat - if
you care to come with me — ”.
“Certainly, I'll come.”
The gardener led the way to the shed and the others fol.
lowed. The place was about thirty feet in length and ten in
breadth. It was filled with mowing-machines, spades, garden-
ing tools of all descriptions, stacks of flower-pots, bundles of
list, and innumerable odds and ends. Iron hooks were driven
into the wall, and from a pair of them the ladder had been
taken. There was another and longer ladder still hanging
in its proper place.
Mr. Collis made a careful inspection of the shed, and par.


78 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
ticularly of the two hooks from which the ladder had been
taken.
“Have you moved this ladder lately? ” he asked the gar.
dener.
“Not very lately," was the surly reply.
“When did you last use it?”
“A week ago, but I'll no say for certain."
“ It wasn't less than a week ago ?”
“No, it wasn't less, but may be it were more.”
“ Thank you. I don't think we need detain you. I dare
say you'll be glad to get back to bed.”
“Dare say I will,” the man replied; "and I'll ask you to
shut the door behind you when you goes out. The damp'll
get into the tools if you don't.”
The man retired, and Mr. Collis leant against the wall of
the shed and lit his pipe. Outside the rain came down in
torrents, and a miniature waterspout descended from the roof
and splashed on the ground close to the door.
“I'd like to have a few words with you, Mr. Loryat,” said
the inspector, when his pipe was alight. “We may as well
talk here as elsewhere. This — is a very interesting place.”
Loryat shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette.
“ The squall will be over in a minute or two," the in-
spector continued, “and we may as well keep dry while we
can. Have you known Mr. Kentisbury long?”
“ Not quite a year.”
“Ah, indeed. But do you know him well? ”
“ Very well — I've seen him nearly every day for the last
six months.”
“Do you think he is the sort of man who would have
killed himself? ”
“No, I do not. He was very level-headed.”
“Had he any trouble that you know of?”
“Nothing — that I know of.”
“In fact, you don't think he did commit suicide? ”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 79
-
-
“ I'm afraid I cannot think otherwise, unless there is evi.
dence to the contrary."
“There is evidence -- very slight, at present. Had Mr.
Kentisbury any enemies? ”
“I suppose every man has enemies,” Loryat replied cau-
tiously.
“Any that you know of? ” said the inspector, sharply.
“No — but, of course, if it can be proved that any one
entered Mr. Kentisbury's room tonight — ”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Collis interrupted.
“I will tell you, if you will give me any reason to believe
that it is a case of murder. Otherwise I shall say nothing
till the inquest.”
“I have reasons to believe that it was not suicide.”
“What reasons?” asked Loryat.
“Well, the marks of the ladder on the ground, and other
marks on the ivy where the top of the ladder rested.”
“Is that all?”
“No; I made careful measurements in the bedroom. I
measured the length of the gun, the length of the piece of
thread, the distance from the wound to the sole of the foot,
and I also carefully noted the position of the body in relation
to the castor through which the thread was passed.”
“And then? ” queried Loryat.
The inspector did not answer. He was looking past Loryat,
who was standing with his back to the door.
“Well, sir,” he asked sharply. “Who are you, and what
do you want?”
Loryat turned on his heels, and saw Mr. Ralph Chidley
standing in the doorway.
“Who are you?” repeated the inspector, “and what do
you want?”
Mr. Chidley came forward with a grim, white face.
“I s'pose you're a new man in these parts,” he said quietly,
" or you'd know that my name is Chidley.”


80 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Mr. Ralph Chidley? Oh yes, of course. I beg your par.
don. I am, as you say, a new man. I've only been in Tal.
bridge a year. Have you come to see me?”
“I heard of this terrible affair in the village. I have only
just returned from London. They told me at the station. I
came up here at once. My close acquaintance with the family
must be my excuse. Good evening, Mr. Loryat." And he
looked at the young man as though he had seen him for the
first time.
“Good evening,” Loryat answered curtly. Then he remem-
bered he must be pleasant to this man for Lady Malreward's
sake. Ralph Chidley was the only other person who knew of
her promise, and could connect her with the suicide of Ken.
tisbury — if it were suicide.
“This is a very sad business," he added. “Do you say you
have only just returned from London?”
“ Certainly. I arrived by the train which gets in at 12.10.
I have not been back to the 'Den.' I came straight here.
Well, Mr. Inspector, what do you make of it? ”
“Suicide,” Mr. Collis answered stifly. “You have no reason
to think otherwise, have you?”
“None whatever,” the old man replied, and he glanced at
Loryat. The latter interpreted the look to mean, “ I know per-
fectly well why John Kentisbury killed himself, and so do
you."
The inspector walked to the door of the shed and held out
his hand.
“The rain is stopping," he said. “I have a good deal to
do before the morning. Good night, Mr. Chidley; " and
picking up the lantern, he left the shelter of the shed. Loryat
followed; but as he passed Chidley, the latter touched him on
the arm.
"A word with you, sir," the old man whispered. “No
- not now, but later."
“Now, if at all,” said Loryat, quickly. Then he thrust
his head out of the door.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 81
“Shall I lock the place up? ” he shouted to the inspector,
who was half a dozen yards away.
“Yes, please — if you don't mind — "
Loryat took a minute over a matter that need not have
occupied more than ten seconds, and when the two men left
the shed the inspector was nearly fifty yards ahead of them.
“Well, what is it? ” queried Loryat. “Be sharp.”
“I know why Mr. Kentisbury killed himself,” said Chidley,
in a low voice. “He was in love with Lady Malreward, and
she had sworn not to marry again.”
Loryat made no reply. He preferred to let his companion
do most of the talking.
“ I shall feel it my duty to tell what I know at the inquest,"
Chidley continued, “ unless you prefer to do so.”
“I shall certainly say nothing,” Loryat replied sternly;
“and if you do, it will be the worse for you."
Chidley laughed. “The law will protect me from you," he
said quietly.
“You know what I mean. You may get into trouble
over this business.”
“I? My dear Mr. Loryat!”
“You forget that I know what passed between you and Mr.
Kentisbury on the evening he walked from Talbridge."
“Oh, that is your game, is it? " said the old man, coolly.
" I'm afraid you won't find that weapon of much value.”
“You said that if he went to Malreward he would die.
He is dead.”
“You think people would believe that I had murdered
him?”
“You'd have to explain your prophecy — your threat."
“It was no threat, Mr. Loryat,” the old man said gently.
"I did not wish Mr. Kentisbury to go to Malreward because
I knew that he was in love with Lady Malreward, and that
the consequences of such a visit might be very serious. I
thought that he would try to persuade her to break her
promise.”


82 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“I see. And so you threatened him with death."
“I have said that it was no threat,” Chidley said sternly.
“Personally it did not matter to me whether Mr. Kentisbury
went to Malreward or not. I was only thinking of Lady
Malreward, the wife of my old master and friend."
“And so you tried to frighten Mr. Kentisbury with sheer
nonsense?”
“It was not altogether that, Mr. Loryat. It is true I wished
to frighten him, but I had a premonition that if he went to
Malreward he would kill himself."
“A premonition, eh? You must tell that to the coroner,
my friend. I may tell you that it is not yet certain that Mr.
Kentisbury killed himself. There is evidence that some one
entered the room by the window.”
“ It was not I, my dear Mr. Loryat. I was in the train at
the time. There is ample proof of that.”
“There might have been an accomplice — there was the
other man who spoke to Mr. Kentisbury."
“ The White Horseman?”
“ I'm not a fool, Mr. Chidley. There was another man."
“A friend of mine — from whom I fled? And the motive,
Mr. Loryat? I bore Mr. Kentisbury no ill-will. Why should
I?”
“The fact remains. There was a threat, or, as you choose
to call it, a 'premonition.' Then - a murder. You will be
hard put to it, Mr. Chidley, to get out of a very awkward situa.
tion."
Chidley stopped and gripped him by the arm. They were
getting too close to the inspector, who had stopped on the
terrace, and was throwing the light of the lantern on the ivy.
" It will not be more serious for me,” he said, in a whisper,
“ than it will be for Lady Malreward. If it is known that
she made that promise at the ‘Den,' I can prove my innocence.
But Lady Malreward - it will be a bad day for her when the
world knows of her vow.”
Loryat was silent. He could not deny the fact. Perhaps


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 83
Chidley had merely tried to frighten Kentisbury with his
talk of death. But if there were a verdict of suicide, and it
were known that Lady Malreward — no, he must try to pro-
tect her at all costs.
“One of these days Lady Malreward may be tempted to
marry again,” continued Chidley. “There may arise a situa-
tion in which a woman might be willing to fling everything
to the winds in order to gain her heart's desire. If the day
should ever come, and the world knew of this promise - "
“ You must be silent. You must not speak,” said Loryat,
hoarsely. “ If you will agree to be silent, I will say nothing
of the meeting between you and Mr. Kentisbury on the
moor.”
Chidley smiled under cover of the darkness. He had
achieved his object, and the proposition had come, as he had
intended it should come, from Loryat and not from himself.
“You are tempting me to do what I believe to be wrong,"
he said, after a pause. “But, for the sake of Lady Mal-
reward, I will give in to your wishes.”
“ It is a bargain, then,” said Loryat, quietly. “You are
to say nothing about Lady Malreward's promise, and I am
to keep silence about your threat — your premonition. The
fact that I am willing to consent to such an arrangement "
“ Consent? ” interrupted the old man. “You proposed it,
not I.”
“The fact that I proposed such an arrangement,” Loryat
continued, “ shows you that I believe you to have had no
hand in the death of my friend.”
“Of course.”
“But you can well understand that if I discovered that you
were in any way connected — even remotely – with this trag.
edy, I shall not spare you. I could not let you escape from
justice, even to save Lady Malreward from pain.”
“I understand,” Chidley said quietly. “Now I think I
will leave you. Our friend the inspector does not look on
me with a kindly eye.”


84 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
They made their way to the terrace, and Chidley, with a
curt good-night to Mr. Collis, walked on past the corner of
the house. Loryat stood by the inspector, who was still ex-
amining the ivy.
“Well,” said Mr. Collis; “ I think we may as well go in. I
hope you have had an interesting talk with Mr. Chidley."
“He is an old friend of the Malreward family,” Loryat
replied, “but personally I don't like him.”


CHAPTER XI
The inquest was held on the following day at three o'clock.
The doctor's evidence left no doubt in the minds of the jury
that it was a case of suicide.
Inspector Collis had a different story to tell. He was not
prepared to say that a murder had been committed, but there
were certain facts which ought to be considered before the
jury brought in a verdict of suicide. The silk, in his opinion,
was not long enough to reach the dead man's hand, unless
Kentisbury had stooped very low, and he could not have
done this with the muzzle of the gun pressed to his side.
Then there were the marks of the ladder having been placed
against the wall.
Cross-questioned, however, he was forced to admit that there
was an almost insuperable objection to the theory of murder,
and this lay in the simple fact that no ordinary man could
possibly have entered the room by the window.
“And, of course," said the coroner, “Mr. Kentisbury could
not have been shot by any one leaning through the window."
“Of course not. If Mr. Kentisbury was murdered, the
murderer made it appear as though it were a case of suicide.
The silk had to be tied to the trigger of the gun.”
“Do you think that any one could have entered the room
by the door and locked it from the outside? ”
“No. I have examined the lock.”
“Is there any other possible means of entrance to the
room? ”
“None, so far as I know.”
“ Then you admit that the theory of suicide is the more
probable of the two ?”
85


86 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Yes, it is the more probable. But the other facts ought
to be considered.”
“ Certainly, Mr. Collis. I think that is all I wish to ask you."
Richard Loryat was the next witness, and he was examined
chiefly with a view to obtaining an opinion of his friend's
state of mind.
“You knew that Mr. Kentisbury had ordered his gun to be
sent up to his bedroom? ” asked the coroner.
“Yes, I knew that.”
“Did he give any reason? ”
“Yes; he said he was afraid of being attacked.”
“By whom?"
“I don't know.”
“Do you believe this statement, or do you think that it was
merely intended to deceive you?”
“I believed it at the time; but now — well, I hardly know
what to believe.”
Other witnesses followed. The servants, Beryl Lyte, even
Mr. Chidley, and, last of all, Lady Malreward herself. She
was dressed in deep mourning, and her face was white and
haggard. Still, there was nothing in her appearance that
would suggest that she was any more to the dead man than
a hostess in whose house a terrible tragedy had taken place.
“Have you known Mr. Kentisbury long?” asked the cor-
oner, and it was noticeable that his whole voice and attitude
had changed. Lady Malreward was no ordinary witness. She
was a great lady, and in distress. The question was asked
very gently, very sympathetically.
“A great many years,” she replied.
“Do you know of any trouble that might have impelled
Mr. Kentisbury to take his own life?”
“None,” she answered in a low voice; “but then, until re-
cently, I had not seen him for many years."
“He was here,” said the coroner, “ on the day of Sir Philip's
funeral. Did you see him then?”
“ Yes.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 87
“Where?”
“At the ‘Den,' Mr. Chidley's house. He and Mr. Loryat
went up there because the latter wished to make a sketch of
the place. I was there because I had some business to talk
over with Mr. Chidley.”
“ And before that. When did you last see him before that?”
“Seven — no, it must have been eight years ago.”
“ Then he was practically a new acquaintance, Lady Mal.
reward? You are not really in a position to form any definite
opinion about the state of his mind, or to tell us of any secret
trouble he may have had?”
“I am not,” Dorothy Malreward answered coldly, “but
from what I have seen of Mr. Kentisbury the last day or two,
I should certainly say that he was not at all likely to take his
own life. He was well-to-do, and successful in his work. He
was a healthy, sober-minded, clean-living man.”
“And so far as you know, he had no secret trouble - no
unfortunate love affair, for instance? ”
“None, that I know of.”
“You lie!” came a clear voice from the shadows at the far
end of the room. .“ Lady Malreward, you lie!”
For a moment there was confusion in the room. Men and
women rose to their feet, and stared at the corner whence the
voice had come. Lady Malreward stood motionless as a
statue, with a cold look of inquiry on her face. Apparently
she was quite unmoved by the interruption.
Only a few seconds — perhaps no more than two or three
– passed before the coroner recovered his official mind. He
rose to his feet and peered into the shadows.
“Who is that?” he asked. “Who dares to interrupt the
court like that?”
“I dare,” the voice answered. “I will not let a lie go
unchallenged.”
“Who are you?” snapped out the coroner. “ Come for.
ward at once. Give me your name and address, and you
shall have an opportunity to speak — later on."


88
THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
A woman rose from her seat and came forward. She was
shabbily dressed in black, and wore a mouldy piece of brown
fur round her neck. Yet in spite of her apparent poverty
she bore herself with the air of one who is used to command
respect, and her speech was undoubtedly that of a lady.
“ Your name? ” asked the coroner, curtly.
“ Janet Oldwin,” she replied, “ widow, aged thirty-six. Is
there anything more you'd like to know?”.
“ Are you a native of this place? ”
“No; I live in London.”
“Why are you here?”
“ I came to see Lady Malreward."
“On what business? She does not appear to be a friend
of yours.”
“ Appearances are deceptive. Lady Malreward is an old
friend of mine. She will not deny it."
The coroner looked at Lady Malreward, and the latter
shrugged her shoulders.
“I don't deny that I know Mrs. Oldwin," she said; and a
close observer might have noticed an interchange of glances
between the two women.
“You made a very abrupt and a very violent statement just
now,” the coroner continued. “Will you explain it?”
“I spoke hastily,” said the woman. “Mr. Kentisbury was
a friend of mine at one time before I was married. Lady
Malreward has not, of course, such a good memory as I have."
“You state that Mr. Kentisbury had an unfortunate love
affair, and that it may have preyed upon his mind?”
“Yes. But doubtless Lady Malreward has forgotten it.
Mr. Kentisbury many years ago was in love with a woman,
who was engaged to him and then refused to marry him. It
is possible that he has never got over it — in fact, I have every
reason to believe that the injury preyed upon his mind till he.
killed himself.”
“Who was the woman, Mrs. Oldwin? "
“Need I answer that question? ”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 91
“Where did you spend the night?”
"In a barn. I had no money. I spent all I had on the
journey."
“Yet you say Lady Malreward was your friend. Couldn't
you have asked her to help you?”
“Yes, if I could have got to her. But I walked from the
station and could walk no further. I could not even get into
the village, or I should certainly have slept at the inn and
paid afterwards. But my strength failed me when I was three
miles away, and I crept into a barn close to the road, and lay
down there.”
“H'm," said the coroner. “Then you have had no food to-
day? ”
“ Yes; I went to the inn this morning and took a room.
I ate a good breakfast.”
Mr. Gist, the landlord of the “Malreward Arms,” cor-
roborated this statement, and Mrs. Oldwin was told that she
might resume her seat.
For a few moments there was silence. Then the coroner,
arranging his notes before him, began to sum up the evidence.
The jury consulted together for half an hour before they
gave their verdict.
“Suicide during a fit of temporary insanity.”
Ten minutes later the room was empty, save for the coroner
and Mr. Collis.
" It was the only verdict possible," said the former with a
rather apologetic air.
“Yet there is something behind, sir, something we know
nothing about.”
“ Possibly. I s'pose you'll follow up your clues?”
“Yes, I shall do that, and I shall keep my eye on Mrs.
Oldwin.”
“ I think she's crazy.”
“Possibly, sir,” said the inspector; “but mad people are
dangerous, and want looking after."


CHAPTER XII
Lady Malreward and Loryat sat alone in one of the small
drawing-rooms. The man was to leave on the morrow, and
he would have left that afternoon after the inquest and stayed
at the inn if Dorothy Malreward had not forced Beryl Lyte to
use her influence to make him stay. A huge fire blazed in the
grate and the room was very warm; but in spite of the warmth
the young man shivered.
“I can only repeat,” said Lady Malreward, slowly," that I
thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have
done for me. I think, if the truth had been known, that I
should have killed myself.”
Loryat made no reply. He was thinking not of Lady Malre.
ward, but of the dead man who lay upstairs — the man he
had learnt to like in so short a space of time; the man who
had died for love of this woman.
The door opened and a footman entered.
“A woman has called to see you, my lady.”
Lady Malreward glanced at Loryat before she replied.
“ Very well, Martin, I will see her in here."
The man left, and Loryat rose to his feet.
“Mrs. Oldwin?” he queried.
“Yes. Would you mind — if I asked you to "
“Of course I'll go,” he said hastily; and he left the room.
Lady Malreward held out her hand as the door closed be-
hind Mrs. Oldwin, but the latter smiled grimly and made no
offer to take it.
“You look well, Dollie,” she said, “ for a woman who has
had a great deal of sorrow. You look uncommonly well.”
92


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 93
“ I wish I could say the same of you, Janet,” Dorothy Malre-
ward replied sweetly. “Do sit down by the fire. I expected
to see you, and have ordered dinner for you.”
“That was good of you, Dollie — though I am not exactly
dressed for dinner"; and she looked down at her shabby black
dress and her worn boots as she seated herself by the fire.
“ That doesn't matter,” said Lady Malreward. “We shall
dine by ourselves.”
For a few moments there was silence. Mrs. Oldwin held
out her hands to the blaze, and Lady Malreward leant back
in a deep armchair, with her hands folded on her knees.
“You look fagged out, poor thing,” said Dorothy Malre-
ward. “I want to do all I can to help you.”
“ Very well, let us talk business. I've no reason to love
you, and what I said for you yesterday was purely a matter
of business. I meant to denounce you as a liar. Then you
looked at me, and I read your glance as plainly as if you had
spoken. You said to me, “If you'll keep your mouth shut,
I'll make it worth your while.' Isn't that so ?”
“I appealed to you for mercy,” said Lady Malreward. The
woman shook her head
“You can put it like that if you please,” she said. “Well,
mercy has to be bought from a woman like me. What are
you going to pay? ”
“ What do you want? Mind you, it is not exactly a secret
that I was once engaged to Jack Kentisbury.”
“No, but there are very few who know. The engagement
was not made public. Kentisbury's father and brother, both
of whom knew, are dead. I was your friend at that time,
and I knew. And I have proof of it, for there are letters
you wrote to me. I have them still — one is most interesting
- it is the one in which you told me that you were engaged
to Sir Philip Malreward, and that you could not marry John
Kentisbury. By the by, is that a portrait of your husband
over the mantelpiece?”
“Yes,” Lady Malreward answered in a low voice.
is not exactly
* No, but there ngaged to Jack K


94 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Mrs. Oldwin rose to her feet and examined the picture,
which had been painted by a notable artist.
“What do you want me to do?” Lady Malreward asked.
“I will do all I can for you.”
“I should like to stay here — at Norton-Malreward.”
“ Here? With me? In my house?” cried Dorothy Malre-
ward, leaning forward with a look of fear in her eyes.
“Yes. Why not?”
Lady Malreward rose to her feet, and laid one hand on the
mantelpiece to steady herself.
“You are mad, Janet ! ” she cried. “You are mad. After
the story you told yesterday — before all those people - you
think that I could have you here — in my house! ”
“The story was — well, it was a story. I had to say some-
thing. It was bound to be something strong - after the way
I had interrupted you.”
“ The story was true,” cried Lady Malreward.
She leant forward and gripped Mrs. Oldwin by the shoulder.
“You knew John Kentisbury before I did!” she said hoarsely.
“You are not Mrs. Oldwin — you have never been married!”
“My dear Dollie,” said the woman. “You are quite
foolish. I made up a story to justify the violence of my
words. Surely you don't hold me to it.”
“I do, Janet, I do. There was truth in your voice - in
your face, as you spoke. Yours was not the tale of one who
says what first comes into the mind. You have suffered and
when you said that you were glad that Jack was dead, I knew
that you meant it.”
Mrs. Oldwin laughed bitterly.
“The story was true enough,” she said slowly. “But John
Kentisbury had nothing to do with it. If you put another
man in his place, the story is the story of my life.”
“I would rather not have you in the house, Janet. I'm
afraid we shouldn't get on very well together. But I will help
you in any other way you like.”
“ I'm not good enough for you, eh? ” sneered Mrs. Oldwin.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 95
“No, it is not that at all, Janet; but after the — er — rather
peculiar scene yesterday, people would be very surprised if
you came and stayed with me.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Oldwin, with a laugh. “Perhaps
you are right. Then I must have money."
“How much?”
“Three thousand pounds down, or two hundred and fifty
pounds a year.”
“You shall have the latter. I'll give it you quarterly.
I am doing this more to help you than because the secret is of
any importance."
“The secret was of no importance until yesterday. It only
became of value when you made it so. If the truth is told
now people will wonder why you concealed it. They will
think that there is something behind the mere fact that John
Kentisbury was in love with you many years ago. They will
think "
“I don't care what people think,” Lady Malreward inter-
rupted harshly.
“Oh yes, you do, my dear Dollie, or you wouldn't pay me
two hundred and fifty a year. Still, I'm very grateful to you.
The money will give me a start in life again, and I want it
badly enough, God knows.”
Lady Malreward shrugged her shoulders, and walking
across the room to a Louis Quinze secretaire, unlocked it, and
took out a cheque-book.
“Sixty pounds,” she said, as she seated herself and dipped
her pen in the ink.
“Sixty-two pounds ten shillings, Dollie, to be precise.”
Lady Malreward wrote out the cheque, blotted it, and
handed it to Mrs. Oldwin. The latter examined it, and placed
it in a shabby little black leather bag which she carried on
her wrist.
“I am really grateful to you,” she whispered, “and I'm
| ashamed of getting the money in this way. But it has to be
| done, or I should have found myself so deep in the mire that


96 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
I could never have hoped to rise again. I am really grateful
to you, and, to show my gratitude, I'll remind you of some-
thing that you may have forgotten.”
“What is that? " Lady Malreward asked coldly, and she
moved a little away, so that the white hand fell from her
sleeve.
“Poor Jack Kentisbury — may have had letters in his pos-
session - letters from you. I do not know if he has kept them
all these years, but if he has — a single one of them may give
away your secret."
Dorothy Malreward's face whitened. She had overlooked
this. Then she remembered that the police had taken all the
papers and documents found in Kentisbury's possession and
given them back to her. If there had been anything of this
sort, they would have mentioned it at the inquest.
“I tell you this,” Mrs. Oldwin continued, “because I am
afraid you are entering on a course of deception for which
you are not in the least fitted. I have lived for many years
on my wits, and these sort of things occur to me. You can-
not get at any of poor Jack Kentisbury's things in town;
but I may be able to do so, and I will do my best. You see,
it will be inconvenient for me if any letter of this sort should
turn up. I should lose my — my allowance."
“ There can be nothing here," faltered Dorothy Malreward.
“The police have been through everything."
"I should look if I were you. Well, good-night, Dollie,”
and she held out her hand. Lady Malreward appeared not to
see it, and, with a shrug of her shoulders, the woman left
the room.
For a few minutes Lady Malreward stood almost motionless.
Then she made her way to a safe in the library, unlocked it,
and looked through the papers which had been returned by
the police. There was nothing of any importance among
them. She replaced them and walked up and down the room,
her brows knitted in thought.
“Mr. Collis may have kept something back," she said to


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 97
herself. “On the other hand, there may be something he has
not found.”
Shortly after midnight Lady Malreward opened the door
of her bedroom, and, candle in hand, crept softly along the
passage.
When she came to the door of Kentisbury's room she paused.
No power on earth would have persuaded her to enter if all
that remained of him had still been there. But the body was
downstairs in a small anteroom, and the coffin was heaped
high with flowers, for the funeral was to take place next day.
A new lock had been placed on the door, and, turning the
key, she entered, closed the door, and locked it on the inside.
She looked at the window, and saw that the shutters were
closed and the curtains drawn. Then she set to work to exam-
ine everything in the room. She was cold with fear and
horror as she touched the clothes of the dead man and went
through his half-empty suit case.
“It must be done,” she muttered, “ for his sake as well as
for mine. If any letter of mine should be found " Her
fingers passing over a grey suit, found a piece of cloth that
crackled like dry paper as she touched it. She took a pair of
nail scissors from the dressing-table, and, ripping open the
lining, drew out an old, a very old envelope addressed in her
own handwriting. She looked at the date and gave a little
cry of fear.
That was the letter of all others that ought to have been
destroyed.
She folded up the coat and replaced it in the trunk. Then
she picked up the candle and moved towards the door.
But before she reached it she stopped. There were voices
on the landing, then the sound of footsteps, and a moment
later some one tried the handle of the door.
Lady Malreward for a moment was so unnerved by the shock
that she leant back against the wall, breathing rapidly and


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 99
the curtains do not quite meet. I could not see much, but I
saw enough to wish to know more. That is why I am here.”
“Come along," said Loryat, roughly, to the inspector.
“You'd better clear out at once."
“ I have my duty to do, sir,” was the quiet answer. “Will
your ladyship kindly give me that letter which I see sticking
out of your pocket?”
Lady Malreward's face was white with rage, and she looked
appealingly at Loryat. The latter stepped forward and laid
a heavy hand on the inspector's shoulder.
“How dare you insult Lady Malreward? ” he said sternly.
“You'd better leave here before I throw you out.”
“I wouldn't advise you to make a scandal, sir,” said Mr.
Collis, quietly. “Now I'm in here — and you let me in your.
self — I must do my duty. If you will allow me to lock this
door and put a sealed strip of paper across it, I will leave
here at once.”
“ You will leave here now,” said Loryat; and gripping the
inspector suddenly by the collar and one arm, he ran him
out of the room across the landing and down the stairs into
the hall. Mr. Collis apparently made no resistance.
“Will you go of your own accord ? ” said Loryat, loosing
his hold,“ or must I actually throw you out of the house?”
The inspector looked at him critically, and then smoothed
his crumpled collar.
“There'll be trouble over this night's work, sir,” he said, in
a voice that trembled with passion. “It's the most foolish
thing you've ever done.”
“ I'm willing to take the consequences,” Loryat replied.
“You have greatly exceeded your duty; but if you are will.
ing to say nothing about the business, I'll keep my mouth
shut.”
“ Thank you,” said the inspector, grimly; and then, with-
out another word, he walked to the hall door and unfastened
the locks and bolts.
“Good-night,” he said, with a smile on his sallow face.
his nich.
Per done with


100 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Good-night,” Loryat answered curtly. Then he locked
and bolted the hall door and went upstairs.
As he reached the landing and was about to make his way
into his own bedroom, he suddenly heard a cry, and Lady
Malreward came running along the passage from her bed-
room. She caught him by his arm.
“Quick,” she whispered hoarsely. “ The man has stolen
the letter. You must go after him. You must bring the
letter back. He must have taken it from my pocket while we
were talking. It is gone! For God's sake, be quick!”
“What letter?” he asked sternly. “Was it true then —
that you took something - from that room? ”
“ No, but I had a letter in my pocket - it was to Jack —
written by myself - years ago. If the contents are made
public, I am ruined. You must go after him, and get it from
him.”
“How?” he queried, mechanically.
“By force, by offering money, by any means in your power!
I must have it, quick! Every moment we stand talking here
he is getting farther and farther away. You must get it back
- at any cost."
“I will do my best,” he said quietly, and, turning, he went
quickly downstairs. Lady Malreward remained by the balus-
trade till she heard the hall door close behind him. Then she
went back to her room.
She did not see the white figure that shrank back against the
wall of the corridor as she passed down it in the darkness.


CHAPTER XIII
When Loryat left the house he scarcely knew what he was
going to do or why he was going to do it.
Yet, strangely enough, Richard Loryat did not hesitate to
follow Mr. Collis. He was a young man of action, and knew
that no time was to be lost. As to what would happen when
he came face to face with the inspector — well, there would
be time enough to think of that on the journey.
In the village he encountered P.-C. Jarvis. He would have
passed the man by without seeing him, but for the fact that
the policeman was just lighting his pipe when Loryat met
him. The gleam of the match showed his face, and it also
threw a dim light on Loryat's figure. The constable called
out to him.
Loryat, who knew better than to appear as if he wished
to avoid notice, went up to the policeman and resolved to turn
the encounter to his own advantage.
“Good evening, Jarvis,” he said pleasantly. “You haven't
seen the inspector, have you?”
“Yes, sir. He be gone by a minute ago.”
“ Gone to your house, eh?”
“No, sir. He be gone up the road towards the ‘Den.' He
has an important clue, he has. He told me to wait down
here and keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Ah, I want to see him,” said Loryat. “Do you know what
the clue is? "
“He said something about a letter, sir — a letter addressed
to Mr. Kentisbury. He said that if anything happened to
him, and the letter weren't found on him, we were to under-
stand as there had been foul play.”
101


102 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Is that all?”
“Aye, sir, that be all for your ears."
Loryat said good-night and continued on his way. His
position now was doubly dangerous; without doubt Collis
had suspected that he would be followed and that he
might even have to sell his life to keep the precious docu-
ment.
“I must get that letter,” Loryat thought, “ by force if not
by guile.” And then he began to wonder why he was risking
so much for Lady Malreward. A man could scarcely have
done more for the woman he loved. If Beryl Lyte had been
in danger, there would have been good reason for his under.
taking such a difficult, nay, such a perilous task. But Lady
Malreward?
“Kentisbury would have wished it," he thought. “She is
alone, and there isono man to protect her. The inspector is a
mean hound, and I'd be glad to do him a bad turn."
Half an hour passed, and then an hour, and still there were
no signs of Mr. Collis's return. The wind moaned in the
stunted branches of an oak tree overhead, but there was no
other sound save the faint murmurs of the sea. The great
bank of clouds had passed away, and a small sickle of a moon
threw a faint light over the road.
“I'll go up to the ‘Den,'” he thought, “and see if there
is any one about "; and he resumed his walk up the hill,
keeping in the shadow thrown by the bank and the hedge.
Half of the road was in light and half in darkness.
At last he came in sight of the “ Den,” and as far as he
could see there were no lights in any of the windows. Then
suddenly he stumbled over something and came heavily to the
ground. He picked himself up and struck a match.
He had fallen over the body of Inspector Collis.
“ He's had a nasty fall,” was Loryat's first thought as he
bent over the prostrate body and noticed a severe wound on
the left side of the forehead. Then the match went out, and
he lit another and went on his knees by the inspector's side.
had fal picked himse something


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 103
He thrust one hand inside the man's waistcoat over his heart
and peered close into the white, still face.
“He's dead,” he muttered hoarsely. “Merciful Heavens,
he's dead!”
He rose to his feet and looked round him with horror in
his eyes. The match went out and he was again in darkness.
Before five minutes had elapsed he had found his way to
the “ Den,” and was hammering at the door with both hands
on the large iron knocker. Then he rang the bell furiously
and waited.
For more than a minute there was silence. Then he knocked
and rang again, this time to some purpose, for a window
opened above his head.
“Who is that? ” asked Mr. Chidley's voice. “What is the
matter?”
“There is a man lying in the road close here - he's very
bad. Can I bring him in? 'm Mr. Loryat.”
“I will come down,” said the voice, and the window was
closed again.
It was several minutes before Mr. Chidley opened the door
and stood in the entrance with a candle. He looked a queer
figure with a nightcap on his head, a thick muffler round his
throat, and clad in a heavy overcoat that reached to his feet.
“ Come in a moment, Mr. Loryat,” he said. “We'll take
some brandy with us."
Loryat entered, and Chidley closed the door.
“Who is it? ” asked the old man, peering at Loryat.
“ Inspector Collis. He's bad. I'm half afraid he's dead."
“ An accident, eh?” queried Chidley.
“Yes, I think he must have fallen and hit his head against
a stone.”
“H’m, yes,” said Chidley, and a curious flicker of a smile
passed across the small wrinkled face. “I'll get the brandy
at once — and some water. I'll fill a can if you'll carry
it."
“Yes, we'd better take water. He may have only fainted.”


104 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Mr. Chidley walked down the passage, candle in hand, and
vanished through a doorway. Loryat was left alone in the
hall. He stood there impatiently in the darkness.
Two minutes passed before Chidley returned with a zinc
pail full of water.
“Here you are,” he said, placing it on the floor. “ I've
the brandy in my pocket. Shall I take a lantern? Yes, I
think we'd better have a lantern."
When Mr. Chidley had found the lantern they made their
way to the gate and down the hill, Loryat walking in front
with the light in one hand and the pail in the other, Chidley
following behind with his hands thrust in his pockets.
When they came to the body Loryat set down the lantern
on the ground and Chidley knelt by the inspector's side.
“The man's dead,” he said quietly. “The brandy is no use,
nor the water either.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, Mr. Loryat. I've seen many a dead man in
my time — a nasty fall, eh? Yes, a very nasty fall," and he
looked round on the muddy road and the bank of green
turf.
"I moved him here,” said Loryat, sharply, “ so as to be out
of the way of the traffic. I found him in the middle of the
road.”
Chidley rose to his feet, and lantern in hand, examined
the middle of the road. It was not quite evident where Mr.
Collis had fallen.
“I see nothing here,” said Chidley, “nothing that could
have made that wound,” and he continued his search, moving
up and down the hill, and from side to side. At last he gave
an exclamation and called to Loryat, who found him bending
over a large stone.
“That is what killed him,” Chidley said slowly. “You
see one side of it is round and smooth, the other sharp and
jagged and stained with blood.”
“ It must have been lying in the road,” said Loryat.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 105
“Yes, with the sharp side uppermost. Therefore the
smooth side must have been imbedded in the road. Let us
look for the spot where it was fixed before it was torn from
its place. It would be near the body.”
The two men looked, but found no hole in the ground,
such as might have held the stone
“ Perhaps it was lying loose in the road,” suggested Loryat.
“I think not. You see how it lies now — on its side —
and any one falling could not possibly have struck the sharp
edge, however you place it. It won't stand on the smooth
round portion any more than an egg will."
Loryat stared hard at Chidley, and then in a flash he under.
stood.
“It is no accident,” he cried. “ It is murder.”
“Perhaps. Now, what are we to do? Shall we leave the
body here, and give information to the police, or shall we try
to take it into the house? ”
Loryat was silent. Then Mr. Chidley, who was holding the
lantern, gave a sharp cry of surprise.
“There is blood on your hands,” he exclaimed.
Loryat looked at his hands, and then washed them in the
pail of water.
“I could hardly help it,” he said. “I moved the body to
the side of the road. Shall I go down into the village?
Jarvis, the policeman, is waiting there, for the return of Mr.
Collis."
Mr. Chidley did not speak; he was staring hard at the young
man's face.
“ What are you doing here?” he asked slowly. “What
brings you so far from Norton-Malreward at this time of
night? "
Loryat looked at Chidley; he had an excuse ready. The
inspector had been up at Norton-Malreward, and had been
searching for evidence. Scarcely had the inspector left, when
Loryat himself had discovered something of importance and
had followed him to give the information.


106 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Mr. Collis,” he began, and then he paused. In an instant
a fierce terrible light had flashed into his brain. Hitherto
his mind had been so filled with horror at the tragedy and
with pity for the unfortunate man that there had been no room
in it for anything else. He had given no thought to his own
position, save how he might explain, if required, his presence
on the hill near the “ Den.” But now he read the horrible
truth in Chidley's face — the truth as Chidley saw it, as
others would see it too.
“I came up here to see Mr. Collis,” he blurted out suddenly,
“ and found him lying in the road.”
“I think I would return to Norton-Malreward, if I were
you,” the old man said slowly. “I will go to the police, and
say that I found Collis on the road. I will not mention your
name.”
“Good God! you don't think I killed him?"
“Of course I don't think that, Mr. Loryat, but if you passed
Jarvis in the village, and told him that you were looking for
Mr. Collis — ”
“I did not say that.”
“No, but I presume some one told you that Mr. Collis
had come up this road, and I suppose it was Jarvis.”
“You're right; it was. But I'm not going to put myself in
the wrong by concealing anything."
Mr. Chidley shrugged his shoulders.
“You can please yourself,” he said. “But I think, if I
were you, I'd not be too straightforward. For instance, if it
were to appear as though it had been an accident.”
“How could that be done?”
“ This stone was taken from somewhere, I expect - pulled
out of the ground, and used as a weapon. Let us look for the
place,” said Mr. Chidley, and the tone of his voice implied
that Loryat would be easily able to find the spot whence
the stone had been taken. Then he walked to the bank on
the left hand side of the road, and commenced his search.
Loryat still remained motionless with folded arms.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 107
“ I've found it,” cried Chidley; and Loryat, stifling the last
struggle of his conscience, walked towards him. Sure enough,
there was a hole in the rocky bank which might have held the
stone.
Mr. Chidley fetched the stone and placed it in the hole.
It fitted exactly, and with little persuasion it was forced so
securely into its place that it could only have been moved
with an effort.
“ That is good,” said Mr. Chidley. “Now will you please
help me to put the body in position.”
Loryat obeyed, and Mr. Collis was so placed that he might
have fallen after striking his head against the stone.
“The wound is on the proper side of the head," muttered
the old man, “and there in the road, is the very stone over
which he might have tripped and fallen.”
“It is horrible,” whispered Loryat. “Supposing any one
were watching us?”
And he looked round the circle of light, trying to pierce
the darkness beyond.


CHAPTER XIV
When Loryat left the house, Lady Malreward returned to
her bedroom and seated herself by the fire.
Everything now depended on Loryat — a man on whom she
had no claim - a level-headed young man who would cer-
tainly not get himself into a scrape to save her.
“What has happened to him?” she thought. “He could
have gone to the village and back twice in this time.”
She put some more coals on the fire and waited another
hour. Then she took a candle, and, opening the door, went
softly down the passage, and looked over the bannisters into
the hall.
At the same moment there was a knock at the hall door, and
then a ring.
She hurried down the stairs. Loryat would neither have
knocked nor rung, and her heart beat wildly. Then she
laughed at her fears. Possibly one of the servants had
fastened the door.
But, as she turned the handle, she grew cold with fear.
The door was neither locked nor bolted. She opened it, and
stood face to face with Jarvis the policeman.
“What is it? ” she cried. “What has happened? ”
“ I've come to say as Mr. Loryat won't be comin' back to.
night, my lady.”
“Why not? What has happened to him?”
"He be under arrest, my lady, charged with the murder of
Inspector Collis.”
Lady Malreward looked at Jarvis with fear and horror in
her eyes. But, like most women of breeding, she was able
to control herself in the presence of an inferior, under cir-
108


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 109
cumstances when she might have broken down if she had been
alone.
“Tell me what has happened,” she said sternly, “or what
you think has happened.”
The policeman told her in a blundering fashion; told her
how Loryat had come to him with the story of the inspector
found dead on the road leading to the “ Den,” how Loryat had
passed him in the village asking for Mr. Collis, how there
had been talk of a letter which was missing, and so on, and
so on.
“And putting two and two together, your ladyship,” he
concluded, “there was nothing else for it but to take Mr.
Loryat in charge.”
“ Aren't you a little eager? ” she said quietly, “a little too
anxious for promotion? Well, I suppose you think you've
done your duty. This letter you speak of — was it found on
Mr. Loryat?”
“No, m'lady, I can't say as it were. But that proves noth-
ing either way. He had plenty of chance to hide it."
“And you merely believe that Mr. Loryat had been guilty
of this atrocious and abominable crime — if, indeed, it is a
crime at all, and not an accident? You really believe that
Mr. Loryat would murder a man who had never done him
any wrong, for no conceivable reason whatever? ”
“Facts are facts, m'lady,” the policeman muttered.
“Well, good-night, Jarvis,” she said, “and don't run away
with the idea that I shall use my influence to have you punished
for this. I know you to be a worthy and honest man, and
you're naturally not quite yourself after all that has hap-
pened.”
Then, returning to the dining-room, she blew out the candles,
and made her way upstairs to her bedroom. So far she had
controlled her voice, her face, and her actions, with a supreme
effort of will. But now that she was alone, and there was no
longer any need for control, she broke down and gave way
to a paroxysm of grief.


110 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
For half an hour she lay full length on the bed, her face
buried in her arms, her body quivering with the violence of
her sobs. During this time she was unable to think clearly
of anything. She only felt that she was being dragged down
into the depths, that she had clutched at Loryat and hurled
him into a bottomless abyss.


CHAPTER XV
The next morning dawned cold and grey, and a bitter wind
swept over a land sodden with the heavy rain that had fallen
in the night.
Beryl Lyte did not appear at breakfast. Lady Malreward
had gone into her room at daybreak and told her that the
inspector had met with an accident, and that, owing to some
ridiculous error on the part of the local police, Richard Loryat
had been arrested on a charge of murdering the man. She
gave no details, but assured the weeping girl that the most
superficial preliminary inquiry would set everything right.
For the next few hours there was only one person to be con-
sidered. John Kentisbury was to be buried that afternoon in
the little village churchyard, and the dark shadow of death
and mourning had blotted out all else, had hushed into silence
all the cries of doubt, and misery, and fear.
In spite of the terrible weather and the fact that women
are under no obligations to attend funerals, both Lady Malre-
ward and Beryl Lyte stood by the graveside.
“ Dust unto dust,” said the clergyman, and the words seemed
a mockery in that swamp of rain-lashed mud. “In sure and
certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life --"
A few minutes later it was all over, and the men made way,
as Dorothy Malreward went to the edge of the grave and
dropped some flowers on the coffin. Trembling in every limb,
she could only make her way to her carriage with the assist-
ance of Beryl Lyte and Mr. Chidley.
“I want to speak to you, my lady,” the latter whispered, as
he helped her into her seat. “May I come up to Norton-
Malreward with you now?”
111


112 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
She nodded, and he stepped into the carriage.
“I-I am very sorry to intrude on you like this,” he said,
when they had reached Norton-Malreward, “but the living
have to be thought of as well as the dead, Lady Malreward.
The inquest on Mr. Collis is tomorrow.”
“Ah!” she said sharply. “ I supposed you wished to speak
to me of that.”
“Yes," the old man continued, “and first let me tell you
exactly what I know of the matter."
“Yes, please,” she said in a dull voice, as though she took
no interest in Loryat's fate. Yet a few hours before she had
been thinking of nothing else. This is the one great advantage
which a volatile nature can find in life — that it can thrust
everything into the background to make room for the one
particular joy or sorrow that occupies its attention for the
moment.
Ralph Chidley told his story, briefly and concisely, and it
was the same story as that which he had told Jarvis. He said
nothing about the replacing of the stone, which had been found
in the road.
“There is no doubt it was an accident,” he said in conclu.
sion,“ but I'm afraid Mr. Loryat is under grave suspicion.”
“Did you come up here to tell me this?” asked Lady Malre-
ward, wearily. “Surely you must know that I have heard
all this before.”
He came closer to her and looked down at the pale beautiful
face.
“Other reasons brought me here,” he said, slowly, “and
the first of them is this."
He placed his hand in his pocket and drew out a white clean
envelope.
“I was asked to give you this,” he said.
She rose to her feet and snatched it from his hand. Then
she tore it open with trembling fingers, and found another
envelope inside - a creased and worn envelope addressed in
her own handwriting.


114 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“I can remember quite well,” she said abruptly.
“Possibly, Lady Malreward. But in a matter of this sort
it is necessary to be most accurate. The slightest discrepancy
arouses suspicion. May I be allowed to tell you exactly what
did happen — according to Mr. Loryat?”
She clenched her hands till the nails bit deep into the
palms. She was in the hands of the torturer, and could not
cry out.
“Go on,” she said, in a low voice, “I can remember - but
still, as you say, every detail must be accurate.”
“What happened was this,” Chidley said slowly. “Mr.
Collis, still labouring under the delusion that Mr. Kentisbury
had met with foul play, was watching the house from the out.
side, when he saw a light in the room which had been occupied
by Mr. Kentisbury. Is that so? ”
“Yes, Mr. Chidley. Please go on. Don't trouble to ask
me if you are correct.”
“Mr. Collis,” the old man continued, “ wishing to gain an en-
trance without rousing the servants, made his way round the
house till he reached the outside of this room. He thought
that possibly Mr. Loryat might still be up, and he was not
mistaken. He tapped on one of the windows, and Mr. Loryat
let him in. They went upstairs together, opened the door of
Mr. Kentisbury's room, and found - well, you know what
they found, Lady Malreward?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“They found the room empty,” said Mr. Chidley, and he
smiled as he saw the start Lady Malreward gave at the in-
formation.
“Yes, empty,” she said quickly; “ there was no one there."
“Whoever had been there,” said Mr. Chidley, “had gone.
Well, then, Mr. Collis inspected the room, found nothing
suspicious, and left the house. Shortly after he had gone,
Mr. Loryat discovered something, and ran after Mr. Collis
to fetch him back. That is so, isn't it?”
“That is certainly the case, Mr. Chidley."


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 115
“Mr. Loryat, as you may remember,” he continued, “ found
that the lining of one of poor Mr. Kentisbury's coats had been
ripped open. Possibly something had been concealed in the
lining. In any case, it was quite reasonable to go after Mr.
Collis at once, and inform him of the discovery."
Lady Malreward was silent. The story was coherent enough,
and quite simple. It was true, moreover, in many respects,
and could hardly be contradicted, unless any one in the house
had heard what passed outside the door of the room.
“I think that is all,” said Mr. Chidley, rising to his feet,
“and again I must apologize for intruding on you at such a
time as this. The urgent nature of the business must be my
excuse. I will wish you good-night, Lady Malreward, and be
assured that all my sympathies are with you in your great
sorrow. Don't trouble to ring. I can let myself out.”
He walked to the door, but when he reached it he turned
and came back a few steps into the room.
“We are treading a perilous path, Lady Malreward,” he
said sternly, “and we must be very careful how we tread.”
She did not answer him, did not even look up at him as
he spoke. She was in his power, and she knew that the words,
apparently a mere caution, were in reality a threat.
“Good-night, Lady Malreward,” he said abruptly. Then he
opened the door and left the room.


CHAPTER XVI
The verdict at the inquest was in accordance with the evi-
dence. The coroner set forth that Mr. Collis had tripped on
the steep hill in the darkness and had fallen heavily against a
sharp stone. There were no signs of any violence, no reason
to suspect any one, and least of all Mr. Loryat, of having killed
the unfortunate inspector. The verdict of accidental death
was the only one possible.
There was only one stranger among the spectators, and his
presence there excited no comment, for he was understood to be
a commercial traveller staying at the “ Malreward Arms," and
desirous of selling cheap serge skirts to the villagers. He was,
as a matter of fact, Detective-Inspector Baildon, of Scotland
Yard, though no one, to look at him, would have suspected that
he was in any way connected with the police.
Loryat returned with Lady Malreward to lunch, and the meal
was eaten in silence. Beryl Lyte, indeed, only sat through half
of it, and retired, pleading a headache. She had not touched
a morsel of the food, and her face was ghastly to look upon.
“ Poor child," said Lady Malreward when she and Loryat
were alone,she is too young to face the terrors of the last
few days. Yet I thought, perhaps, she would have been more
cheerful, now that you are cleared from that ridiculous charge.”
Loryat was silent. He knew that he was innocent, but he
could not forget how his innocence had been proved to the
world. He and this beautiful woman who sat opposite to him
were fellow-conspirators, and Beryl Lyte was not even in their
secret.
“You must really leave this afternoon," said Lady Malre.
ward after a pause.
116


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 117
“Yes, I shall go to the inn, and stay there for two days.
Then I shall return to town.”
“I hope you will come up here whenever you feel inclinod.
I know Beryl will want to see you."
“Thank you,” he said stiffly. “I shall hope to come and
say good-bye.”
“Of course you will, Mr. Loryat. You will come up here
whenever you like. But before you leave my house I must
again thank you for all you have done for me. You have
risked more than any man can be expected to risk for a
woman who, after all, is only a stranger to him.”
The door opened and Beryl Lyte herself entered the room.
She moved unsteadily forward with a white face and staring
eyes.
“You are ill, dear,” said Loryat, hastening to her side.
“No, no,” she cried, “I am not ill. 1- I did not wish
to see you before you left. But now — I know that I must
see you. There is something I must tell you — now.”
“I will leave you two alone together,” said Lady Mal.
reward, and she walked towards the door.
Before she reached it, however, she turned back and looked
at Loryat.
“Good-bye, Mr. Loryat,” she said quietly. But he read
the look in her eyes. The words were only intended to
conceal her message. And the message was a mute appeal
for his silence.
“You are ill, Beryl, dear,” said Loryat when the door
was closed and the girl stood there before him, her slight
figure swaying as though she would fall, her hands pressed
tightly to her breast, and that strange look of horror in her
eyes.
“Yes,” she said in a low voice, “ I am — very ill — 1 — no,
don't touch me, don't come near me,” and she shrank back
from him as though she were afraid.
“Beryl,” he cried fiercely, “what do you mean? Why do
you shrink away from me like that?”


118 THE SHADOW OF MAL REWARD
She placed a hand on the back of a chair to steady herself,
and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“I — know,” she said, after a long pause.
For nearly a minute there was silence, and fear gripped
Loryat's heart as he looked at the girl's face. It was almost
the face of some one he did not know.
“I heard — that night,” Beryl continued. “She told you
- to get the letter — which he took. I heard — I know —
why you followed him.”
“Good God!” he cried. “You don't think — I murdered
Mr. Collis!”
“—I – do not know,” she answered, speaking as though in
a dream. “But I know — that at the inquest — you did not
speak the truth.”
“I was accused of murder," he cried. “I was innocent. I
had to fight for my life. If I had told them — besides — I
was not on my oath — I was not a witness. In a sense I
was on my trial. Others told the story — not I.”
“Would you shield yourself behind that? ” she said, with
a look of scorn in her eyes. “You, whom I believed to be
an honourable gentleman? ”
“ You — you think that I killed him.”
“What am I to think? ” she said wearily. “What am I
to believe? There was a quarrel — words and blows. He
took the letter — which meant so much to Lady Malreward.
She asked you to recover it. You went in pursuit, and —
and the man is dead.”
6. Then, you do believe I killed him — to get the letter -
for Lady Malreward? ”
“I- I think it was an accident,” she said, holding one
hand across her eyes as if to shut out some terrible picture
that her brain had conjured up before her. “There was a
fight, and he fell — striking his head against the stone.”
He turned away from her, walked the length of the room,
and came back to where she stood. His face was stern,
and there was a hard look in his eyes.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 119
“Do you wish me to explain?” he said curtly, “ or do you
merely wish to accuse me of a horrible crime? It is clear
you think the worst of me.”
“No, Dick, no," she cried piteously. “I am sure it was
only an accident."
“Sit down,” he said sternly. “You are not in a fit state
to stand. If you will sit down and listen to me for a few
minutes you shall hear the truth — or rather my version
of it.”
She quivered at the sneer, and seated herself in a chair.
He stood with his back to the fire, and then he told her the
story of what had happened on the night of the inspector's
death.
She listened in silence, with her elbows on her knees and her
chin resting on her hands. She did not look at him as he
spoke, but stared at the fire.
“Is that all? ” she said when he had finished.
“Yes, that is all. I suppose you don't believe a word of it.”
“I believe in you," she answered in a dull voice.
“ Thank you,” he said quietly, but there was that in the
tone of his voice that sent the colour to her white cheeks.
For a little while neither of them spoke.
“Why did you not tell me this? ” she asked, after a pause.
“I had Lady Malreward to think of,” he replied.
“Ah, you thought of her, but not of me!”
“You are talking foolishly, Beryl. I did not know that
you were listening — that night.”
She rose to her feet and faced him.
“And this was to be kept a secret from me,” she exclaimed
fiercely; " when we were married, this was still to be kept a
secret. You and Lady Malreward were to share it. You
told a falsehood, many falsehoods, for her sake. She
perjured herself to save you. You and she were to know
each other's secret thoughts, and I — the woman you profess
to love – oh, it is shameful, it is horrible even to think of
it! "


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 121
He stepped forward and caught her by the shoulders and
looked down into her face.
“ Beryl!” he cried hoarsely. “What do you mean?
Where are we? Where have we come to?"
“We have come,” she said slowly, “to the parting of
the ways. I think - I know that it will be best for both
of us."
“Beryl,” he cried, “my dear — you don't know what you
are saying. Surely it is not you who are speaking to me -
Beryl — my dear sweetheart."
She broke from the grip of his fingers, and the same mo-
ment the door opened and Martin the footman entered the room.
“The motor is at the door, sir,” he said. “I've taken the
luggage down.”
“Thank you,” Loryat answered, and the next moment he
was alone. Beryl had taken advantage of the footman's pres-
ence to escape from the room.
Loryat hesitated for a moment, trembling with fury at the
interruption. Then he made his way into the hall.
“Please ask Lady Malreward,” he said to the footman,
“ if I can speak to her for a minute.” Then he returned to the
drawing-room.
In a few minutes Lady Malreward appeared, and, closing
the door behind her, came forward with an anxious look on
her face.
“Well? ” she asked quickly.
“Beryl knows,” he replied. “She overheard what you said
to me that night — she knows about the quarrel with poor
Collis."
“Ah!” said Lady Malreward, drawing in her breath sharply.
“She will not betray us,” Loryat continued in a hard voice,
"but she is going to leave here, and she wishes to see neither
of us again.”
“She will think better of that, Mr. Loryat, when her anger
has cooled down. She will not cast away the happiness of her
life.”


122 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
"I wish I could think so, Lady Malreward. But I want
you to use your influence with her - on my behalf — and
also to try to persuade her to say here with you till she has
made fresh plans. She has been very happy here until the
last few days. She is miserable at home, poor child. And
I think that you will be sorry to lose her.”
“I will do my best,” Dorothy Malreward replied, “ for your
sake."
Half an hour later the big car had swept up the long slope
of the valley on to the level stretch of moorland. Loryat
turned round in his seat and looked back into the west.
“I hope I shall never see the place again,” he muttered,
“never so long as I live."


CHAPTER XVII
On the following morning Loryat went back to his work,
anxious to do something, however uncongenial, that would oc-
cupy his mind and keep his thoughts from straying to un-
pleasant subjects.
When he reached the offices of the Lady's Advertiser he
was told that the editor wished to see him, and he went straight
to the sanctum which Mr. Cane occupied at the top of the
tall, dingy building.
“ 'Morning, Loryat,” said the editor, curtly, raising his head
and looking down again at a large sheet of paper covered
with figures. “Sit down.”
At last the scratching of the pen ceased and the editor leant
back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together.
“We have decided to dispense with your services,” he said
abruptly.
Loryat looked at him in blank amazement, and then he
laughed.
“ I'm sorry,” he said. “Will you explain?”
“Firstly, we've got to cut down expenses. You cost too
much. We can get a man for thirty shillings a week to do
what you do.”
“ Anything else, Mr. Cane?”
“Yes. You seem to have been mixed up in an unpleasant
scandal. We can't have people of that sort in our establish-
ment — it gives a bad tone to the place. You will find a
cheque for a month's salary waiting for you downstairs.”
“I am grateful to you,” Loryat said slowly. “You've done
for me what I hadn't the courage to do for myself. Good
morning."
123


124 ' THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
He left the room, ran downstairs, claimed his cheque from
the cashier, and went out into the street.
“ I'm free,” he thought, “ free. I'll starve before I do that
sort of work again. It's either sink or soar now. God knows
which it will be.”
An hour later he was shown into Mrs. Lyte's tiny drawing-
room. It looked very mean and shabby in the morning light,
and there was a musty smell about it as though it had not been
used for a long time. Mrs. Lyte herself almost followed him
into the room.
“You got my telegram?” she cried, without a word of
formal greeting.
“No. What telegram, Mrs. Lyte? What has happened? ”
“Beryl returned here last night,” she sobbed, “and this
morning — when the girl called her — she was not in the room
- she has gone.”
“Gone? ” queried Loryat. “Beryl has left here?”
“Yes,” cried Mrs. Lyte, angrily. “She has left the home
where she has always been so happy, where she has always
been treated so well, has left her mother - it is shameful!
What do you know about it, Mr. Loryat?”
“Only what you tell me,” he answered in a hard voice.
“What has happened?"
Mrs. Lyte flung herself into a chair, and began to cry.
The young man looked at her sternly.
“ Please let me know everything,” he said. “There is no
time to be lost. When did she return here?”
“At half-past ten last night — just as we were going to
bed.”
“Did she say why she had left Norton-Malreward?"
“No. She would say nothing except that she was tired
out and wanted to stay here for a few days. Of course, I knew
why she left Norton-Malreward. I've read all about it in the
papers.”
Loryat frowned and bit his lip.
“I don't think we need discuss why Beryl left Norton-


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 125
Malreward,” he said. “What we've got to do is to find her.
Has she taken anything with her?”
“Nothing — from here. But she left her boxes at Padding-
ton last night, and possibly she called for them again this
morning. She left here very early, for the girl is up and
about at six. Beryl asked not to be called till half-past
eight.”
“I will go to Paddington,” Loryat said sharply, “ and make
inquiries. Then, unless I have a clue which I must follow up
at once, I will return here and let you know the result of
my inquiries."
He left the house, and hailing the first taxi-cab he met,
he told the man to drive to Paddington.
Inquiries at the station produced the following information.
The lady had called for her two boxes at five minutes past
eight, and a porter had taken them to a cab. The porter,
on being interviewed, said that he had not noticed the number
of the cab, and Loryat had to consult the policeman who
takes the numbers of all cabs leaving the station. He obtained
a list of those which had left between eight o'clock and 8.30,
and then placed the matter in the hands of the police.
By the evening the cabman who had driven Beryl from
Paddington was found. He had driven the young lady to
Liverpool Street, and she had paid him five shillings.
So far the missing girl had been traced with success, but at
Liverpool Street the scent failed. Beryl had arrived there
at a time when the station was filled with throngs of people,
and her arrival had not attracted any attention.
Loryat left word for inquiries to be made at every station
on the line, and then returned to 22, Lavender Avenue.
“We've traced her to Liverpool Street,” he said to Mrs.
Lyte," and it is possible we may find out where she alighted
from the train. Do you know any one she would be likely
to visit in the eastern counties?”
“No one at all,” Mrs. Lyte replied. “I can't imagine what
would take her into that part of the world.”


126 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
walked back to his dreary lodgings in Shepherd's Bush.
Then, as he was about to fling himself wearily into an arm.
chair, his eye caught sight of a letter on the mantel-piece.
The blood rushed to his forehead as he seized the envelope
and tore it open in feverish haste.
“Dear Mr. Loryat,” the letter began, and for a moment he
could read no further. He rested his head on his hands and
stared down at the empty grate.
“I am a fool,” he muttered, after he had remained motion-
less for a minute. “She has written to me. I must be con-
tent with that.” Then he seated himself in a chair, and read
the letter through
“ DEAR MR. LORYAT,
“I am quite safe and well, and able to take care
of myself. Thanks to Lady Malreward's generosity, I
have money, and shall soon be in a position to earn more.
It is useless for you to look for me, for if you found me, I
should refuse to see you or to have anything more to do with
you. I am of age and my own mistress, and neither you nor
my mother have any right to control my movements. I tell
you this to save you trouble. I have chosen out a path for
myself and I shall tread it alone.
“Please don't think that I am writing this without due
thought. I am quite calm as I sit here in my little bed-
room in Lavender Gardens. I have decided what I know to be
best. Something dark and hideous and terrible has come
between us. I could not bear the sight of you again. I
even shudder as I write these few lines to you, and they will
be the last you will ever receive from me.
“What you did, I believe you did to save another woman
from shame. But nothing can be recalled, nothing be unsaid,
nothing be undone. I have met the blow as well as I can,
and I hope that a man will not fail where a weak girl has,
at any rate partially, succeeded. You must meet this blow as


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 127
I have met mine. What you have to do is to cut me out of
your mind, work hard, and make a great name for yourself.
“ It is only a coward who sits with folded hands and be-
moans the past.
“ BERYL LYTE.”


CHAPTER XVIII
Loryat folded the letter up, and gazed for a few minutes
at the grey ashes in the grate.
“Fate's trying to drown me,” he muttered, “but I won't
give in. I'll keep my head above water. She wants me to
do that.”
He rose to his feet, and walking to one corner of the room,
lifted the cloth off a picture that stood upon an easel. It
was a half-finished oil painting, worked up from the water-
colour sketch of the “ Den.” The house and trees stood out
black against a flaming sky of crimson and gold, and it
seemed, as Kentisbury had once said, that there was nothing
beyond them, that they were standing on the edge of the
world.
The picture had never been finished: it was almost impos-
sible to work on it in that dingy little room. It is true that
such light as there was came from the north, but it was too
poor for an artist. And as yet, Loryat could not afford a
studio.
“ The scene of a great tragedy," he muttered. Those had
been poor Kentisbury's very words. At the time they had
been uttered, they were intended as a compliment to the powers
of the painter. Now they appeared in the light of a grim
and terrible prophecy.
For more than a minute he gazed at the sketch. Then he
returned to his seat by the fire, filled his pipe and lit it. And
as he leant back in his chair, he wondered whether, after all,
it would be possible for a man to be so absorbed by his work
that he would have no time to think of anything but his strug-
gle for success.
128


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 129
“Cut me out of your life, work hard, and make a great
name for yourself.”
Beryl Lyte had said this. Well, he could work hard, at
any rate, but no mortal can command success. And to for.
get? No, he could not forget — he could only stifle memory
with a strong hand.
His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the little
servant, who came forward, and held out a card in her grimy
fingers.
“Mr. Guy Baildon,” he said. “Who the deuce is ho?
Ask him his business.”
But even as he spoke there were heavy steps outside in the
passage, and before the girl could deliver the message, Detec-
tive-inspector Baildon appeared in the doorway.


CHAPTER XIX
Loryat rose to his feet with a frown, and the servant girl
stared at the intruder with open eyes. She was not used
to the ways of polite society, but this was something quite
beyond her experience. After the manner of her kind, she
scented something wrong, and hurried downstairs to tell the
landlady that the “ dinin’-room lodger 'ad the bailiffs in."
“What do you want? ” asked Loryat, curtly, when the girl
had disappeared.
" I've come from Scotland Yard,” said the detective, with
a pleasant smile. “It was not necessary to tell that to the
servant, was it?”
“ Please sit down, Mr. Baildon. Have you brought me any
news of Miss Lyte?”
“News of Miss Lyte? ” queried the detective. “What has
happened to her?”
“She left home early this morning, and cannot be found.”
“No, Mr. Loryat, I'm afraid I haven't come on that business.
at all.”
“What then?”
“It's the other matter — at Norton. Still, there may be
some connection between the two.”
Loryat bit his lip and was silent. He ought never to have
mentioned Beryl's disappearance to the police. Of course,
they would connect her peculiar conduct with the events that
had happened at Norton-Malreward.
“Well? ” he said, after a pause.
“I have been making investigations down at Norton,” the
detective answered. “And I have come to the conclusion
that we have not yet heard the last of the tragedies which hap-
pened there."
130


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 131
“You think that Mr. Kentisbury did not commit suicide,
that Mr. Collis did not meet his death by falling heavily on a
sharp stone?”
“I won't make any definite statements, Mr. Loryat, except
that I spent the whole of last night watching Mr. Chidley's
house. I have come to you for certain information about
Mr. Chidley."
“You have come to the wrong person then, Mr. Baildon,
I hardly know Mr. Chidley."
“I want you to tell me,” the detective continued, without
heeding the interruption, “ whether Mr. Kentisbury and Mr.
Chidley were on good terms.”
“They were bare acquaintances.”
“Do you think they liked each other?”
“I don't think so. There could be nothing in common
between them.”
“Well, to put it more concisely, Mr. Loryat, have you any
reason to suppose that there was enmity between them?”
Loryat hesitated before he replied. He did not understand
the drift of these questions, and he had to grope his way
very carefully in the dark.
“I think they disliked each other,” he said, after a pause,
“ but I am not sure.”
“Have you any idea why they should dislike each other?”
“No. I think it was an instinctive dislike on both sides."
“Are you a friend of Mr. Chidley?”
“No- I am certainly not that."
“But not an enemy, eh? If he had wished to injure you,
he could have done so — at the inquest on Inspector Collis.
He corroborated all your evidence.”
“He was bound to do that,” he replied, “ unless he chose
to perjure himself.”
“H'm,” said the detective, thoughtfully. “Well, I'm afraid
Mr. Chidley is a bad lot, and if I were you, I'd be careful in
my dealings with him.”
“I hope I shall never see him again.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 133
was no escape except by a deliberate lie. He tried to tempor.
ize.
" It is ridiculous,” he said hurriedly, “to suppose that an
old man like Chidley, the servant of the Malreward family,
should be in love with Lady Malreward.”
“Yes, but stranger things have happend. And Mr. Kentis-
bury? Is it not possible that he was in love with Lady Malre-
ward?”
Loryat's face darkened, and he rose to his feet “All this
seems to lead nowhere, Mr. Baildon,” he said angrily. “ It is
waste of time to talk of such things.”
“Not at all, Mr. Loryat, not at all. If both these men, the
one young and the other old, were in love with the same
woman, there would be a motive for the crime.”
“Well, I can tell you nothing. I don't know anything."
“I was afraid you would not,” said Mr. Baildon with a
smile; “but I did not come altogether with the idea of getting
information from you. As a matter of fact, I tracked Mr.
Chidley down here.”
“Well, all I can tell you is that I didn't expect him, and
that if he does call I won't see him.”
“I must ask you to see him, Mr. Loryat — now listen to
me. I'm going to leave you in a minute or two, and as soon
as I have left it is possible that Mr. Chidley will call. I
intend to be present at the interview.”
“How?” asked Loryat, trying to speak calmly. “What
do you mean?”
“I mean that when I have passed Mr. Chidley, which will
probably not be many yards from your door, I intend to make
my way round to the back of the house and — with your per-
mission - enter your bedroom through the window — that is
the door leading to your bedroom, is it not?” and Mr. Bail.
don pointed at a curtain which hung in the middle of the wall
opposite to the window.
“ Yes — that is my bedroom.”


134 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“And I presume,” the detective concluded, “ that it looks
out on the back garden.”
“Yes,” Loryat replied, and he made a supreme effort to be
calm. He knew that for the next minute or two only perfect
presence of mind could save him.
“Very well, then, Mr. Loryat. I propose to conceal my-
self in that room and listen to what Chidley has to say to
you."
Loryat turned away, ostensibly to find his tobacco pouch,
but in reality to hide his face from the detective's quiet
scrutiny. His worst fears had been realized. Mr. Baildon
had set a trap for him. If he refused to allow the detective
to be an eavesdropper the man would know that Chidley was
an accomplice. If he agreed to the proposal — well, that
was impossible, unless Chidley could be warned.
“ Where the devil is that tobacco pouch? ” he muttered, and
then he found it and turned to Mr. Baildon with a smile.
“Of course, if you think that would do any good,” he said,
“but it is hardly likely that Mr. Chidley would give himself
away to me.”
“It is just possible, Mr. Loryat. He would certainly speak
more freely to you than he would to me. May I try the
experiment? »
“Yes, if you like, but it doesn't appeal to me."
“ Thank you. Well, I will leave you at once. That is
going to be a fine picture of yours, if I may say so, and I'm
reckoned to be a judge of painting in my little way.”
“I hope I shall be able to make something of it,” said
Loryat, coming to the detective's side and looking critically
at the canvas.
" It is not unlike Chidley's house, the “Den,” said Mr.
Baildon.
“It is the 'Den,' seen against a sunset."
“Very fine," muttered Mr. Baildon, “ very fine, but not so
good as the sketch on the table. That's what I call art. It
gave me the creeps just now when I glanced at it.”


136 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Oh, yes, if you please.”
“ Very well, then, you must be careful. He won't bo in the
room with us, but he is listening in my bedroom."
Chidley smiled grimly, and entering the hall took off his
overcoat and hung it on the rack.
“He's not there yet,” whispered Loryat. “But he will be
- in a minute or two. If you have anything of importance
to say ”
He paused and leant back against the wall with terror in his
eyes. The sitting-room door was open, and the light which
up to that moment had streamed into the passage, was sud.
denly blotted out by a man's shadow.
Then Mr. Baildon stepped out into the passage.
Loryat had been trapped — neatly and effectively trapped.
He had been caught in the very act of going out to warn Chid.
ley that there would be an eavesdropper listening to their
conversation. But he was not the sort of man to give up the
game without a fight.
“Do you know Mr. Chidley,” he said to Baildon, “ from
Norton?”
“I have not that pleasure," the detective replied with a
smile.
“Mr. Chidley – Mr. Guy Baildon,” said Loryat. “You're
not going yet, Baildon, are you? Stay and have a drink."
“ I'm afraid I must be off," the detective answered
pleasantly. “ I've a long journey home.”
“Oh, I'm sorry. Walk in, Chidley, and make yourself at
home.”
The old man went into the sitting-room, and Loryat accom-
panied Baildon to the hall door, and then walked a few yards
down the street with him.
“You've ruined everything,” he said in a low, angry voice.
“Why did you come out like that?”
“I thought the game wasn't worth the candle, Mr. Loryat,"
the detective answered, pausing and looking the young man
squarely in the face. “ It occurred to me that Mr. Chidley


138 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
write you out a cheque now, and you can send me the sketch
directly you've done with it."
Loryat hesitated for a few seconds and then agreed to the
bargain. Mr. Chidley seated himself at the table and wrote
out a cheque.
“I am very grateful to you,” said Loryat as he blotted the
piece of paper and placed it in his pocket. “ This means a
good deal to me just now.”
“I thought it might; but don't look upon me as a philan-
thropist. I know that the big picture will never be worth
half the water-colour. You'll never be able to understand
the house again as you did that night. Now can we have a
talk together?”
Loryat did not answer, but, going into the bedroom, closed
the window and bolted it. Then he shut the door behind
him and came forward to the fire.
“Will you have a drink? ” he asked.
“No, thank you; but I will smoke a cigar, if I may."
He selected a cigar carefully from the half-empty box, lit
it, and then seated himself in a chair. Loryat mixed him-
self a drink, and raised it to his lips. Then, as though he
had changed his mind, he set it down untasted on the table.
“You realize what has happened tonight?” he said after
a pause.
“Not quite.”
“Then let me explain. Mr. Baildon knows that I left the
house to warn you of his intentions. He therefore suspects
that we have some secret which we wish to hide from him.”
Mr. Chidley leant back in his chair and stared meditatively
at the fire. Then he looked at Loryat and smiled.
“Fate has thrown us together,” he said quietly, “and fate
will not let us drift apart again. That first night at the ‘ Den'
and then again when you found Mr. Collis on the road.
I hold Lady Malreward's secret, and you — you know a secret
of mine as well, a foolish enough affair, but still something
that I should not care for the world to know. I'm afraid, Mr.


CHAPTER XX
Lady Malreward sat by an open window in the great white
drawing-room at Norton-Malreward.
The long winter was over — the winter that had been fraught
with darkness and suffering and storm. The spring, with its
fierce gales and the promise of sunshine, had gone, too, and
with it a time of uncertainty and terror, during which Dorothy
Malreward had watched the sword that hung over her head,
and wondered when it would fall. But nothing had happened.
So far as the conspirators were concerned, matters had not
moved at all. Their secret was still hidden from the world.
When half an hour had passed, she left the window, and
walking to a small mirror which hung on the wall, looked at
herself intently.
“I am older," she thought, “much older. Grief and fear
have turned one year into ten. Let me see if happiness and
freedom from care can put the clock back again.”
She paced up and down the long room, her tiny feet making
no sound in the thick Aubusson carpet. She was thinking of
what the future might bring to her, of the pleasures that
fortune might shower in her lap. To be rich and young and
beautiful! What more can a woman desire?
What more, indeed, save that which neither wealth can
purchase nor beauty compel — what more, indeed, save love.
The door opened, and a footman came towards her and
handed a card on a salver.
She took it and smiled as she glanced at the name.
“Show Mr. Loryat in here,” she said quietly.
When Loryat was shown into the drawing-room, Lady Malre-
ward could scarcely conceal the look of surprise on her face,
so greatly had the young artist changed during the last few
moaths. His face was thinner, and there was a hard ex-
140


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 141
pression about his mouth and eyes. It seemed as though he
was a man whose youth was past, a man who had fought
hard and long, and still bore the scars of the contest.
She greeted him with a pleasant smile and an outstretched
hand. He shook hands, but there was no answering smile on
his lips or in his eyes.
“This is indeed a surprise,” she said; "a very pleasant
surprise.” There was a ring of genuine pleasure in her voice
as she spoke, for she had very kindly feelings towards this
young man. He had done much for her in her hour of peril,
and he was a man to be relied on if danger threatened her
again.
“I am staying in the neighbourhood,” he said quietly," and
I thought I would come and see you. When I left Norton in
the winter, I hoped that I should never see it again. But
business has brought me here. I am staying at the ‘ Den 'with
Mr. Chidley."
“At the 'Den '!” she exclaimed. “With Mr. Chidley!
My dear Mr. Loryat, I had no idea that you two were such
friends."
“We are not, Lady Malreward, but we have interests in
common,” and he looked meaningly at her as he spoke.
“Well, sit down, then,” and she led the way to the window
and resumed the seat she had occupied before his arrival.
He placed himself in a chair, not more than a yard away from
her.
“ I've come to ask you about Beryl,” he said, after a pause.
“ About Beryl? My dear Mr. Loryat, whatever should I
know about Beryl? ”
“I have just learnt,” he continued, “ that you know where
she is.”
“You are talking nonsense. How should I know where she
is? ”
“You have known all along," he said sternly. “Mrs. Lyte
told me so the day before yesterday.”
“Really! And how did Mrs. Lyte know?”


142 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ Beryl wrote to her. She writes to her mother now and
then — from different parts of London — and in her last letter
she said that you knew where she was, and what she was do-
ing.”
“The poor girl must be off her head,” said Lady Malreward.
“ I thought she was living at home all this time, and that prob-
ably your marriage was coming off soon.”
Loryat looked sternly at the beautiful face, but Dorothy
Malreward's eyes did not flinch from his gaze.
“Do you mean to say," she cried, “that you have not
seen her all this time?”
“I have not,” Loryat answered grimly, “and perhaps I
shall never see her again.”
“You poor fellow! Oh, I am sorry for you — and I
thought — as you were getting on so well - "
“Will you tell me nothing?” he interrupted harshly.
“Nothing at all,” she replied gently. “Yes, I will tell you
something, Mr. Loryat. I did know where Beryl was,
and, as a matter of fact, I recommended her as companion to
a friend of mine. I did not wish the poor girl to be cast
out on the world without a friend.”
“ Then you lied to me, just now?” he said fiercely.
“Really, Mr. Loryat,” she expostulated, and rising to her
feet, she moved away from him.
“I beg your pardon,” he cried. “I did not mean to speak
like that. If you knew how I have suffered, you would make
allowances for me; and now, when I thought there was a
gleam of hope – oh, for pity's sake, Lady Malreward, if you
have any news of her —
“I have no news,” she answered slowly, “and if I had, I
could not give it to you. I made a solemn promise to Beryl
that I would not let you know where she had gone to, and,
as a matter of fact, I do not know myself now. She left my
friend's house at the end of a month, and I thought she had
returned home and made it all up with you. I quite expected
to hear of your marriage.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 143
He rose from his chair and looked out of the window.
Dorothy Malreward moved towards him, and she laid a hand
timidly on the young man's arm.
“Mr. Loryat,” she said, “ we are not old friends, but you
have done so much for me that you seem like some one I
have known — and liked for years. And I wish to help you
if I can.”
“You cannot help me — no one can help me.”
“No,” she answered. “But you can help yourself. This
woman is not worthy of you —"
“Stop,” he cried savagely. “I will not hear a word against
her."
“You shall not. But she is only a young girl, and does
not understand what love means. To her it is a time of
laughter and rose leaves, and softly whispered words of pas-
sion. She does not know the other side of love — how a
woman must cleave to a man whether he be saint or murderer;
how his very faults, aye, and even his crimes, must only
bind her closer to him; how she must tread hand in hand with
him through flame and darkness. She does not know this,
poor child. She thinks that you killed Inspector Collis, and
she sees in that an insuperable barrier between herself and
the man she thinks she loves.”
Loryat's blood stirred under the impassioned words, and
the colour came into his cheeks. Then the colour died away
again, and he looked at Lady Malreward with cold eyes.
“Have you ever loved,” he asked, “ that you should speak
like this — that you should tell me how a woman ought to
love?”
“No," she replied, in a voice as quiet as his own. “I have
never known what it is to love."
For a few moments there was silence. Then Loryat laughed
bitterly.
“One never knows,” he said, “ till the time comes. One
ought not to ask too much. I must leave you, Lady Malre-
ward., I am grateful to you for your advice.”


144 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“You will come and see me again?” she asked eagerly.
“There are several things I want to talk to you about.”
“Yes, I will call again, if I may — before I leave here.
But now — I must go.”
They shook hands, and he left the room.


CHAPTER XXI
Richard Loryat's face was hard and stern as he walked
down the steep road in the sunlight, and his thoughts were
neither of Ralph Chidley nor Lady Malreward, but of the
woman he loved - or was it the woman he had once loved?
“ It is only a coward,” he said to himself, “who sits with
folded arms, and bemoans his fate.” That was true, and
each day the truth of it was becoming more apparent to him.
He had to thank Beryl for that, at any rate. For months he
had worked hard, and was on the road to success. The picture
of the “ Den ” had been accepted by the committee of the
Academy, and though it was not equal to the original water.
colour sketch, in so far as it did not quite catch the sense
of impending tragedy, it was much superior to it in execu-
tion, and had aroused a good deal of interest among both
critics and public.
He passed through the village, that slept quietly in the sun-
light, and began to scale the slopes on the opposite side of
the valley. And then — so keen is the influence of locality on
the human brain - his thoughts suddenly shifted to Ralph
Chidley and “The Den.”
Loryat had hoped that he would never see Norton, or
Norton-Malreward, again; but the fates had decreed other-
wise. For months he had pondered over Kentisbury's death,
and the grim words of Detective-inspector Baildon. It often
seemed to him as though his dead friend were calling out to
him to return.
And then had come an invitation from Chidley himself to
spend a few days at the “ Den.” It had come at a moment
when Loryat knew that at some time or other he would have to
145


146 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
revisit Norton-Malreward. And the invitation had been ac-
cepted, and Loryat had gone to stay with a man he both mis-
trusted and feared, in order that he might perhaps be able
to solve the mystery of Kentisbury's death. He had never
forgotten Baildon's words.
He climbed the steep slope with long, quick strides, and did
not pause till he reached the spot where Collis had died.
And then he only paused a moment and looked, not at the road
or the bank, but at the valley beneath.
“ If Chidley killed poor Kentisbury," he thought, “it is
possible that Collis - "
“Ah, there you are,” cried a voice, and looking up, Loryat
saw Mr. Chidley on the top of the bank. A stranger was
with him - a broad-shouldered old man of medium height,
with a bronzed, clean-shaven face and jet-black hair, which
was hardly in keeping with the wrinkled skin, and the innumer.
able crows' feet round the eyes.
Chidley clambered down the slope and the stranger followed
him. The appearance of the latter would have been repul.
sive at close quarters, if it had not been for grey eyes of
singular brilliancy and a rather pleasant smile.
“This is my young friend, Mr. Loryat,” said Chidley, turn.
ing to his companion,“ the artist I was speaking to you about.
Mr. Loryat, this is an old friend of mine, interested in science,
like myself - Professor Robert Sankey."
Loryat bowed slightly, and scrutinized the old man's face.
“ I'm pleased to meet you,” he said quietly, and was about
to hold out his hand. Then he thought better of it, and merely
smiled.
“Mr. Chidley has been talking to me of your pictures,”
said Mr. Sankey, as they walked up the hill to the “ Den."
“I saw the one you painted for him, and which, I believe,
is reproduced with a slight variation in this year's Acad.
emy.”
“You liked it, eh? ” queried Loryat.
“I liked it very much indeed; in fact, so much that I -


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 147
well, we won't talk business now, Mr. Loryat. Look at that
view," and, turning, he pointed at the valley beneath.
“ It is very fine,” said Loryat, coldly.
They entered the garden gate, and walked up the pathway to
the house.
“Who is your friend?” he asked Chidley, when the stranger
had left them.
“A man I particularly wanted you to meet. He is very rich,
and wishes to pose as a patron of Art. If you are pleasant
to him, he'll probably commission half a dozen pictures. He
talked to me of a thousand pounds apiece.”
“ Great Scott! Does he know anything about Art?”
“Not much,” Mr. Chidley replied, with a laugh; “ but he's
no fool - except where Art is concerned. He is a man who
has done much and suffered much in the cause of Science.
He is a man that I should not care to offend.”
“Nor I, either,” said Loryat, slowly. “In fact, I've never
met a man I should like less to have as an enemy. But why
does he dye his hair?”
“Vanity, Mr. Loryat, vanity. Some old men are like that.
I am not, I'm thankful to say. Robert Sankey is a curious
mixture of strength and weakness. He's a nasty fellow to
tackle in a fight, I can tell you."
And Chidley proceeded to tell a story to illustrate his re-
mark. In the course of it he happened to mention Borneo;
and when he came to the end of his narrative, Loryat re-
membered this fact.
“Borneo? ” he queried; “ that was where Sir Philip died,
was it not?”
“Yes,” Chidley answered in a low voice,“ that is where my
friend — my master died.”
“Did Mr. Sankey know Sir Philip?"
“Yes, quite well; but they did not like each other. They
were in a sense rivals, the leaders of two separate expeditions,
and they had more than one quarrel over matters which would
seem absurd to you as a layman.”


148 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Loryat laughed. “And you?” he asked. “You are a
friend of your master's enemy?”
Mr. Chidley pressed the tips of his fingers together and
smiled.
“I don't agree with Professor Sankey,” he said, “ but I ad-
mire him. If he takes a fancy to you, and I think he has done
so already, he can be very useful to you. I asked you down
here on purpose to meet him — at his own request."
“I am flattered,” said Loryat, quietly; and then the subject
of their discussion entered the room, and the conversation be-
came general.
After dinner the conversation was resumed, and Loryat was
forced to listen to tales of sheer undiluted horror; to stories
of torture and pestilence and famine that made his blood run
cold. He was just about to say good-night, and leave the
room, when Chidley laughed and rose from his chair.
“We are forgetting Mr. Loryat,” he said. “I know you
want to have a chat with him, Sankey, and, as I am rather
tired, I'll go to bed. Good-night, both of you. I hope you'll -
sleep well.”
Chidley departed, and Loryat helped himself to another
whisky and soda. The professor looked at him and smiled
grimly.
“A man who has lived all his life in England,” he said,
“ does not understand these things. Yet they are real life,
quite as real as a motor-omnibus in the Strand.”
“ They're not pretty to listen to,” Loryat replied curtly,
" and I don't know how a man could live among them and
preserve his sanity.”
“He doesn't always,” said the old man, gravely, “and those
who come out of it are brutalized. Sir Philip Malreward
is the only man I have ever known who was quite unchanged
by his experiences.”
“Ah, you knew him well?”
“Yes,” said the professor, sadly. “He was no friend of
mine, but I am forced to admit that the world has lost a


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 149
great man. If Lady Malreward ever marries again — and I
suppose she will, for I've heard that she is a young and beauti-
ful woman — she will never find another husband like Sir
Philip. He was her slave — to the last.”
Loryat looked sharply at the bronzed and wrinkled face.
He was relieved to find that this man knew nothing of Sir
Philip Malreward's will.
“And now let us talk business,” continued Mr. Sankey.
“I am greatly interested in you, Mr. Loryat. Your picture,
The House of the Shadow'- "
“ The House Desolate,'” corrected Loryat.
“Oh, you changed the name, did you? ”
“No," said Loryat, with a look of surprise. “I never gave
it any other name.”
“Oh, then Chidley has named the water-colour sketch on
his own responsibility. He has called it 'The House of the
Shadow.' Well, whatever the name is, it's a fine picture.
I'm starting a gallery of modern painters. Would you be
willing to paint me three pictures at a thousand pounds
apiece?”
“Certainly,” said Loryat; and then, afraid to seem too eager,
he added, “ if the subjects appeal to me.”
“Well, I want a picture of this valley, taken from a point
about three miles east of the village - I saw the exact spot
on my way from the station. It is to be called “The Valley
of Peace,' and you must suggest that the peace referred to is
only on the surface. Do you understand ? ”
“Yes,” Loryat answered with a frown; “I think I under-
stand.”
“Then,” the professor continued, “I want a picture of
Malreward Castle. I should like it taken against the light,
something in the same style as you painted the 'Den.' There
must be a woman looking seawards from the terrace. Her
face will not be visible, but you must convey the expression
of her face in her attitude. She is afraid of something that
cannot be seen. Not far from where she stands, but hidden


150 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
from her by a corner of the building, crouches a man with a
knife in his hand. Do you grasp the idea? I will explain it
more fully later."
“I think I understand,” said Loryat in a low voice. “The
woman is watching for her enemy, and all the time he is be-
hind her.”
“That's it. The picture is to be called “The Watchers.'
And now for the third, which, by the by, must be painted
first. Have you ever done any portraits? ”
“Yes, in my student days. I've never sold any."
“ Are you good at them?”
“Well, every artist thinks he can paint a portrait.”
“H'm," said Professor Sankey, thoughtfully, and then he
fixed his keen grey eyes on Loryat's face and kept them
there for more than ten seconds without speaking.
“You want a portrait painted? ” queried Loryat, who felt
uncomfortable under this steady scrutiny.
“Yes, I want a portrait of Lady Malreward painted.”
“Of Lady Malreward?” Loryat exclaimed. “Of course,
I could not even make such a suggestion to her.”
“Mr. Chidley will make the suggestion. Mr. Chidley de-
sires to have this portrait painted so that he can present it
to Lady Malreward in token of all the kindnesses he has re-
ceived from her and Sir Philip."
“But I understand I am to look to you for payment.”
“Yes, in a way. I shall give you the commission. But I
am only advancing the money to Mr. Chidley, who has all
his capital locked up at present.”
“I don't think Lady Malreward — from what I know of her
- will accept the picture.”
“That is Mr. Chidley's affair,” said the professor, coldly.
“Yours, if you will pardon me saying so, is to paint the
portrait.”
Loryat lit a cigarette and leant back in his chair.
“You surely do not hesitate,” said the professor, after a
pause.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 151
“No; I will gladly accept the commission. I was only
thinking whether I should come up to your expectations. I
do not care to be paid more than I am worth.”
“I am paying you what I think you are worth. I have a
great deal of money to spare, and I'm glad to think that I can
spend it in assisting a young artist to the front. I know that
you won't disappoint me. Each of the pictures will be a
masterpiece.”
Half an hour later Loryat went up to bed, but Robert
Sankey remained in his chair, lit another pipe, and helped
himself to another drink.
The change in the man's face, now that he was alone, was
very remarkable. The lines seemed to have deepened, and
the hard grim expression to have given place to an aspect of
hideous malevolence. Whatever Robert Sankey's thoughts
were, they were certainly not pleasant ones, and had no
reference at all to Art.
After a while he rose to his feet, and, walking to the open
window, looked across the moonit valley at the dark hill
on the further side. There were no lights in Norton-Mal-
reward. It was black as the rocks on which it stood.


CHAPTER XXII
It has been take over to have had, pud spend some
To Loryat's surprise, Lady Malreward made no demur what-
ever to having her portrait painted at Mr. Chidley's expense.
She explained her attitude at the first sitting she gave to the
young artist.
“ The old fool,” she said somewhat unkindly, “insists
upon it, and I can't very well offend him, as you know.
Besides, it is quite right that he should spend some of the
money he ought never to have had, on the person from whom
it has been taken. Again, I should like a portrait of my-
self, and I should like to do you a good turn."
One of the rooms at the top of the house had been con-
verted into a studio, and during the first week Lady Mal-
reward gave Loryat three sittings of two hours apiece. Then
she intimated that the sittings would have to be shorter, and
at longer intervals. Loryat, who was now thoroughly en-
grossed in his work and had begun to believe that after all
he had the makings of a first-class portrait-painter, protested.
“ It's no good being angry, my dear man,” she said with a
smile. “ I've got the house full of people from now till
the end of September. I can't put them off. You must be
patient.”
“I shall lose the idea," he muttered. “This is the sort
of thing I should like to paint straight off, working day after
day for twelve hours at a stretch.”
She laughed merrily. “I pity the poor model," she said.
“Come, be reasonable, Mr. Loryat. You have other work
to do – Mr. Chidley tells me that you have two commissions,
one to paint the valley and the other to paint this house.
Surely you can work on all three at the same time."
Loryat was forced to give in, and the next day he started
152


THF SHADOW OF MALREWARD 153
his picture « : the valley. For five hours on end he sat among
the heather three or four miles from the village and gazed
down towards the sea. He was trying to get the atmos-
phere he desired, the atmosphere of terror underlying the
peaceful and beautiful scene. But he failed miserably. The
view was merely that which would strike the eye of any or-
dinary tourist.
For three successive days he went to the same spot and
tried to find what he was looking for. But he met with
no better success.
“This will never do,” he said to himself, as he returned to
the inn on the evening of the third day. “My mind is
soaked with the idea of the portrait. I have no power of
detachment. I cannot paint two pictures at once.”
The next day Lady Malreward gave him a sitting, and he re-
turned to his work with the eagerness of a boy returning home
from school. After the wasted hours of the previous days
it was good to find something he could do without effort.
Never had he painted so brilliantly as he did that morning,
never had he gained such an insight into his subject. An
hour seemed to pass like five minutes; and when the time
was up he asked her to sit for another hour.
“Impossible, Mr. Loryat,” said Dorothy Malreward, with a
smile. “We are lunching early, as we're all going over to the
flower show at Talbridge this afternoon.”
“ It is cruel of you,” he said fiercely. “You don't under-
stand what another hour would mean to me. I'm in the
mood for painting this morning. I want this picture to be
a big thing."
" It will be,” she said, rising from her seat and coming to
his side to look at the canvas. Then she laughed.
“Why do you laugh? ” he asked, with a frown.
“ Because this woman you are painting is not Dorothy
Malreward,” she replied.
“You don't think it is good ? ” he asked savagely.
“Splendid, but too – too good for what it represents.


154 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
This woman," and she pointed at the picture, “ isi far braver,
far more unselfish than I ever hope to be. It is some one
else — some other soul in my body.”
“I don't think so,” said Loryat quietly. “ It is the face
of a woman who will stick to a man through thick and thin,
who, if she loved him, would not care if he were a criminal."
She stared at him for a moment with a puzzled look in her
eyes. Then she smiled — a little wearily, he thought.
“Do you know anything about this man Sankey?" she
asked as she stood watching Loryat clean his brushes.
“Nothing, except that he is supposed to be very rich, is
certainly generous, and is, I believe, an eminent man in the
world of Natural Science. I suppose Sir Philip has mentioned
his name to you?”
“Yes; he used to talk of a man named Sankey, as I
think I told you. I suppose this is the same man. My hus-
band disliked him because he ventured to differ from him about
the name of some ridiculous beetle."
“That is the man. And though he has been exceedingly
kind to me, I don't like him.”
“I gather he is a second kind of Chidley, from your
description of him."
“Yes, but a man that is altogether more masterful, more
terrifying than Chidley. There is something about him -
well, I mustn't talk like this of a man who is giving me a
great chance in life.”
“ I'd like to see him. Bring him up if you can. No one
in the village seems to have even seen him.”
“I think this is only the second night he has spent in the
place. Well, good-bye, Lady Malreward. The day after
tomorrow you have promised me two hours straight on
end."
“Yes," she answered with a smile. “I'll be very good.
I am most interested in this portrait. It is so very interest-
ing to see how I appear to the eyes of an artist.”
A few minutes later Loryat had put his things together


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 155
and had left the house. As he walked down the hill to the
village he saw nothing of the fine scene that lay before his
eyes — saw nothing save the face of Dorothy Malreward.
A man cannot sit and paint a woman's portrait for an hour
and then thrust her suddenly out of his mind, any more than
a man can write a beautiful song and shut his ears to its
haunting refrain
After lunch Loryat went once more to the place where he
intended to paint the picture of “The Valley of Peace,"
and, seating himself on the dry heather by the side of the
road, he lit his pipe and gazed thoughtfully at the village
and the sea beyond.
Then, after a little while, he was roused from his reverie
by the sound of footsteps on the road, and looking round,
he saw a short, sturdy man walking slowly down the hill.
At first he thought that the wayfarer was a stranger, but as the
man came nearer, Loryat recognized the red, genial features
of Mr. Baildon.
If lightning had suddenly come down from the blue sky
above and scorched the heather by his side, Loryat could
hardly have received a greater shock than was dealt him by
the sudden appearance of a man whom he had almost
forgotten during the past few days.
“Hello," shouted the detective as he caught sight of Lor-
yat's face, and then he walked across the heather towards the
young artist.
Loryat rose to his feet. “What brings you here?” he
asked pleasantly, and he held out his hand.
“Oh, I'm having a holiday,” the detective replied, with
a twinkle in his eye." And you — ?”
“ I'm painting pictures — working hard.”
“H’m, yes. That's right. You're the coming man, and
no error. How are all our friends ? ”.
“Lady Malreward is very well,” Loryat replied stifly.
“ And Chidley?”


156 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“I believe he is well.”
Mr. Baildon folded his arms and looked sternly at the
young man's face.
“I warned you,” he said, “and now if you come to grief
it won't be my fault. That man will be laid by the heels
one of these days, and if you're not careful you'll get into
trouble. Are you walking down into the village?”
“Yes, I'll come with you,” answered Loryat, who wished
to keep the detective in sight as much as possible.
They walked down the road together, and Loryat received
a new idea for his picture. In the foreground there should
be a policeman strolling down the road towards the village
that slept in the sunlight. The man should be in plain
clothes, but so drawn that there should be no doubt of his
vocation or his intentions. Every one who saw him would
know that he was going to make an arrest, to bring fear and
shame into some quiet cottage home.
" I'm a commercial traveller,” said Mr. Baildon, breaking
in on his companion's thoughts. “Don't forget that. They
know me down here as that. My goods are coming down
later — all done up in American cloth - a very fine line
in serge skirts.”
“I'll keep your secret,” Loryat replied coldly.
“ Yes, you'd better, my young friend. You've got a good
deal to make up for, and whatever you do for me will count
in your favour. Who is this man who is staying the night
at the ‘Den '?”
“A Professor Sankey -- a great scientist."
“ Have you seen him?”
“Yes, I've seen him.”
“What sort of man is he - to look at?”
Loryat described him faithfully, and Mr. Baildon's face
showed some disappointment at the description.
“ It's not the man I'm looking for,” he said quietly. “Do
you like him?"
“He has been very kind to me,” Loryat answered." He


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 157
has given me a commission for some pictures.” The young
artist saw that there was nothing to be gained by concealing
the truth; and he wished to re-establish himself in the de-
tective's good graces.
The two men talked on general matters till they reached
the inn where Mr. Baildon intended to stay the night. The
detective was generosity itself, and his meeting with the
Cockney landlord who had modelled his behaviour on the
best hosts in Dickens was a thing to marvel at. It carried
Loryat back to the days when there were no railroads.
“There's a letter for you, sir, in the rack,” said Mr. Gist
when Mr. Baildon had offered drinks all round. “ It came
not more'n half an hour ago.”
Loryat sipped his glass of wine, said “Good luck” to Mr.
Baildon, and then went out into the hall, where several
letters were stuck in a green baize-covered board and held
in various attitudes by pieces of grimy tape.
He found the letter, glanced at the handwriting, and then
returned to the office to finish his drink, which he raised to
his lips with trembling hands.
The letter was from Beryl Lyte. The silence of months
had been broken.
Loryat left the landlord and Mr. Baildon as soon as he
could do so without seeming to be rude or arousing the de-
tective's suspicions. He made his way to his bedroom, and
tore open the envelope of Beryl's letter.
The contents ran as follows:-
“ DEAR MR. LORYAT,
“I hear that you are once more at Norton, and are on
excellent terms both with Mr. Chidley and Lady Malreward.
“ The news did not altogether surprise me, after all that
has happened.
“I am writing you these few lines to tell you that I am
engaged to be married, and that the marriage will probably
take place very shortly.


158 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“If you think harshly of me for so soon thrusting you
out of my thoughts, please remember that I am not fitted to
fight the battle of life alone. I've had a bad time of it
these last three months, and a worse time lies ahead of me,
if I do not take the step I have decided on.
“The man I am going to marry knows that I do not love
him, but he hopes and believes that love will come. I am
weak and ill and penniless, and have given way to his en-
treaties.
“I was glad to hear of the success of your Academy pic-
ture. I am sure a great career lies before you, a career
which would only have been spoilt by a union with a weak
and foolish woman like myself.
“ BERYL LYTE.”
That was all — a mere statement of fact, with the plead-
ing of one extenuating circumstance. There was no address
at the head of the letter, no account of what had happened
since he had last seen her, not even the name of the man she
was going to marry.
Richard Loryat seated himself on the edge of the bed, and
tried to think what had happened. Certainly this was no time
to ask Beryl Lyte to share his life with him, no time to plead
with her in the name of love.
“I am tied hand and foot,” he said to himself. “I can
only ask her to wait till I am free."
He walked over to a corner of the bedroom and seated
himself at an old gate-leg table which he used for writing.
Then after making many revisions and corrections, he com-
posed the following letter: -
“DEAR BERYL,
“God knows I am innocent of any crime save that of
trying to shield an unhappy woman from shame and ignominy.
The police are investigating the whole matter of poor Kentis-
bury's suicide and Collis's death. In all probability the
truth will be known before long.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 159
“I am down here on business, and not on pleasure. I
only ask you to believe in me, and to wait -- for a little
while.
“ If you will let me know where you are, I will come and
see you.
“Dick.”
He placed the letter in an envelope and addressed it
c.o. Mrs. Lyte, 22, Lavender Avenue, West Kensington. Then
he marked it “ Urgent,” and “To be forwarded at once.”
He took the letter out himself to the post-office, and placed
it in the letter-box. It would reach London in the morning.


CHAPTER XXIII
When Loryat met Mr. Baildon about seven o'clock, the
latter drew him aside into the empty coffee-room.
“I want to feed early,” said the detective. “Will you
join me?”
“I'm sorry I can't,” Loryat replied; and then, deciding
that it would be folly to make any secret of his move-
ments, he told Mr. Baildon that he was engaged to dine at
the “ Den” at eight o'clock.
“ To meet Mr. Sankey? ” queried the detective.
“Yes. I could hardly refuse to meet him, could I, seeing
that he is paying me to paint some pictures for him?"
“No, you couldn't very well refuse; but I'm sorry you're
getting mixed up with those people, Mr. Loryat. Trouble
will certainly come of it.”
At that moment Mr. Gist entered the room and handed a
note to Loryat. The young artist read it through and laughed.
“No answer, Mr. Gist, thank you,” he said, and the
landlord retired. When the door was closed, he handed the
note to Mr. Baildon.
“I thought as much,” said the detective. “Professor
Sankey is unavoidably called back to town, and Mr. Chidley
has gone with him.”
“So we shall be able to have our meal together, after all."
“ I'm afraid not,” said Mr. Baildon, rising to his feet,
“ I am also recalled to town," and he rang the bell.
“A trap and a horse at once,” he said to Mr. Gist. “Bring
me your bill. I'll pay for the room for the night. I'll
leave my baggage here. Look sharp!”.
Mr. Gist retired, and the detective turned to Loryat with
a smile.
160


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 161
“I'm sorry I've lost you a good dinner," he said. “I
wonder what train they went by?”
“You are going to follow them?”
“Yes; and if you'll take my advice, you'll pack up your
things and leave here tomorrow. It is quite possible you
may not see Mr. Chidley, again, and the sooner you are out
of this place the better for you.”
“Thank you,” said Loryat, stifly. “I am working here,
and shall stay till my work is finished.”
Mr. Baildon smiled and then left the room. Five minutes
later he was in the trap and on his way to the station.
“Well, of all the rummy blokes,” said Mr. Gist, forget-
ting his West-country speech in his agitation, “if 'e ain't the
rummiest. Friend of yours, Mr. Loryat? ” and he turned to
the young artist, who stood watching the swiftly moving lights
of the trap.
“ An acquaintance, Mr. Gist, that is all."
“Did you enjoy your dinner last night?” asked Lady
Malreward, as she entered the studio and shook hands with
Mr. Loryat.
“ There was no dinner,” he answered in a sullen voice.
“Mr. Chidley and Mr. Sankey were both suddenly called
up to town.”
She laughed, and he could see that she did not believe
him, that she thought he had only invented an excuse.
“ I'm speaking the truth,” he said angrily. “ Perhaps from
what you know of me you think I can't speak the truth.”
The laughter died from her face.
“Please don't talk of that,” she said in a low voice. “You
don't know-how it hurts me — to have dragged you into
my wretched affairs. I- I can never repay you.”
“Yes, you can,” he said sternly, “ if this portrait is as I
hope it will be, I shall be repaid much of what you owe.”
“If it is as you hope it will be,” she said gently, “it will
not be Dorothy Malreward. It will be an ideal woman, the


162 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
woman you have been looking for all your life — the sort
of woman that doesn't exist. You are a dreamer, Mr. Loryat.
There is no such woman in the world as you are putting on
that canvas of yours.”
He made no reply, but began to mix his colours, and a
few minutes later commenced to paint. But the inspiration of
the day before had not returned to him.
“It's no use,” he said at last. “ I'm very sorry, Lady
Malreward, but I'm all at sea today. I can't even paint
a piece of green satin. It looks like painted wood or iron.”
“ I'm so sorry,” she faltered. “Come tomorrow at the
same time. I'll put off everything. You must make a suc.
cess of this portrait.”
“I will,” he muttered. “I will. I'm quite off colour to-
day. Yesterday something happened — I think I ought to
tell you."
“What is it? ” she asked quickly. “Anything to do
with-
“Yes,” he broke in. “A Scotland Yard detective was
down here yesterday — after Chidley."
“After Chidley? " she repeated in a dull voice.
“Yes, and Chidley went off to town at once, as I told
you. I'm afraid there's trouble ahead for Chidley — and
all of us.”
“Merciful Heavens!” she gasped. “I-I thought all
that was past and done with.”
“So did I. But it isn't. I may as well tell you every-
thing, so that you can be on your guard. I am watched by
the police. I am suspected of having some secret under-
standing with Chidley, and unfortunately that is the case.
If Chidley comes to grief, it will go hard with me, and per-
haps with you, Lady Malreward."
“Tell me everything,” she cried — “here — now — at
once.”
Loryat told her, in as few words as possible, of the in.
cident in his lodgings in Shepherd's Bush.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 163
“ They suspect Chidley of the murder of poor Kentisbury,”
he said in conclusion.
“ Chidley? What possible motive -"
“That both Chidley and Kentisbury were in love with
you — the whole thing is absurd, but if Chidley is cor-
nered, and gives the truth away — ”
“You must go there at once,” she exclaimed; "you must
go to the “ Den.' You must see if Chidley has returned, and
if he has, you must ensure his silence. Money will do it.
Offer him anything you like. Come, we must be quick.”
She rang the bell, and encountered a footman as she has-
tened downstairs.
“The big motor at once, Martin,” she said.
“It is at the door, m'lady. It has just come home.”
“Run and keep it there. It's wanted at once.” Then she
turned to Loryat, who was following her, and caught hold of
his arm.
“Go straight there,” she said, “and find out if anything
has happened. Then come back here. I leave everything in
your hands. I can trust you better than any one in the
world.”
Two minutes later the big car swept out of the drive and
tore down the hill to Norton. It breasted the opposite slope
almost at the same speed, and accomplished the whole jour-
ney in eight minutes.
Loryat alighted and made his way along the path to the
entrance of the “ Den.” He rang the bell furiously and beat
the heavy iron knocker on the door.
Then he waited, and knocked and rang again when half
a minute had elapsed. There were footsteps and the sound
of a bolt being shot back.
Then the door opened and disclosed the red, genial face
of Mr. Baildon.
“Come in,” said the detective, quietly. “I expected you."
Loryat hesitated for a moment and then entered. Mr.
Baildon closed the door and bolted it again.


164 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“What does this mean? ” asked Loryat, quickly. “What
are you doing here?”
“In me,” the detective replied, “ you behold the entire
staff of this house. I've always been told that I should make
an excellent butler, if my face wasn't so red.”
“Please be serious, Mr. Baildon. Where is Chidley?”
“Still in London, my young friend. In what precise
spot I cannot say. His cook-housekeeper has taken a day's
holiday; his parlourmaid has been called to the bedside of a
dying aunt. His gardener, coachman, and general factotem
is, I should say, in the bar of the 'Malreward Arms.' To
speak in the language of ancient melodrama, “The coast is
clear.'”
“And what are you doing here?”
“ Looking round, merely looking round.”
“ Aren't you — er — rather exceeding your duties?”
“On the contrary,” the detective replied. “It is pre-
cisely the business for which I am paid.” Then he moved
forward a pace and laid his hand on Loryat's arm.
“Look here,” he said pleasantly. “ I've taken a fancy to
you, Mr. Loryat. If I hadn't, you'd have been in trouble
by now. You're not playing a straight game in this busi-
ness. One has only to look at your face to see that you're
not a scoundrel like Chidley. You're not in with him over
the murder of your friend. But there's something else you're
keeping back. Come, be honest, Mr. Loryat; I've treated
you pretty well.”
Loryat was silent. Of all forms of attack, this was the one
he was least able to resist. Perhaps Mr. Baildon, skilled in
the treatment of his fellowmen, knew this.
“You're hiding something," the detective continued. “And
I should say you're doing it for the sake of a woman. You
have no friends. I know all about you; I've your record
typewritten in my office, if you care to read it. But a man
doesn't need to be even friends with a woman to protect her.
There's a code of honour among gentlemen — I know that.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 165
But it is carried too far if it leads a man into dishonour-
able conduct. Come, Mr. Loryat, if you will make a cloan
breast of everything, I'll do all I can to save you from the con-
sequences of your folly.”
“I have nothing to tell you,” Loryat replied, “ except that
I am in no sense a friend of Mr. Chidley's, and that if he
is guilty of the death of my friend, I will do all in my power
to bring him to justice.”
Mr. Baildon frowned, and looked hard at the young man's
face. They were still standing in the hall, and the light
was very dim, but the detective could see that Loryat was
speaking the truth.
“I must be satisfied with that,” he said, after a pause,
“but when the crash comes, don't be surprised if you get
hurt. Come into this room, will you?”
The detective led the way into one of the rooms facing the
valley. It looked as though some burglar had been there in
the night and had been disturbed in the midst of his opera-
tions. Drawers and cupboards had been forced open, and
the contents were strewn on the tables. Many of the books
were on the floor; one corner of the carpet was turned up;
the furniture was disarranged, and even the curios on the
walls had been moved, and some of them not replaced.
“I've not wasted any time,” said Mr. Baildon, grimly,
" as you may observe.”
“Have you found anything? ” asked Loryat, in a tone of
disgust. This prying into men's houses did not appeal to
him at all.
“Yes," Mr. Baildon replied; “but I'm not sure that I
shall show you what I have found.”
“I thought you wished to convince me that Mr. Chidley was
concerned with the death of my friend Kentisbury.”
“I do, but on the other hand, as you seem to be on such
good terms with Mr. Chidley - "
“ Haven't I told you that if I believe Mr. Chidley to be
guilty I'll not rest till I have brought him to justice? ”


166 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Yes, you told me that, but — "
“I'll swear it if you like,” Loryat broke in fiercely. “If
you can show me that Mr. Kentisbury did not die by his own
hands, I will do all in my power to bring the murderer to
the gallows. I swear it.”
Mr. Baildon closely scrutinized the young man's face.
Then he smiled.
“I believe you," he said quietly; “but if you play any
tricks on me you'll wish you'd never been born. Have a
look at this.”
He drew out his pocket-book, and extracting a sheet of
paper, laid it on the table before Loryat. The young artist
picked it up and stared at it with a puzzled expression on
his face.
“The plan of the room,” he said, “cut apparently from
a larger plan.”
“Yes, the plan of the room in which Mr. Kentisbury
died.”
“Ah," said Loryat, sharply, and the meaningless lines at
once began to take shape and form for him. The bed, the
wardrobe, the washing-stand, the sofa, the writing table, the
windows, the door — yes, as far as he could remember, it
was the plan of Kentisbury's room.
“A curious thing to find here, eh? ” queried the detec-
tive," at the bottom of a locked drawer — put away as if
it were something of value, with Mr. Chidley's share cer-
tificates and documents of that sort.”
“H'm, yes,” said Loryat, and then seating himself on the
edge of the table, he filled his pipe and lit it. And as he did
so he suddenly thought of Lady Malreward
“Excuse me,” he said abruptly. “I think I will send the
motor back to Norton-Malreward. Lady Malreward wants
it for some of her friends."
Mr. Baildon glanced at him suspiciously and then nodded
assent. Loryat went out into the road.
“I shall walk back,” he said to the chauffeur. “Please


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 167
tell Lady Malreward that Mr. Chidley has not returned yet.”
The man touched his cap and drove off. Loryat returned
to the house.
Mr. Baildon seated himself at the table and took a small
cedar-wood box from his pocket. He opened this, and gazed
on the contents.
“Look here,” he said.
Loryat came to his side and saw what looked like three
thick brown needles reposing on a bed of cotton wool.
“What are they?” he asked.
“ Thorns, I should say. No, don't touch them; you might
prick yourself, and the faintest scratch might mean death -
I've tried one of them on the housekeeper's cat. It's as
dead as a doornail."
“Poor brute!” muttered Loryat, and as he looked at the
tiny brown objects his face grew very pale, and perspiration
stood out on his forehead.
“There is a blow-pipe hanging on the wall,” the detective
continued; “it would be easy to kill a man through an open
window with a weapon like that — to kill him as he lay
asleep.”
“But Kentisbury — did not die — like that,” said Loryat.
Mr. Baildon closed the box, and wrapping it up in a
piece of paper, sealed it carefully, and replaced it in his
pocket.
" That is what we do not know, Mr. Loryat,” he said slowly.
"That is what I intend to find out.”
“What do you mean? He was killed by his own gun —
but whether by his own hand, or whether by - "
“By his own hand, Mr. Loryat,” said Baildon, rising to
his feet. “My theory is this. Mr. Chidley shot him with one
of these poisoned thorns, and the unfortunate man, mad with
agony, took his own life, rather than endure a horrible and
lingering death.”
“But he would have cried out — he would have opened the
door and cried out.”


168 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Perhaps not, Mr. Loryat. Perhaps the poison had the
effect of paralysing the vocal cords. He may have known
that he had to die and have got it over as quickly as possible.”
“But he was dressed — he had not gone to bed.”
“ That would make no difference. The murderer thought
he would be in bed, and made this plan in order to see if he
could get a shot at him from the window. Nearly all the
rest of the room would have offered an easier target.”
“What are you going to do? ” asked the young artist
hoarsely.
“In the first place, I am going to send these thorns to an
analyst and find out the precise nature of the poison. Then
I am going to place the facts before the Home Secretary and
have the body exhumed. In the meantime, I am going to get
a warrant for the arrest of Chidley.”
Loryat stood motionless, and stared out of the window
across the valley. He was thinking, not of himself, but of
Lady Malreward. If Chidley were arrested, and if he, Lor-
yat, gave information against him, Lady Malreward's secret
would be blazoned forth to all the world.
“Will you stay here and help me to put the room straight? ”
Mr. Baildon continued, " or would you rather go home? ”
“I think I will go home to lunch,” Loryat replied, with.
out turning away from the window.
“You will say nothing of what I have told you today? ”
"Nothing.”
“And you won't let me know what it is you are keeping
a secret from me — you won't let me know why you warned
Mr. Chidley, when I proposed to play the part of an eaves-
dropper?”
“I will not. It does not concern this matter at all. If
you want to see me, you will find me at the ‘Malreward
Arms.'”
He walked slowly across the room, passed through the
twilight of the hall, and went out into the sunshine.
And as he walked down the hill, under the canopy of


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 169
blue sky, he felt as though all the world were black with
storm and darkness and that the very earth were crumbling
away beneath his feet.
As he entered the inn, the voice of the landlord broke in
harshly upon his thoughts.
“There is a telegram for you, sir,” said Mr. Gist.
Loryat took the buff-coloured envelope from the land.
lord's hand, and then hesitated before he opened it.
“When did this come?” he asked.
“Half an hour ago, sir.”
“ Thank you. I am ready for lunch.”.
He walked into the coffee-room, seated himself at the
table near the window, and then opened the telegram.
As he read the contents, his face was that of a man who
never hopes to look on happiness again.
“Letter received,” the message ran. “My decision re-
mains unaltered. Good-bye, and make a success of your life.
- Beryl.”
He folded the telegram across, folded it again, and yet
again. Then he held it in his hand and tapped the table with
it mechanically. His lips were tightly pressed together, and
his brows knitted in thought.
Jealousy had been the weight that had turned the scale
against him — unjust, unreasonable jealousy. Those whis-
pered words in the passage on that terrible night -- if they had
been whispered by a man, Beryl might have judged him more
mercifully. As it was, she had shown no mercy.
It was all clear to him at last — brutally clear, as a land-
scape after a storm. Beryl was not the weak, innocent girl
that Lady Malreward had judged her to be. She was a
woman of fierce passion, a jealous woman, who had con-
structed evil out of nothing. She would have believed in him
through thick and thin if it had not been for this — that he
had lied to her for another woman's sake, that he was in
secret league with another woman, that he had, as she thought,
killed a man to save another woman from shame.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 171
have been a mere coincidence. Anyway, he followed you up
to town, and he was seen about here yesterday.”
“Your information is doubtless correct, my lady.”
“ It is, Mr. Chidley; and what do you make of it?”
Mr. Chidley hesitated before he replied.
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “that Mr. Baildon is not
yet satisfied about the evidence given at the inquest on Mr.
Collis. These fellows hammer away at a case for a long
time.”
“Yes, and they have an unpleasant way of getting at the
truth — years afterwards. But doesn't it occur to you, Mr.
Chidley, that the detective may have come down here on
quite another business — that he may be of the same opinion
as Mr. Collis about Mr. Kentisbury's death?”
“I don't think that is in the least likely. There is no
doubt whatever that poor Mr. Kentisbury took his own life.”
“Very well,” said Lady Malreward. “Then we will assume
that Mr. Baildon is down here in order to find out the truth
about what happened on the night of Mr. Collis's death. His
presence is a disturbing element in this peaceful village. I feel
as though a sword were hanging over my head. Mr. Loryat
doubtless feels the same, and you cannot be altogether com-
fortable.”
Mr. Chidley shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “We
are all three in it, my lady,” he replied. “I think if we are
loyal to each other we can keep our secret.”
Dorothy Malreward made a wry face. The idea of being
a fellow-conspirator with Mr. Chidley did not appeal to her.
She knew that she was in that unfortunate position, but did
not care to hear it from the man's lips.
“I have a proposal to make,” she said, after a long silence.
“I want you to go away from here, Mr. Chidley, right away
- out of England.”
“My dear Lady Malreward -".
“Yes, out of England,” she repeated, " to some part of the
world where you are not likely to be followed by detectives.


172 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
You have no ties to keep you here. I will purchase the ‘Den'
from you, and, in addition, I will sacrifice part of my income
to compensate you for any inconvenience you may be put to."
“Money is no object to me, my lady, and I am very fond of
Norton. I am too old to go back to my former life.”
“I will give you a thousand pounds a year,” she continued,
“and will pay it to you so long as you stay out of England,
and keep silence on all those matters which affect my happi-
ness.”
“H’m," he said thoughtfully, “a thousand pounds a year
is a lot of money."
“ It is — more than a tenth of my income.”
Mr. Chidley rose to his feet. “I will think over the pro-
posal,” he said coldly. “There is much to be thought of.”
“I will give you twenty-four hours,” she said, “not one
minute longer. I feel as though the crisis were near at hand,
as though some terrible tragedy were impending."
He looked up at her with a grim smile. “And if I am ar-
rested,” he said quietly, “ before I get away? If this fellow
Baildon knows everything? ”
“You must fight him to the last. If you win, I will pay you
the money as long as you live.”
“And if I lose?”
“You shall still have the money. It shall accumulate for
you, so long as neither I nor Mr. Loryat are dragged into the
matter.”
“I will think it over,” he said after a pause. “I will let
you know my decision this time tomorrow. I will wish you
good morning, Lady Malreward.”
He seemed very old and weary as he walked towards the
door — not at all the sort of man to whom a woman could
look for help in the hour of peril. But as he placed his fingers
on the handle, he turned, and straightened himself, and Lady
Malreward, who had followed close behind him, looked into his
eyes, and knew that he was a man who could fight hard and
pitilessly, if his own safety were at stake.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 173
“I will do the best I can for you,” he replied slowly, “but
I cannot save you from yourself.”
“What do you mean? ” she asked sharply.
“ I think you know," he answered. “If not, you will know
before very long."
Then suddenly the door leading to the entrance hall beyond
opened, and another footman entered and came quickly across
the room to Lady Malreward.
“May I speak to you, m'lady?” he gasped.
“Yes, Martin - what is it? ” and she moved away from
Mr. Chidley, who stood looking at her with a faint smile on
his lips.
“There's bin an accident, m’lady,” the man faltered, “close
to the gates, here -- Mr. Loryat –
Dorothy Malreward turned very white, swayed a little, and
then recovered control of herself.
“What has happened? ” she asked in a low voice.
“He's badly hurt, m'lady. They're bringing him in
here."
“ Badly hurt? ” she queried slowly. “Yes, I will come at
once. Mr. Chidley, Mr. Loryat is badly hurt — will you
please see what has happened? I will wait here. Martin, tell
Mrs. Salter to have a room got ready at once — at once, mind
you! Edwards, don't stand staring there like a dolt! Go out
and help them to bring Mr. Loryat into the house — quick -
do you hear me?”
She spoke wildly, almost hysterically. The two servants
left as if she had driven them out with blows. But Ralph
Chidley did not move.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Chidley? ” she cried fiercely.
“I heard you,” he answered quietly, “but surely you do
not intend to have Mr. Loryat brought into your house, Lady
Malreward? ”
“Of course I do,” she snapped out angrily. “Are you go-
ing to see what has happened, or must I go myself? ”
“ It would be very unwise for you to have Mr Loryat laid


174 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
up here for any length of time. I will tell them to take him
down to the inn.”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” she exclaimed. “I am
at least mistress in my own house.” And she moved towards
the door.
“I will go," the old man said quickly. “You must stay
here. Since you will not take my advice, I must do what you
wish.”
He left the hall, and Lady Malreward walked to the window,
and leant out, white-faced, and gasping for breath. What was
it that had happened to Richard Loryat? And what did it
matter to her, even if he were dead? Was it not only another
step to freedom?
Then Mr. Chidley returned. His face was very grave as he
came towards her, and her heart stopped beating as she watched
him crawl - it seemed to her that he crawled — across the
polished oak boards of the floor.
“Well? ” she asked hysterically.
“ It's a bad accident,” the old man answered in a calm, even
voice. “But I don't think it will be fatal. A motor - I
don't think it was the driver's fault – he's wrecked the car in
trying to avoid the collision. Mr. Loryat was walking like
one in a dream, so the driver said. We've sent for Dr. Ren-
frew. Mr. Loryat is unconscious, but he's hardly cut about at
all.”
“Where – is he? ” she faltered.
“In the — I think they call it the oak room."
“ In — that room? ” she cried, looking at him with horror
in her eyes.
“Yes. Why not? What is the matter, Lady Malreward?"
She stretched out her hands towards him, and half falling,
caught hold of his arm to save herself.
“My dear Lady Malreward!” he exclaimed, and he led her
to a seat by the window. But before he reached it he felt the
full weight of her on his arm, and was just in time to save
her from crashing to the ground.


CHAPTER XXV
Dr. Renfrew arrived at Norton-Malreward in time to prevent
Loryat being moved from the room in which John Kentisbury
had died.
“On no account must he be moved,” he said, when he had
examined the patient. “He ought not to have been brought
up here at all. He should have been taken to some room
downstairs. Change the furniture, if you like, so that he
cannot recognize it - in fact, you'd better do that — but he
mustn't be moved.”
So they set to work to alter the room which would have
had such terrible associations for the friend of Kentisbury.
Every piece of furniture, save the bed, was removed, and re-
placed by satinwood and silver and gilt. Mr. Chidley and the
doctor superintended everything. Lady Malreward was in a
state of nervous prostration, and had been taken up to her
room. She was unable to give any orders about anything.
“Is the injury serious ? ” asked Mr. Chidley, when he and
the doctor were left alone.
“It may be,” the doctor answered, stroking his fair
moustache. “I have wired to town for a specialist. No bones
are broken, but there is a general shock to the nervous system.”
Mr. Chidley left the room, made some inquiries about Lady
Malreward, and then made his way back to the “ Den.” In
spite of his age he walked quickly, and reached his house
in less than an hour. As he passed through the hall, his
parlourmaid hurried down the stairs and beckoned to him.
“There's a gentleman in the study, sir,” she said in a whisper.
“ Indeed! Who is it?”
“Mr. Baildon."
175


176 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ Thank you, Mary. Is he alone? ”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Chidley opened the door of the study and smiled
pleasantly at the detective.
“You wish to see me?” he asked.
“ Yes,” Mr. Baildon replied. “I am sorry to hear of this
accident. I suppose you have been up to Norton-Malre-
ward? "
“Yes. Well, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I thought you'd like to know that I've discovered
how John Kentisbury came by his death.”
“I do know, Mr. Baildon. Mr. Kentisbury shot himself.”
“Yes, in his death agony – to make a quick end. But his
doom was sealed before he pulled the trigger of his gun."
“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mr. Chidley, with a laugh.
“We shall see very shortly. I've applied to the Home
Secretary to have the body exhumed.”
Mr. Chidley made no reply, and his face was an inscrutable
mask, which did not in any way betray his thoughts. Mr.
Baildon concealed his disappointment, and decided to bring
the interview to an end. Nothing was to be learnt by further
conversation.
“I have a warrant for your arrest,” he said quietly.
“There is a policeman outside. Will it be necessary to call
him? ”
“Not at all,” Chidley answered pleasantly; “I will walk
down to the inn with you, and from there we can drive to Tal-
bridge."
Dorothy Malreward sat at one of the open windows of
the library, and stared out into the gathering darkness. Her
eyes were dim with tears, as she gazed across the valley, and
the stars and the lights of the village seemed to move like
silver bees. Her thoughts were with Richard Loryat. It was
but a few hours ago that the great London physician had
entered the house. He had insisted on an immediate opera-


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 177
tion, and had made it clear that the operation was not always
a success. Lady Malreward had listened to his judgment, and
his words still rang in her ears.
“The patient may die, Lady Malreward,” he had said, “ and
he may recover. It is even possible that the operation may
be only partially successful. I may be able to give him back
his life, and leave his mind in darkness.”
And Dorothy Malreward waited and watched while the battle
was being fought in the oak-panelled room upstairs — waited
alone in the silence and the twilight, where the white moth
fluttered, and the scent of the roses came up from the garden
below. The guests had been turned back at the station on
the previous day. She was alone in the house, save for the
servants and the doctor and nurses, and the man round whose
mind and body the battle raged.
And there, in the silence, she realized that a new and wonder-
ful — aye, and perhaps even a terrible — thing had come into
her life.
She, who had never known, through all her selfish life,
what it meant to love, had learnt the lesson at last, and learnt
it under the outstretched sword of death.
“I love him with all my heart and soul,” she whispered,
as she leant on the window sill, and drank in the perfume of
the roses. “I would give my life for him, my honour, my
very soul, if it were required of me. And I can do nothing
- I can only sit here and watch and wait, while others fight
for him.”
She bowed her head on her arms and wept. Out there, in
the twilight, lay the graves of two who had loved her better
than their lives. For one of them she had shed a few tears,
for the other she had not wept at all. Now she was to know
the sorrow that they had known; she too was to learn how
bitter it was to ask for love and ask in vain.
“If his life is spared,” she thought, “ if only his life is
spared. That is all I ask.” But as the words formed them-
selves in her mind she knew that that was not all she would


178 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
ask, and that she would rather see him dead than know that
he was married to another woman.
Then the door opened and closed, and a short, sturdy man,
clean-shaven save for a patch of grey whiskers on either side
of his face, slowly crossed the room She sprang to her feet,
and hurried forward to meet him.
“You have news? ” she cried eagerly, scanning the great
doctor's face for some signs of what that news might be.
“He will live,” said Sir Arthur quietly.
“Thank God!” she whispered; then the flush of joy died
from her face and left it very white. The doctor had not
spoken in the triumphant voice of a man who had success-
fully performed a dangerous operation. “That is not all
you have to tell me,” she exclaimed fiercely. “You are keep-
ing something back from me."
“I will keep nothing back from you, Lady Malreward,” he
answered. “I have not entirely succeeded in removing the
injury to the brain."
“Good God!” she cried. “Do you mean that he will be
an idiot — a maniac?”
“Oh, no,” he said, with a faint smile “Nothing so bad
as that. But his memory has been affected. He has recovered
consciousness, and does not know Dr. Renfrew, who is, of
course, well known to him. I hope it will be only temporary."
“It might be only that,” she said quietly, “the shock of
the operation — besides, you have not given him much time.”
“ It may be only temporary, Lady Malreward,” Sir Arthur
continued. “But I have known cases where this lack of
memory 'has been permanent. I knew a man who was so
broken down with grief that he tried to kill himself. He was
seriously injured, and an operation saved his life. His
memory, however, was so affected that he could remember
nothing of what happened before he recovered consciousness.
The result was that he cast off the burden which had ruined
his life, and became a very prosperous and happy member of
society.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 179
than it had. Yappen." she quid certainly hapalre-
“That would not be the case with Mr. Loryat,” Lady Malre-
ward said in a low voice. “He would lose his means of live-
lihood. He is an artist. He would forget how to draw and
paint.”
“Not necessarily, Lady Malreward. That would come back
to him, in all probability. In fact, everything might come
back to him, if it were suggested to him. It might therefore
be in any one's power to give him his happiest memories, and
keep back the others. If he were in kind hands his life might
be happier than it had ever been.”
“You say this might happen,” she queried—“ this return
of memory by suggestion; not that it would certainly happen.”
“ It has happened in two cases that I know of, Lady Malre-
ward. In others it has not. I cannot commit myself to a
more definite statement than that. And now, if you will ex-
cuse me, I will go back to my patient. I shall stay here to-
night, and unless anything happens to prevent me, shall re-
turn to town in the morning.” Then he left the room, and
Lady Malreward was alone with her thoughts.
For a few moments she did not move from the place where
she was standing. Then she returned to the window, and lean-
ing her arms on the stone sill, looked out into the night.
“His life is saved,” she said to herself, “and perhaps it
will be better if he can remember nothing - if he starts a new
life from today.”
If Loryat were to forget everything he would forget Beryl
Lyte. She was far away from him, and some time might
elapse before he even heard the mention of her name. It
almost seemed as though Fate had Aung him helpless into the
bands of another woman.
“ Certainly it will be better if he forgets,” thought Dorothy
Malreward. “In his new life there may be a place for me
– a place that I could never have found in the uld.”


CHAPTER XXVI
“ I still say, sir, that I was justified in arresting Mr. Chid.
ley,” asserted Mr. Baildon," and I think tim: vill show that
I was right.”
“ Very likely,” said one of the superintendents of the
Criminal Investigation Department dryly, “but I only wished
to point out to you that you have, in my opinion, acted hastily.”
“One has to strike while the iron is hot, sir,” said Baildon.
“There was a chance that the man would slip us altogether.
I laid him by the heels.”
“Knowing that he was not even in Norton at the time of
Kentisbury's death, knowing that he had a complete alibi, that
he was in the train travelling down from London?”
“Yes, of course I know that, sir. But there was an ac-
complice.”
“ Professor Sankey?”
“Possibly, but I am not sure of that. In any case the Home
Secretary has backed me up in my opinion. The body has
been exhumed.”
“Yes, Mr. Baildon, but only after considerable argument.
We backed you up, and the Home Secretary listened to us.
That is all.”
An official, who had opened the door, came forward, and
handed his chief a telegram. The latter tore open the
envelope, and his face darkened as he read the message.
“No reply,” he said curtly, and when the man had left
the room he handed the telegram to Baildon.
“Read that,” he said sharply.
Mr. Baildon read the message which ran as follows:
180


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 181
“ Have found no trace of poison in the body of Mr. Kentis-
bury. Am writing fully tonight.- ANCRED.”
“Well? ” said the superintendent, with a sneer. “What
have you got to say now? ”
Mr. Baildon's lips tightened, and he read the telegram
again.
“ It is some poison that Mr. Ancred knows nothing about,
sir,” he said, after a pause.
“You can tell that to the jury,” said Mr. Lane, sharply.
“You've led us on a wild-goose chase, Baildon, and you may
as well admit it.”
“There are several poisons that defy analysis, sir,” the
detective continued doggedly. “I know I am on the right
track. I admit I've acted hastily, but then I had to stop
Chidley from escaping to some place where we couldn't get at
him.”
“Well, we shall be lucky if Chidley doesn't bring an action
against us for false imprisonment and malicious prosecution.
And it's a good thing for you that Mr. Kentisbury has
no relatives who care whether his grave is disturbed or
not."
Mr. Baildon rose to his feet. “I am very sorry, sir,” he
said quietly. “What line do you wish to take now?”
“We must let the matter go no further; we cannot proceed
with the case.”
“Give me two days,” pleaded Baildon. “I am going to see
Professor Sankey tonight.”
“ Indeed? And what do you expect from the interview? ”
“I don't know as yet, but I think it will not be altogether
a waste of time. He is staying at the ‘Majestic.' I saw his
name this morning in 'Fashionable Intelligence' of a news.
paper."
“At the ‘Majestic,' eh? Well, he evidently has no desire
to hide himself. Please report to me at eleven o'clock to-
morrow morning. I will then decide what is to be done.”


182 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Mr. Baildon took his leave, and returning to his rooms in
Tachbrook Street, ate his dinner, and then donned his dress
clothes, thereby reversing the usual order of things. When
he had arranged his tie to his satisfaction, he lit a large cigar,
and sent for a taxi. A quarter of an hour later he strolled
into the entrance hall of the “Majestic,” looking for all the
world like a prosperous lawyer.
“I want to see Professor Sankey,” he said to one of his
attendants. “If he has not finished his dinner, I will wait.”
“ Shall I take him your card, sir?”
Mr. Baildon took out a small leather case from the pocket
of his silk-lined overcoat and selected a card. He was a man
with many names, and the card he selected was quite new and
bore the name of Mr. Chidley.
''In a few minutes the attendant returned.
“Will you step this way, sir, please?” he said, and he led
the way up a great marble staircase and along a wide, softly-
carpeted corridor. Then he knocked at a door, flung it open,
and Mr. Baildon walked into a small, but lofty, private sitting-
room.
A sturdy, square-shouldered old man, with a neat grey
moustache and pointed beard, looked at him and frowned.
“What do you want?” he asked testily.
“ I want to see Professor Robert Sankey,” Mr. Baildon re-
plied. “I'm afraid I've made a mistake. I have doubtless
been shown into the wrong room."
“I am Professor Sankey,” the man answered. “What is it
you want with me?”
Mr. Baildon was thoroughly astonished. Then he recovered
himself, and an eager look crept into his eyes, as he smiled.
He had not visited the Majestic Hotel in vain.
“I-I really must apologize," he said, “but you are not
the man I expected to see. You are not the Professor Sankey
that I met down at Norton-Malreward.”
“Nor are you the Mr. Chidley that I met in Borneo. Come,
sir, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”
:


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 185
a good deal, if only Sir Philip had known Mr. Kentisbury.”
Then he rose to his feet.
“I thank you for your courtesy,” he said aloud," and
I hope I may rely on your helping me to get to the bottom
of this matter."
“ Certainly, Mr. Baildon. It both interests and amuses me.
I am staying here for a fortnight. If you want me, I am at
your service.”
The two men shook hands, and Mr. Baildon left the room.
And Professor Sankey, when he was alone, laughed softly
to himself, as though he were enjoying a huge joke.


CHAPTER XXVII
As Richard Loryat lay back on his pillows and looked round
the room in which he had, as it seemed to him, started a new
life, he wondered vaguely what lay behind the veil of darkness.
“My name is Loryat,” he said to himself, “and I am an
artist. I am staying in this village to paint some pictures —
one of them a portrait of Lady Malreward, in whose house
I am at the present moment. A motor ran into me and nearly
did for me, and they brought me in here. I have no near
relations, and no one seems to care whether I am alive or
dead.”
So much he knew, for so much he had been told. There
were also dim memories, vague and disconnected, of his boy-
hood. He could even remember that he had once worked in
the office of some newspaper, but the immediate past was only
darkness.
“They tell me the mists will clear away,” he thought," and
as for the present, I am evidently in good hands. This Lady
Malreward must be a very kind woman. I can speak prop-
erly, and am in full possession of my senses. I wonder if I
can still paint.”
A fortnight had elapsed since the operation, but as yet he
had seen no one but the nurses, the doctor, and a Mrs Hailes,
whom he understood was an aunt of Lady Malreward's. Lady
Malreward herself had inquired about him every day, had
sent flowers and fruit and everything that could possibly
cheer the heart of an invalid; but she had not been to see
him. And he was anxious to see her, for it is not often that
a man finds such a friend in the world.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a faint knock on
186


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 187
the bedroom door. He opened his eyes and heard the nurse
say, “No, not now; he is asleep."
"I am not asleep,” he exclaimed. “What is it?”
“ Lady Malreward wishes to know if she can come and see
you,” the nurse answered somewhat sharply. “I thought you
were asleep.”
“On the contrary, nurse,” said Loryat. “I am very much
awake, and should like to see Lady Malreward."
The nurse whispered something to the maid, and the latter
departed. Loryat asked for a looking-glass, and inspected
his face ruefully.
“I could have done with a shave,” he said. “I look a
horrible ruffian, nurse, don't l?”
“No, indeed,” she replied. “Some men don't look at all
bad when they're rough and unshaven. You're one of them,
Mr. Loryat. You might be a backwoodsman or an Arctic ex-
plorer.”
“Well, smarten me up as best you can,” he said.
She brushed his hair, smoothed his bedclothes, and wiped
his face with a sponge. Then she set a vase of roses by the
bedside, and tidied up the room. She had told the maid that
Loryat could see his visitor in ten minutes' time.
She was putting the finishing touches to a table covered
with medicine bottles, when there was a knock at the door,
and Lady Malreward entered the room. As she came to the
bedside, Loryat's eyes were fixed upon her with almost pathetic
eagerness. He held out his thin white hand, and she took it
in fingers that were almost as white and as cold as his own.
“How can I ever thank you,” he whispered. “You have
been so good to me.”
“I am repaid,” she answered with a smile, “ since I have
heard that you are getting on so famously."
" It is something to have a friend at a time like this,” he
continued in a low voice, “ and I hope to repay you — when
I am quite well and strong. At present — well, I am rather
in the dark.”


188 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ It will not be for long, Mr. Loryat,” she answered. “Sir
Arthur said that it would not be for long. You are already
beginning to remember a little, are you not? ”
“Yes, a little — more than a little. I find I can write and
draw after a fashion.”
“Ah, that is good news indeed,” Dorothy Malreward cried
eagerly; but the eagerness was partly assumed. There were
many reasons why she did not wish his memory to be restored
to him.
“They tell me I am painting your portrait,” he said wist-
fully, “but I doubt if I can have done you justice.”
“You have done me more than justice," Lady Malre-
ward replied. “You shall see your picture — when you are
better."
“As soon as I can stand the shock,” he said, with a smile.
“I must have had plenty of self-confidence when I undertook
the task.”
Lady Malreward was silent. As a rule flattery was not dis-
tasteful to her, but in this particular instance she did not ap-
preciate it. Flattery is nothing from the lips of those we
love. She looked away from him at the nurse who was still
sitting by the window.
“Can I show the picture to Mr. Loryat, nurse?” she asked
after a pause.
“Well, really, my lady — I don't know whether — Mr.
Loryat has been doing a good deal today, and the doctor
said
“Oh, well, it doesn't matter," Lady Malreward cut in
sharply. “Tomorrow will do as well.”
“No, today,” said the sick man. “Please, Lady Malreward,
today — now — at once. Please don't say no, nurse.”
“ It is for her ladyship to say,” the nurse answered stiffly.
“Do you think there would be any harm? ” pleaded Lady
Malreward. “No, I don't think there would. Ring the bell,
nurse, will you?”
A maidservant answered the summons, and she received in-


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 189
structions to tell two footmen to bring the painting and to
carry it very carefully.
“I hope I shall survive the ordeal,” jested Loryat, but
the look in his eyes was not that of a man who jests.
Presently there came a knock upon the door, and two foot-
men entered, and between them a picture nearly five feet in
height, covered with a white cloth.
“Set it down here,” said Lady Malreward, pointing to a
place where the picture would get the light from the window,
and at the same time be in such a position that Loryat could
see it without any effort on his part.
The men withdrew, and Lady Malreward herself took the
cloth off the picture.
“There you are,” she said, “there is your portrait of the
ideal Dorothy Malreward.”
Loryat gazed long and earnestly at the half-finished picture.
The light from the window fell full on the canvas, and a ray
of sunshine made the hair gleam like molten copper. The
effort was dazzling and superb.
“Well? ” asked Lady Malreward. “What do you think
of it? ”
“I am glad that it is my work,” Loryat said slowly. “May
God give me the power to finish it.”
Lady Malreward looked out of the window, and a shadow
crossed her face. It was plain that the picture was every.
thing to the man she loved, and that she herself was nothing.
To her he had spoken a few words of idle flattery, but the por-
trait had stirred the very depths of his soul. If at that moment
she had had it in her power to give or withhold the gift which
the young artist desired to be restored to him she would have
withheld it. She would have been glad to think that he had
lost the skill that meant so much to him, that served to occupy
all his thoughts. Perhaps when this was taken away he would
be able to turn the fierce desires of his heart to other things
- perhaps once more he would learn to love.
“You — you cannot understand what this means to me,"


190 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
said Loryat, as he saw the look of displeasure on Lady Malre-
ward's face,“ what hopes it raises, what possibilities of infinite
despair and useless longing."
“I think I can understand, Mr. Loryat,” she replied.
For a few seconds there was silence. Loryat leant back on
his pillows with closed eyes, as though exhausted by his emo-
tions. Lady Malreward stared out of the window at the
valley which lay sleeping in the sunlight. The nurse went
on with a piece of embroidery which occupied her busy fingers
when there was nothing else for her to do.
Then Loryat opened his eyes, glanced once more at the
picture, and then gazed at Lady Malreward. As he did so
something flashed across his brain, and his fingers closed
tightly in the palms of his hands, and he bit his lip to repress
a cry of joy.
“I can see,” he cried. “I can remember — some of the
past is coming back to me.”
Lady Malreward turned sharply, and there was a look of
fear in her eyes. The nurse laid down her embroidery, rose
to her feet, and came to the bedside.
“You must please not excite yourself, Mr. Loryat,” she said
sternly. “You look absolutely exhausted. Lady Malreward,
I beg of you - ” She paused and left the sentence un-
finished. Dorothy Malreward smiled.
“Yes, I will go, nurse. I will tell the servants to take away
the picture.”
“No,” said Loryat, fiercely. “I will not have the picture
taken away from me. Oh, please forgive me, Lady Malre-
ward, for speaking like that; please do not have the picture
taken away. If you only knew what it means to me; it is a
link with the past — I saw the studio quite plainly just now
- there were carnations in a bowl — long mullioned windows
- I saw the easel and the picture, and you as well — sitting
against the black curtains "
“You shall keep your picture,” she said gently, and coming
to the bedside, she held out her hand; "but I must leave you,"


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 191
she added. “I am in nurse's bad books already. Good-bye,
Mr. Loryat, and remember that whatever you want, you must
ask for, and you shall have it, if it is good for you.”
“You are generous,” he murmured, holding her hand in his
wasted fingers. “I do not know what I have done to deserve
such kindness. If I can ever repay you - "
“Don't talk of repayment, Mr. Loryat,” she said with a
smile. “The little I have done for you has been to please
myself. You will repay me by getting well and strong again,
and finishing my picture.”
He looked from Lady Malreward to the picture, and once
again an eager light came into his eyes.
“ The studio,” he said quickly," was I right? Was there a
bowl of carnations - a long mullioned window? ”
“ Yes,” she answered coldly, “ you were right. Your
memory is returning to you."
She gave a few instructions to the nurse about the picture,
and left the room.
“ His memory is returning to him," she thought as she went
out on to the terrace, and walked up and down in the sun-
light. “At present there is only a glimmer of light. But
in time - he may remember everything. What was it Sir
Arthur said about association? I must not forget that.”
She looked up, as a shadow fell across her path, and saw
one of the footmen coming towards her.
“Well, Martin,” she asked, “ what is it?”
“Miss Lyte has called to see you, m'lady. I've shown her
into the small drawing-room.”
“Did you tell her I was in?”
“No, m'lady. I said I'd see "
“Tell Miss Lyte that I will be with her in a few minutes."
verything not forgeth, and saw


CHAPTER XXVIII
When ten minutes had elapsed Lady Malreward, looking
very fair and radiant, entered the small drawing-room.
Beryl Lyte, who had been standing by the window, came for.
ward to meet her - a slim, white-faced girl, clad in deep
mourning. Her appearance was in such marked contrast to
the splendour of Lady Malreward that the latter could not help
feeling satisfied.
“My dear Beryl,” she said, holding out her hand, “I can't
tell you how glad I am to see you.”
The girl took the proffered hand in her cold fingers, and
then dropped it as though she had been stung. There was a
faint smile on her lips.
“How is Dick? ” she asked. “I thought perhaps you would
have let me know. You have my address."
"I did not think it mattered to you,” Lady Malreward an.
swered coldly. “Please sit down. Have you had tea?”
“No - I have had nothing since breakfast.”
“ Merciful Heavens!” cried Lady Malreward. “You must
have something at once," and she rang the bell.
“ Thank you," said Beryl, faintly. “I-I am rather
hungry.”
“You look worn out, you poor thing. I suppose you left
town too early to get lunch.”
“No, that was not it, Lady Malreward. I had no lunch be-
cause I had not got the money to pay for it. I have not come
from London.”
Lady Malreward made no reply. She hardly knew what
to say. Sympathy seemed out of place in the face of this
blunt and almost brutal statement of fact. The footman
entered and received orders for a substantial tea.
192


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 193:
“I have come from Bristol,” Beryl continued. “I have
been working there as a typist for some months.”
“I heard you were engaged to be married to a rich man.”
“I was — for a week. Then my courage failed me, and
I broke off the engagement. I could not do him so great
a wrong as to marry him — but I have not come here to talk
about myself. I want to know about Mr. Loryat.”
“He is better. His life has been spared. In a few weeks
he will be well and strong. Who told you of the accident? ”
"I read of it in a paper — only yesterday. I do not take
in a paper, but this was an old one — something was wrapped
up in it - I forget what.”
“You should have written, Beryl, have sent a telegram;
then I could have put you up. As it is — ”.
"I quite understand,” the girl cried, and as she spoke the
colour rushed into her white cheeks. “I quite understand,”
she repeated. “I think we know each other by now.”
“My dear Beryl,” expostulated Lady Malreward. “What
is the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing, Lady Malreward. I lost my temper,
that is all. I haven't come down here to be angry with you.
I beg your pardon most humbly. I want to see Dick - that
is what I have come here for — I beg of you to let me see
him.”
“I am afraid that is quite impossible, Beryl. He is not
allowed to see anybody at present.”
“But I have come so far,” the girl faltered. “I would not
even speak to him. If I could only see him.”
Standing there with bowed head, in her cheap black gar.
ments of woe, she seemed the very incarnation of hopeless
misery. She was something to be pitied not to be feared.
“Sit down, Beryl,” said Lady Malreward, gently. “Here
comes Martin with the tea.”
Beryl Lyte seated herself in a chair and smiled bravely.
She did not wish her grief to be made a subject of discussion
in the servants' hall.


194 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ Chicken sandwiches — beef sandwiches — foie gras sand.
wiches — which will you have, Beryl? Please help yourself,
and don't wait to be asked. How do you like your tea? I
forget.”
“No sugar, thank you, Lady Malreward,” the girl replied,
helping herself to a chicken sandwich.
“And strong, I think — well, at any rate, you'd better have
it strong now. You look fagged out. Would you rather have
some champagne?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” the girl sobbed. “I— I'm all right.
Please don't be too - too kind to me. I can't stand it."
“What you've got to do is to eat a good deal,” said Lady
Malreward, cheerfully, “and not worry about anything else
just at present.”
The conversation languished for a little while. Lady Malre-
ward made a few remarks about general topics, remarks that
required no answer. Beryl spoke not at all, but she finished
the plates of beef and chicken sandwiches. She also drank
three cups of very strong tea.
“I am ashamed of myself,” she said with a faint smile,
when she had refused to take anything more, “but I really
was hungry, and they were such excellent sandwiches."
Lady Malreward laughed and turned the remark aside with
a jest. Yet she was quite aware of the tragedy that lay
beneath. She had read of abject poverty among well-bred
men and women, but she had never come into contact with it
before.
“Now, you must tell me all about yourself, Beryl,” said
Lady Malreward, after a long silence. “That is to say, if
it doesn't pain you. I am sorry to see that you are in mourn-
ing.”
“Yes,” the girl answered in a low voice. “My mother died
ten days ago."
“Oh, Beryl, I am sorry!” said Lady Malreward, who in-
deed felt genuine sorrow for the girl so long as the latter did
not interfere with her own happiness.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 195
“Yes, she died ten days ago,” Beryl repeated harshly. “I
have no home now, but I have had no real home for years."
“But you are not quite alone in the world; you have a
sister?”
“Yes, a sister who will have nothing to do with me, Lady
Malreward — a sister who has inherited my mother's little
bit of money and who is not inclined to waste any of it in
helping me. But I can fight for myself. I do not need any
help.”
“I would give it you if you would take it,” Lady Malreward
said gently.
Beryl bit her lip, and looked down at her folded hands.
“I could take nothing from you,” she answered. “ Please
don't think me hard or unforgiving or ungrateful, but I could
not accept help — of that sort — from anybody.”
“I did not mean money,” said Lady Malreward, hastily.
“I meant that I would do as I did once for you before. I
would try to get you a comfortable home, where you would
earn all that was given to you. By the by, I did not hear why
you left the Ponsonbys.”
Beryl coloured. “I would rather not talk of that.”
“Well, I can guess," said Lady Malreward. “ It was
Harold, wasn't it?”
“Yes,” said the girl, faintly. “He made love to me -
against my will. His mother found it out, and — I left.”
She covered her face with her hands and Lady Malreward
looked at her contemptuously. She knew how she would have
played her cards under the circumstances.
“ And then? ” she queried.
“ Then I tried dressmaking. I've made most of my own
dresses for years — and after that it was typing – or was it
the stage? I was a chorus girl for a month - I don't know
altogether the order of the events — and then I got a post
as book-keeper in a shop at Bristol, and after that I went as
a typist and secretary to a business man in the same town.
I'm there still.”


196 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“You don't like the life? ” queried Lady Malreward.
"I hate it. It has taken all my strength of mind to go on
with the work. But I won't give in now.”
“You have given in,” Lady Malreward said, slowly; "you
have come here to see Mr. Loryat, who was once in love with
you.”
OW-
“No!” Beryl cried fiercely. “I have come to see him, but
there can never be anything between us again.”
“When he was poor and in disgrace,” Lady Malreward
continued pitilessly, “ you gave him up. But now — when he
is on the high road to fame and fortune ”
“How dare you say that, Lady Malreward, how dare you!
You know it is not true. Sick of the battle for my daily
bread, I promised to marry a man who is richer than Mr.
Loryat will ever be. And of my own free will I gave him up.”
“Why?”
“Because I did not love him,” said Beryl, slowly.
“Because you still love Richard Loryat?”
“Yes,” the girl whispered. “I know that I can never
marry him after the way I have treated him, but I still love
him, and I will marry no one else."
“You treated him hardly," Lady Malreward said, in an even
voice. “You gave him up because he had helped me over
a most terrible crisis in my life. You thought that he had
no right to keep any secret from you, even a secret which
affected a woman's honour. You were mean, jealous, and
spiteful. What can you expect from any man who respects
himself? ”
“ Nothing,” Beryl answered; “nothing."
“You thought that he was in love with me,” Lady Malre-
ward continued, as quietly as though she were speaking of
some one else's love affairs. “You were never more mistaken
in your life.”
Beryl Lyte rose to her feet and looked Lady Malreward
straight in the face.
“ Perhaps I was mistaken,” she said passionately. “But I


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 199
“I would not care,” the girl cried, defiantly. “I would not
care."
a
gard for me very gates of my he woman, who was
Lady Malreward smiled. “Well, think it over,” she said
pleasantly.
“You are in love with him. You can't deny that you are
in love with him.”
“I certainly deny it, Beryl. I should have done exactly
the same for any one else, man or woman, who was seriously
injured at the very gates of my house. I have very great re-
gard for Mr. Loryat — ”
“You love him,” Beryl cried fiercely. “You love him!”
“I have a great regard for Mr. Loryat," Lady Malreward
continued without heeding the interruption. “He has sacri.
ficed a great deal for my sake, and perhaps not the least thing
he has lost is the trust and sympathy of the woman to whom
he was engaged to be married.”
“Swear that you do not love him,” the girl exclaimed;
“swear that you will not take him from me.”
“ I don't think we need play the game as low as that, Beryl.
You are at liberty to see Mr. Loryat as soon as he is well.
Let us wait till then before we talk of oaths and revenge and
all that sort of thing. For the present I am ready to forgive
you words that I'm sure you will repent of when you are alone
and able to think quietly."
Beryl Lyte seated herself in a chair and leant back with
closed eyes. She was white and exhausted with the scene
she had just gone through. She did not look at all as if she
held the whip hand of Lady Malreward. The latter indeed re-
garded her enemy with a confident smile.
“I don't think you meant all the cruel things you have said,
Beryl,” Lady Malreward continued. “And I really do wish
to help you. Have you any plans? If not, I think I know
of something that might just suit you. My aunt, Mrs. Hailes,
is going abroad this winter, and wants a companion.”
Beryl rose to her feet and looked wearily round the room.
“ I am grateful to you,” she said in a faltering voice,“ but


200 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
I can accept nothing - as yet. I have work — that will keep
me for a little while.” And she began to move towards the
door, walking very slowly.
“Where are you going to, Beryl? ” asked Lady Malreward.
“Back to the station. Good-bye.”
Lady Malreward follov,ed her, and caught her by the arm.
“Don't be foolish, Beryl. You cannot possibly walk to the
station."
“I am quite strong," she said quietly," and I would rather
walk.”
“Beryl, you've taken leave of your senses."
“ Perhaps I have, Lady Malreward. But I do not wish for
your assistance. Possibly some one in the village may give
me a lift part of the way.”
Lady Malreward frowned, and then, when Beryl had left
the room, she seated herself at a writing table, and hastily
scribbled the following note: -
"DEAR MR. Gist,
“Please see that your trap is waiting a mile outside
the village, on the main road, within twenty minutes after
the receipt of this note. A lady will pass you, dressed in
black, and walking to Talbridge Station. Kindly offer her a
lift, and drive her all the way. Say nothing about these in.
structions to her or any one else, and I will recompense you
for your trouble. Make it appear as if you had met her by ac-
cident.
“Yours faithfully,
“ DOROTHY MALREWARD.”
She sealed the letter up and rang the bell. “Take this
letter, Martin,” she said to the footman when he appeared,
“and hurry down to the inn with it as fast as you can go."
The man departed, and Lady Malreward smiled.
“Even the smallest things count,” she said to herself, “ when
the balance is struck between good and evil.”


CHAPTER XXIX
Richard Loryat stretched out his hand, and groping for the
matchbox, struck a light, and looked at the watch which lay
on the table by his bedside. On the mantelpiece a night-
light threw a faint glow on the walls and ceiling, but it was
impossible to see the time by the feeble glimmer, and so
Loryat struck a match.
“Half past three,” he said to himself; “it is hours before
daylight. If only I could sleep, if only I could sleep!”
A month had now elapsed since his accident, and he had
progressed as far as to be allowed to sit up in a chair, and
had even been downstairs for half an hour. His strength was
rapidly returning to him, and with it had come a renewal of
his artistic faculties. Every day the doctor had allowed him
to devote a certain amount of time to the work on which he
would be forced to rely for his daily bread. At first it had
only been a few minutes, but that day he had been allowed
a whole hour, and he had done a small water-colour sketch
of Lady Malreward. Compared with his previous efforts the
results had been satisfactory, and the excitement had been so
great that it had been followed by a sleepless night.
" I'm a fool,” he thought, as he turned over on his side
and closed his eyes. “I must go more quietly — yet, this
afternoon - it was the first time I have been able to believe
that I am the same person as the man who did that half-
finished picture of Lady Malreward. It will all come back to
me — all my skill. As for the rest, it does not matter. Let
it remain in darkness."
He had closed his eyes but he could not sleep. And then
in the silence he heard a voice, low, but distinct:
201


202 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“If you remain at Norton-Malreward,” the voice said, “you
will surely die.”
It was fortunate for Richard Loryat at this time that he
remembered nothing of his friend Kentisbury, nor of the
manner of his death, and that he was not even aware that
he was occupying the very room in which Kentisbury had
died.
“ If you remain at Norton-Malreward,” the voice repeated,
“ you will surely die.”
Loryat's lips tightened, and he looked at the window. There
was no uncertainty this time Some one had spoken to him
- some one who was outside the house. The window, he
knew, was open, but it was hidden by the curtains which were
drawn across it. He quietly stretched out his hand, and, press-
ing down the knob of an electric bell that was placed within
his reach, kept his finger there for half a minute.
“It's a shame to disturb her," he thought, “but I think,
under the circumstances "
The curtain trembled ever so slightly, as though it had been
stirred by a breeze, and Loryat's eyes were fixed on it, and
as he watched, expecting to see it drawn back, he began to be
afraid.
“Who are you?” he cried aloud in terror. “What do you
want with me?”
There was no reply. The curtain had ceased to tremble, and
hung in straight, motionless folds.
Then, in the distance, he heard footsteps, and as they came
nearer he gave a sigh of relief, and sank back on his pillows.
A moment later the door was opened, and the nurse entered,
with a candle in her hand.
Loryat sat up and placed his finger to his lips as she entered
the room. She understood the signal and came to the bed-
side without a word.
“There is some one outside the window," he whispered.
“He has been speaking to me, has threatened me with
death No, don't go to the window. Leave me; call


204 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Oh, no, I couldn't think of giving you so much trouble."
“Dr. Renfrew insists upon it. He thinks you ought not to
remain in this room after what happened last night.”
Loryat was silent for nearly a minute. Then he gave utter-
ance to the thought that was uppermost in his mind.
“I think I ought to be leaving here soon, Lady Malreward,”
he said. “I have already been a sufficient burden upon
your hospitality.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Loryat, you mustn't talk like that. If you
do, I shall think that scoundrel frightened you last night."
“I must go soon,” he whispered. “I have my life to
live; I cannot be a burden to others.”
“You are afraid,” Lady Malreward replied.
“Yes,” he said after a pause. “I must confess that I am
afraid. And shall I tell you why, Lady Malreward?”
“Because you are weak and ill, Mr. Loryat. That is the
only reason."
“No, there is another reason,” he said, looking at her with
a puzzled expression on his face. “The words I heard last
night have been ringing in my brain ever since, and I fancy
— that somewhere — I have heard them before.”
“Oh, that is surely your imagination,” Lady Malreward
replied.
“ It may be so," he said quietly, “but perhaps - it is
only a bit of the past coming back to me.”
Lady Malreward rose from her chair and smiled. “I wish
you to get well very quickly," she said, "and to stay in my
house until you are quite fit to face the world again. And
then I want you — to finish my portrait. Nurse, you will
see to the moving, won't you? I have to pay some calls this
afternoon.”
Lady Malreward left the room and made her way to her
own bedroom.
“ Jack Kentisbury was murdered," she said to herself, as
she leant her arms on the window-sill and looked out across
the valley towards the sea," and the same man intends to kill


206 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
fully. “That is most interesting. I wonder where he could
have heard them. Do you think it possible that Mr. Kentis-
bury could have been warned or threatened — in a similar
way?"
“I don't know, Mr. Baildon. Of course it is possible, but
still I think Mr. Kentisbury would have said something about
it.”
“He may have said something to Mr. Loryat."
“Yes, perhaps that is so; perhaps, however, it is only the
fancy of a sick man.”
“In any case I think the threat or warning, whichever it
is, will be followed by an attempt on the life of Mr. Loryat.
That is why I have come down here without losing a moment.
I am going to return to town, and when I come back, which
will be early tomorrow morning, I shall — ”.
He paused and looked at the portrait of Sir Philip Mal.
reward, over the mantelpiece.
“Who is that?” he asked abruptly. “Whose portrait
is it? "
“Sir Philip, my late husband. Why do you ask?"
Mr. Baildon hesitated before he replied, and kept his eyes
fixed on the portrait.
“Sir Philip Malreward? ” he said slowly. “Excellently
done - one could almost fancy those eyes were looking one
through and through.”
“Why did you ask?” Lady Malreward repeated.
“I thought it was some one I knew,” he answered, “but I
don't think I ever saw Sir Philip. What was it I was saying?”
“ That you were going to return to town.”
“Yes, and while I'm away you must have the outside of
the house watched day and night, and Mr. Loryat must never
be left alone. I shall be back shortly after midday tomorrow,
and shall come up here to take the situation you have kindly
offered me.”
“The situation I have offered you, Mr. Baildon?”
"Yes, as one of your under-gardeners. You have eight,


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 207
haven't you? One more or less won't matter. You will
tell your head-gardener tonight that you have engaged me out
of charity, and that I know practically nothing about the
work.”
“But really, Mr. Baildon," she protested.
“I must beg of you to do as I wish,” he said sternly.
“Otherwise I will not hold myself responsible for Mr. Lor-
yat's safety. If you throw any obstacle in the way, Lady
Malreward ”
He paused, and looked at her in a way that gave the lie
to the pleading tone of his voice.
“I should not dream of doing such a thing," she answered
sweetly. “I was only thinking that Buchanan or some of
the servants might recognize you."
“Oh, they won't do that, Lady Malreward,” he said, with
a laugh. “You leave that to me. My name will be Jones
– Archibald Jones. May your motor take me to the station?”
“With pleasure. And would you like it to meet you to-
morrow?”
“Oh no,” he answered, with a laugh. “Archibald Jones
will walk. But you will please arrange that he sleeps near
to the house, if not in the house itself.”
"I will do everything to help you,” she said quietly. Then
she rang the bell, and gave the order about the motor. Mr.
Baildon occupied the next few minutes in making various
inquiries which would help him in his new rôle of gardener,
and asking certain questions about the plan of the house and
grounds.
When at last he was whirled away in the motor, Lady
Malreward gave a sigh of relief, and returning to the draw-
ing-room, seated herself in a chair, and thought over this
new terror that had come into her life.


CHAPTER XXX
“This won't do at all,” said Mr. Grant, pursing his lips
and frowning as he looked over a typewritten letter, and
underlined various errors with a blue pencil. “ It won't do
at all, Miss Lyte.”
Beryl made no reply.
“ The figures are all wrong," he continued, " and the spell-
ing is by no means all that it should be. Such a letter as that,
Miss Lyte," and he tapped the offending document with his
pencil, “ if it were allowed to go out of this office, would
cover us with everlasting shame and disgrace. What have
you to say, Miss Lyte? What have you to say?"
“I-I am very sorry, sir," the girl faltered. “I — I'm
afraid I'm not very well this morning.”
“Nor yesterday, Miss Lyte, nor the day before, nor the day
before that. I hoped when we gave you that day's holi-
day that you would return to us with renewed health and
vigour. But, alas, our hopes have not been justified. You
remember what I told you yesterday.”
“Yes, sir,” she said in a low voice, “but please give me
another chance. I am really ill, and you know that I can
do the work all right when I'm well."
Mr. Grant shook his head. “The great machinery of
commerce,” he said pompously, “ must be sound in the small-
est parts. The weak are as detrimental to business as those
who are wilfully idle or dishonest. That is a cruel law of
nature, Miss Lyte, but it is one that prevails.”
“Then I am to go? ” she said quietly.
“I'm afraid so, Miss Lyte,” the man answered slowly.
“I am ill,” Beryl ventured," and that is why I cannot do
my work properly. If I could have a week's rest "
208


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 209
“You shall have a month's rest,” said Mr. Grant. “You
can leave now, and you will receive three pounds, being
four weeks' salary, for doing nothing. During that time you
will doubtless find something else to do. Will you kindly
send Miss Lucas to me? I wish to re-dictate this letter.”
Beryl Lyte stood irresolute for a few seconds, opened her
mouth as if to speak, and then turned on her heel and slowly
walked towards the door of Mr Grant's private office.
“Good-bye, Miss Lyte,” he said pleasantly.
“Good-bye, sir,” she replied. “I am grateful to you for
your kindness.”
Then she left the room, and five minutes later, having said
good-bye to some of her associates, and taking three pounds
from the cashier, she went out into the street.
Like Richard Loryat, she had been dismissed from an
occupation that was little better than an ignoble slavery.
But whereas his freedom had meant leisure to do work that
was more worthy of his talents, hers meant only a search
for similiar employment.
She made her way along the wet and greasy pavements,
and after half an hour's steady walking reached a small dismal
house in a row of similiar buildings. She made her way
wearily up the stairs to the bedroom, for which she paid
four shillings and sixpence a week, closed the door, and
Ainging herself on the bed, burst into tears.
And as she lay there, with the sharp cries of a quarrel
echoing through the little house, her mind went back to
Norton-Malreward — to the splendid, spacious rooms, the
dignity and the silence, the view from the windows over the
valley and moorland and sea, the little army of servants,
obsequious even to a paid companion, the smooth grass lawns
and great spreading trees, the luxury and refinement of every
small detail of life.
“ Lady Malreward has all this,” she thought, “and I have
nothing."
Nothing! Not even the love of Richard Loryat. That


210 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
would be taken from her by the woman who had everything.
“You ain't asleep, are yer? ” shouted a rough voice, and
opening the door, the landlady entered the room.
Beryl Lyte hastily rose from the bed and looked at the
red-faced, slatternly woman.
“What is it, Mrs. Burt? ” she asked faintly.
"" There be a gent to see yer — I've shown 'im into our
best parlour.”
“Who is it?”
“ Cubrick, 'is name is — 'im as used to come 'ere.”
Beryl Lyte hesitated for a few seconds before she made
a reply. She had no desire to see Mr. Cubrick, whom she
had treated very badly, but she was thinking of the kindest
way to word her refusal.
“Yer ain't fallin' asleep, are yer? ” sneered the woman at
the door. “I s'pose I ain't nothing better to do than stand
'ere waitin' for your ladyship to speak.”
“I will see Mr. Cubrick in a minute,” Beryl answered.
The woman departed, and her heavy footsteps clattered
down the stairs. Beryl stood motionless before the glass. She
started as a door banged somewhere below, and began to
tidy her hair.
Seven minutes elapsed before she left the bedroom and made
her way downstairs. In the kitchen the landlady and her
husband were still quarrelling, but the child's howls had
given place to a pitiful wailing. Beryl opened the door
of the “best parlour,” and a tall, fair-haired man, who
was standing by the little window, turned sharply, and
stretched out his hand. The room was so small that she
could touch his fingers by moving forward a couple of paces.
“Keeping me at arm's length still,” he said, cheerfully,
"Well, you are a foolish little girl, aren't you?”
She withdrew her hand from his grasp and shuddered.
Yet there was nothing either in the appearance or character
of James Cubrick to make a woman shrink from him.
“I shan't hurt you," he said gently. “You need not be


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 211
afraid of me, Beryl. It is you who have the power to hurt me.
You have done so already, but I have not come here to re-
proach you."
“Oh, I wish you had not come,” she cried. “You ought
not to have come.”
“I could not help it,” he said simply. “Shall we sit
down and talk for a few minutes? ”
“Yes — if you insist,” she faltered.
“I do — insist,” he replied, but there was no tone of harsh-
ness in his voice.
“ You should not come here — how could you come, after
the way I have behaved to you?”
“You did what you believed to be right,” he said slowly,
" and I honour you for it. I know that you do not love me,
little girl; I know you think you would be doing me a great
wrong by marrying me. But if I am content "
Beryl covered her face with her hands and began to
cry, and for a few brief moments she felt so weak that she
would have yielded, if he had taken her in his arms and tried
to comfort her.
“I cannot wrong you,” she faltered, “nor can I wrong my-
self. I did not tell you all the truth — when I wrote you
that letter — when I said again and again that I could not
marry a man I did not love. I kept something from you —
something that would always stand between us."
“What is that?” he asked gravely. “Will you tell me
now?”
“Yes, I must tell you now,” she said, keeping her eyes
fixed on the ground, “ if you cannot guess."
“I think I can,” he answered quietly. “There is some
one else."
“Yes; and that must always stand between us.”
James Cubrick turned away, and looked out of the window
at the dingy street.
“You are right,” he said, after a long silence, “that —
must always stand between us. I am glad — you have told


212 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
me. I hope — that he is worthy of you; but I am afraid
he is not, or he would not let you work like this. He would
marry you, however poor he was.”
“He will never marry me," she replied faintly, and then she
turned and faced him, her hands clasped in a piteous ap-
peal.
“For pity's sake, leave me," she cried. “You have
wrung my secret from me. I am not strong enough to bear
any more.”
“ I will say no more," he answered gravely. “I did not
wish to pry into the secrets of your heart, Beryl. I have
come here to help you. I hoped that perhaps you would
reconsider your decision, but now I can see how impossible
it is for my hope to be realized. But there was something
else I wished to say to you, and I hope, if you still look on
me as a friend, that you will let me say it."
“I shall always look upon you as a friend,” she said, in
a low voice, “as the best and kindest friend I have in the
world — as perhaps the only friend I have in the world.”
“I am glad of that,” he said thoughtfully, “ for then you
will let me help you. May I ask what your plans are for
the future?”
“I have no plans," she answered. “I shall go on work-
ing, I suppose.”
"Oh, that's all nonsense. You're not fit for the work
you've chosen. I am going to find you something else - I
have found you something else.”
“Something that I can do? ” she asked.
“Yes. I know an old lady who wants a companion. She
is going to winter in Cairo, and starts in a week's time. If
you care for that sort of thing, I think the rest will do you
good.”
" It is very — very kind of you," she faltered. And then
she paused. She did not wish to go abroad, for she would
be leaving Lady Malreward to weave her net round Loryat;
but, on the other hand, she had no clear idea of what she


214 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
said old Mrs. Seton, her keen blue eyes twinkling with amuse-
ment, as she looked at Beryl's white face.
“Please don't talk of that,” the girl said piteously.
“You prefer the society of an old woman like me,” Mrs.
Seton continued, “to the doubtful prospects of matrimony.
Well, there's no accounting for tastes.”
Beryl smiled — she understood that part of her duties was
to smile — and looked at the old lady. Mrs. Seton had once
been a great beauty, and was still very handsome.
"I needn't ask about your character,” Mrs. Seton continued,
“ for Jim Cubrick would never even look at a woman who
wasn't as good as gold. You were with Lady Malreward, I
believe, for some time?”
“Yes,” Beryl answered faintly.
“I knew her husband, as a boy,” Mrs. Seton continued.
“He is, as a matter of fact, a very distant connection of
mine. I was a Tressil.”
“Really,” said Beryl, without any show of interest.
“Why did you leave Norton-Malreward?” Mrs. Seton
asked.
Beryl did not answer. She could not tell the truth, and
did not wish to tell a lie.
"I think I can guess," said Mrs. Seton. “ There was not
room for two pretty women in one house — well, I won't set
that against you. You and I are not likely to be rivals,
though if you had come to me forty years ago — ”
And the old lady laughed at the recollection of her own
charms.
“I am quite sure, Mrs. Seton,” the girl said with a smile,
" that you would not have been afraid of me or turned me out
of your house."
“Bravo!” cried the old woman. “Bravo! I couldn't have
turned a better compliment myself. I think we shall get on
very well together, Miss Lyte But if you mope, and go about
with a long face
“I won't do that," Beryl replied. “I think you will be


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 215
kind to me, and I shall be happy. As you see me now, I am
rather at a disadvantage.”
“Yes, yes, poor child. I know. You've just lost your
mother, and you've been starving on a servant's wage with.
out the board and lodging that a servant gets for nothing.
But I want you to get out of that frame of mind. I want to
see you smile — without effort, not as though your bread
depended on it.”
“ If I am happy, Mrs. Seton, I can smile."
Then the old lady spoke of terms.
“I shall accept whatever you offer me,” Beryl said quietly.
“Shall we say a hundred a year?”
“That would be generous of you, Mrs. Seton ”
“Well, then, a hundred a year, and — if you will allow me
to make you a present of twenty-five pounds now ”
“No!” cried Beryl; “I could not allow that.”
“ Very well, then, I will advance you twenty-five pounds
out of your salary, so that you can get a few things before
we leave England.”
“It is most kind - most generous of you."
For a few moments there was silence, and Mrs. Seton re-
garded the girl's face with a close scrutiny that would have
been insolence in a younger woman.
“May I give you a bit of advice, my child? ” she said
kindly. “ It is the privilege of the old to give advice.”
“ Certainly, Mrs. Seton."
“Well, then, don't take on this business at all. Go straight
home and write a letter to James Cubrick, and say that you'll
marry him.”
“That is impossible, Mrs. Seton. Please don't talk about
it.”
“He will make you very happy," the old woman continued.
“He is one of the best of men in the world. It doesn't
matter if you don't love him; you will before you've been
married a year to him.”
“Please don't talk of it, Mrs. Seton.”


CHAPTER XXXI
“Well, Jones, and how are you getting on with your new
work?”
“ Nicely, thank you, m’lady," said the new under-gardener,
touching his ragged and dirty cap. “I'll show 'ee a border
as I digged up this marnin'- a fine piece of work it be, though
I say it as shouldn't.”
Lady Malreward laughed, and followed him as he crawled
along a path for a hundred yards; she knew that he was lead-
ing her to a place where they could talk without being observed
or overheard.
“There it be,” he said as he turned a corner and pointed to
a patch of ground that looked as if it had been scratched up
by cats.
“You must do better than this, Jones,” Lady Malreward
said in a low voice,“ or the other men will have their suspi-
cions about you."
Mr. Baildon laughed and looked round to see if any one
could possibly be listening.
“I like the other men,” he replied in his natural voice,
“and if it weren't for this beard, which is not very comfort-
able when one is working, I should really be enjoying my-
self. It's a fine thing for a man, this life in the open air."
“Is there any news? ” she asked eagerly. “Please be
quick. I can't talk too long — to an under-gardener.”
“Yes, Lady Malreward, there is news, but I am afraid it
will have to keep for a little while."
“ Then why did you bring me here? " she asked angrily.
“I wanted to speak to you, Lady Malreward. I hear that
Mr. Loryat is leaving you tomorrow, and that he is going to
take up bis quarters at the inn.”
217


218 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Yes, that is so.”
“Well, you must persuade him to stay — for at least a
week longer.”
“What news have you?” Lady Malreward asked. “If you
won't be open with me I cannot help you.”
“Well, I'll tell you one thing. Mr. Sankey, or the
man who calls himself Mr. Sankey, is in the neighbourhood
again.”
"Ah!” said Lady Malreward, thoughtfully. “And you
think he is the man you want? ”
" It is possible. Of course, he is not known to be here.
Mr. Chidley has gone abroad, has he not?”
“Yes, for a little while."
“And the ‘Den ’is shut up?”
“Yes, I know the servants have been dismissed."
“Yet a man left the ‘Den’ last night shortly after ten
o'clock.”
“ Did you see his face?”
“No,” the detective replied; “but I think that it was the
man we call Sankey for want of a better name. I followed
him, but lost the trail. It was dark, as you know, last
night. I wired to Scotland Yard this morning, through Jarvis,
to send another man down here, and his sole business will be
to watch the ‘ Den.'”
“And you really think that this man Sankey is the man
who threatened Mr. Loryat?”
“I do — unless it was Chidley himself. They are accom.
plices, that is certain. But what the motive is I can't say
just at present. Anyway, Mr. Loryat must not leave here for
a few days. If he does, I cannot guarantee his safety."
Lady Malreward stirred the ground with the point of her
parasol.
“I will do all I can," she said in a low voice. “I must
leave you now.”
As she walked up and down the terrace her heart was sick
with fear. She longed to get rid of Mr. Baildon at any cost,
man Y


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 219
and yet, perhaps the very life of the man she loved depended
on the detective remaining at Norton-Malreward.
Loryat must stay at Norton-Malreward. She desired it for
her own sake. She must not let him go out into the world
again till she had bound him with chains that he could not
break. Little by little his past was returning to him.
Then the man himself came out of the door opening on to
the terrace, and walked towards her, holding a letter in his
hand. His face was still white from his illness, but he walked
steadily enough.
" I've just had a letter,” he said, “ and I want your help,
for the name of the writer conveys nothing to my mind. Who
in the name of fortune, is Beryl Lyte?”
Lady Malreward controlled her features admirably, as this
question was suddenly sprung upon her, and she even managed
to smile.
“ Beryl Lyte? ” she queried. “ Has she written to you?
She was my companion here for a little while - a paid com-
panion. I think she was inclined — well, shall I say, to flirt
with you a little?”
Loryat laughed and held out the letter. “You can read it
if you like,” he said. “There is nothing private in it - noth-
ing that even suggests what — you suggest.”
A look of relief passed quickly over Lady Malreward's face,
and she took the letter. It was written on P. and O. notepaper,
and was posted at Marseilles.
“DEAR MR. LORYAT” (the letter ran):
“I hope that by now you are quite restored to health.
You may be interested to know that I am quite well, and am
going to spend the winter in Cairo with a Mrs. Seton — an
elderly lady with the good spirits of a girl.
“It is possible that you don't even remember who I am,
but if this is the case, ask Lady Malreward,
“Yours sincerely,
“ BERYL LYTE.”


220 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Lady Malreward handed the letter back to him with a
smile. There was nothing in the wording, or the thoughts
expressed that might not have been written by a mere ac-
quaintance. There was even a tone of levity in the manner
in which she alluded to Loryat's misfortune.
“ It was very thoughtful of Miss Lyte to remember you,"
she said, after a pause. “I did not know she had gone
abroad. I suppose you can't recall her in the least?"
“ I'm afraid not,” he replied. “Please describe her to
me.”
Lady Malreward gave a colourless description, which was
fairly accurate, but which might have applied to a dozen other
girls with equal truth.
“ It was kind of her to write to me,” he said. “I am
interested in her. You see it is the only letter I have
had so far, except two or three from my bankers, and one
from my landlady in London. Have you a photograph of
her?”
“No, I'm afraid I have not, Mr. Loryat. But I want to
talk to you about something else just now. Will you come in-
doors? ”
He followed her into the small drawing-room and closed
the door.
“I want you to stay here a little longer,” she said in a low
voice.
“I really must not,” he answered with a smile. But the
laughter died from his lips and eyes, as he saw her face. In
a flash he realized the truth. This woman loved him.
“Indeed you must, Mr. Loryat,” she continued in the same
soft pleading voice. “Mr. Baildon — the detective who is
working here as an under-gardener — insists upon it. He
says that if you leave he will not be answerable for your
safety. Besides, a trap is laid here for the man, and if you
stay it's possible that he may fall into it.”
Loryat did not answer. It was doubtful if he even heard
her words. For the moment he could think of nothing but


222 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
you to do for him — the two I described to you the other day
- I should like you to do for me.”
Loryat shook his head. “I- I am very grateful to you,"
he muttered. “I will do my best — I will do my best. I
must leave you now, if you don't mind. I want to try and do
a little sketch before lunch.”
He walked to the door and opened it, and as he passed
through he looked back at Lady Malreward. She was stand-
ing by the window with clasped hands and bowed head, and
a shaft of sunlight, streaming past an old grey mullion, fell
upon the glory of her hair. He thought that he had never
seen anything more beautiful, and as he looked, the light of
conquest leapt into his eyes.
Then he closed the door and Dorothy Malreward was
alone.
She smiled, and leant her arms on the sill of the window.
“He knows,” she said to herself.


CHAPTER XXXII
Richard Loryat paced to and fro along the terrace that
lay in front of Norton-Malreward. It was early as yet, and
only the servants were up and about the house. The sun had
risen over the moorland in the east, and the long narrow val.
ley was flooded with its light. But the autumn air was chill
as yet, and a faint haze veiled the stream and the village that
lay beside it.
“Dorothy Malreward loves me," he thought, and that had
been the burden of his thoughts through all the night. He
had lain awake and wondered what this might mean to him.
He was fascinated, dazzled by her superb beauty; he owed her
a deep debt of gratitude; she was not only a beautiful woman,
but she was pre-eminently kind and charming in her manners.
His thoughts were suddenly checked, as he caught sight of
Archibald Jones, the gardener, walking along one of the paths
beneath the terrace. The man touched his hat and went slowly
on his way without a word. Loryat watched him till he was
out of sight. Then he shivered.
“There is a shadow in the past,” he said to himself; “some-
where there, in the darkness, a tragedy is lurking. No one will
tell me anything about it. But I must go forth into the world
and find out. The detective knows."
And for the next half hour his mind was overwhelmed with
a gloom which he was unable to dispel. He knew that some
man was seeking his life and that he was guarded by the
police.
Shortly before nine o'clock he went in to breakfast, and at
eleven o'clock Lady Malreward was ready for him in the
studio. It was the first time he had seen her in the dress of
223


224 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
myrtle-green satin, and he thought that she had never before
looked so beautiful. As she stood on the daïs against the
background of black velvet, his brain seemed to reel and a
mist came before his eyes. He walked to the window, opened
it, and drank in the fresh, keen air.
“Are you ill, Mr. Loryat?” she said, coming quickly to
his side. “Please don't go on with the portrait if you are
ill."
“I-I am all right,” he gasped. “You must forgive me.
I have not been in this room — since my illness.”
“And the past is coming back to you? ” she whispered
tenderly. “ Please don't be afraid of it, Mr. Loryat; there is
nothing to be afraid of.”
“ It is not the past I fear,” he said slowly, like one speak.
ing in a trance; " it is the future.”
She laid a hand upon his arm. “It is the future that I
fear, too,” she said, as she looked up into his face. He saw
the fierce love burning in her eyes and the colour flaming in
her cheeks, and heard her quick breathing.
“I love you,” he cried passionately, and the next moment
he had caught her in his arms.
"I love you,” Loryat whispered again and again, as he
held her close to him, and looked into her white face.
She put her arms round his neck, and placed her head on
his shoulder. He kissed her hair and for a few moments
neither of them spoke.
“I have no right to love you,” he said after a pause. “I
have nothing to offer you — less than nothing. You know
more about me than I know myself, but I can see that I am
nobody of account. I am not even able to earn my own
living."
“My dear,” she cried passionately. “Oh, my dear lover
– that God should have given me such happiness!”
“I feel mean when you talk like that,” he said hoarsely.
“I am a poor enough thing for God to give to any woman.
But I love you, dear. I love you."


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 225
She freed herself gently from his embrace, and walked away
from him. Triumph was visible on her face, in the poise of
her head, in every movement of her lithe body. Was it not
for this that she had striven, and fought, and planned?
She paced the length of the room and back, and then seated
herself on the gilded chair against the black velvet curtain.
The young man came to the daïs, and, kneeling down on one
knee, caught her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“My queen,” he said in a low voice,“ my queen, whom I
will serve always.”
“ Not your queen,” she laughed hysterically, “but your poor
slave, whom you can order as you please - now let us come
down from the heights, my dear lover. I'm going to take
off this dress. In half an hour's time I shall return here,
and we'll thresh the whole matter out.”
“I can wait,” he said quietly.
She rose from her chair, and he took her in his arms and
kissed her. Then she broke suddenly away from him, and left
the room.
“Love is wonderful,” he said to himself, when he was alone.
“ An hour ago I did not know whether I loved her or not.
But now I am certain. Is that the way love comes to all men
- like a blinding flash of fire?”
“Now, Dick,” said Lady Malreward, as they sat together
in the library, “ let us be sensible, and talk very, very seri.
ously.”
“Is not love a serious thing to speak about? ” he queried
in a low voice. " It is for me "
“And for me, too, dear,” she said passionately; "you know
that it is the greatest and most wonderful thing in my life,
but I used the word 'serious' in another sense — in - an un-
pleasant sense.”
“You wish to talk unpleasantly? " he asked, with an in-
credulous smile.


CHAPTER XXXIII
Lady Malreward was dressed for her portrait.
The maid left the room, and Lady Malreward re-seated her.
self before the mirror. She smiled triumphantly as she looked
at herself in the mirror. Indeed she had every reason to be
pleased with herself. Archibald Jones had asked for a day's
holiday, and she was relieved of the haunting shadow of his
presence, Richard Loryat loved her, and that in spite of the
fact that she had told him the truth about Beryl Lyte.
So her thoughts ran on for several minutes, and then she
made her way through the long corridors to the studio. She
found Loryat standing by the window. He had not even looked
at the picture, which was still covered with its white cloth.
He came towards her, and taking her hand, raised it to his lips.
“I am afraid,” he said in a low voice; “ so much depends
on this, and as yet I have got no inspiration from the studio.
Nothing has come back to me - nothing which might mean a
return of my old power."
She smiled. “Perhaps when you start, dear,” she said
tenderly. Then she walked up to the picture, and lifting up
the cloth, threw it back from the easel.
The frame was empty, save for a few ragged edges of canvas,
which were still nailed to the wood.
Lady Malreward gave a sharp cry of fury, as she saw the
empty wooden frame; but Richard Loryat stood silent, with a
look almost of fear in his eyes. He was, for the moment, less
disturbed by the loss of the picture, which he might never
have been able to finish, than he was by the fact that some
one had entered the carefully guarded house and stolen it.
“It is shameful - it is horrible! ” cried Lady Malreward.
228


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 229
“ Who can have dared ? ” She paused, white and speechless.
She could find no adequate expression to describe the outrage.
" It is not who has dared,'” Loryat said slowly, “ but who
has been able.' How can any one have entered the house,
watched as it is?”
“ Mr. Baildon is away,” she answered. “He will not be
back till tonight. But there are two other men at least watch-
ing about the place, and one or two in the village. Oh, the
fools, the miserable, contemptible fools!”
“ It might have been worse,” Loryat said quietly. Then
he went to the frame and examined it carefully. The canvas
had been cut out with a very blunt knife — perhaps not with a
knife at all — and the work had been done very hurriedly.
In one corner a jagged strip nearly six inches square had been
left.
“We must go to the police at once, Dick," cried Lady Malre-
ward. “I will go down in the motor and see if I can find that
fool of an inspector from Talbridge. I believe he stayed the
night at the police-station.”
“It might have been worse,” Loryat repeated thoughtfully.
Then he turned with a look of fear in his eyes.
“ Dorothy,” he continued hoarsely, “ who is this who wishes
to harm us, who came here last night when we were asleep,
who took the picture, not because he wanted it, but simply to
show us that we were in his power, that he could have cut our
throats, if he'd chosen?”
“I do not know, Dick,” she said, coming to his side, “but
whoever it is will be caught before long. The trap has been
laid for him.”
“Yes, and he has walked into it, and out again. This fellow
Baildon ought never to have left his post."
“ If they were to injure a hair of your head," she cried
passionately, “ if they — ”
“Who is it, Dorothy? ” he interrupted. “I am like a child
groping in the darkness, and I am afraid. I should not be
afraid if I knew what it was I had to fear. Cannot you help


230 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
me? Is there nothing in my past life that will throw any light
upon the matter?”
“Nothing I know of, dear,” she said tenderly, “but before
a fortnight is over we will leave this accursed place. I hate
every stone of it, every blade of grass on its lawns.”
She spoke with such fierce vehemence that Loryat looked
at her in astonishment. He had never before heard her say
that she hated Norton-Malreward, which was indeed the kind
of house that no woman could hate unless it had been the
scene of some great tragedy in her life.
“I shall order the motor at once,” said Lady Malreward.
“We will try and find the inspector if we have to go to Tal-
bridge for him. But I don't suppose anything will be done
till Mr. Baildon returns — Archibald Jones, the gardener, who
has gone to London to attend his sister's funeral. Come, Dick,
there is no time for foolish fears and talk of tragedy. A
picture has been stolen. We have to find the thief. I will go
and change my dress at once.”


CHAPTER XXXIV
“Hello, inspector,” said Mr. Baildon as he entered the
room. “Ah, and you here, my lady, and you, too, Mr.
Loryat? Well, this is quite a nice little party, isn't it?
What brings your ladyship here?”
Lady Malreward explained, and briefly told her story.
“H'm, that's odd,” said Mr. Baildon, when the narrative
came to an end,“ very odd.”
“I think it is disgraceful,” Lady Malreward answered hotly,
" and reflects little credit on those who are supposed to be
guarding the house.”
“I stand rebuked, my lady," said the detective, with a smile,
" but there is always a loophole, even in the strongest line of
defence. Perhaps, on the whole, everything has happened for
the best."
“For the best, Mr. Baildon?” Lady Malreward exclaimed
furiously. “You think that the loss of a valuable picture is
a thing for you to be proud about. I'm afraid neither I nor
Mr. Loryat can share your opinion.”
“Oh, the picture will be recovered,” Mr. Baildon said
lightly. “Don't let that worry your ladyship. Do you sleep
with your door locked, Mr. Loryat? ”
. “Yes, and I am armed, Mr. Baildon. Under my bed, within
easy reach of my hand, is a revolver.”
“I'd keep it hidden if I were you, Mr. Loryat.”
“I do — in a cardboard box where no one would think of
looking for a weapon.”
Mr. Baildon nodded approvingly. “Be as careful as you
can,” he said, “but don't think because I tell you to be careful
that you are not being looked after. I was unfortunately
obliged to be away last night.”
231


232 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“And you left us at the mercy of this scoundrel,” exclaimed
Lady Malreward. “He might have cut our throats.”
“Everything was done that could be done, my lady -- in my
absence. But I shall not be absent again. I have found out
all I wish to find in the neighbourhood.”
“And in London? ” queried Loryat. “You have been to
London."
“Oh, no. I merely wished some one to think I had been to
London.”
Lady Malreward frowned. “Well, I want my picture back,
Mr. Baildon,” she said coldly.
Mr. Baildon bowed. “You shall have it back, my lady,"
he said quietly. “I don't think there is any danger of your
losing it. As for myself, I shall resume work tomorrow morn-
ing. Perhaps you will pardon me if I say that I wish to have
a few words with my friend and colleague here. There is
a lot to be done before nightfall.”
Lady Malreward looked at him as though she resented the
impertinence. Then she turned to Loryat.
“There is nothing more to be said, is there? " she queried.
“Nothing,” he answered. “We may as well get home to
lunch."
“Well, come along then,” said Lady Malreward, sharply.
“Good morning, Mr. Baildon; good morning, Mr. Hughes."
Loryat opened the door, and they made their way down
the stone-paved passage into the street, where the motor was
waiting for them.
“ Close that door, Hughes,” said the detective, when the hall
door had slammed to. The inspector obeyed and returned to
his seat at the table.
“Well, Mr. Baildon? ” he queried. “What's the news?”
“First rate — couldn't be better.”
“Anything definite?”
“Yes, certainly. Have you got anything to smoke? I only
carry an old clay pipe, and it makes me sick to smoke it.”
The inspector handed Mr. Baildon a cigarette case, and the


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 233
detective helped himself to half a dozen cigarettes. He lit
one and put the rest in his pocket.
“Mustn't buy cigarettes," he explained. “Quite out of
keeping with this toggery. Put them down in the petty cash
account. Yes, Hughes, I spent a very interesting night at
Norton-Malreward. This is a deeper game than we've
imagined.”
Then he told the inspector of certain things that he had dis..
covered, and his deductions therefrom.
Hughes folded his arms and leant back in his chair. His
eyes were half closed, and his face puckered up in a frown.
“I don't see the game at all,” he said after a long silence.
“Here is some one threatening the life of Mr. Loryat, who is,
as you say, in love with Lady Malreward. Do you suggest
that all these four — Loryat, Lady Malreward, Chidley, and
the unknown man, whom you believe to be the same man as
the fellow who called himself Professor Sankey — do you
suggest that all these four people have some common secret? ”
“Five,” said Baildon. “You have forgotten Mrs. Oldwin.
Yes, Hughes, I do think that they have some common secret
which they are keeping from us. But there is something else
- something which may have nothing whatever to do with this
secret at all. In fact, there may be two distinct games being
played at one and the same time.”
“ It is quite beyond me,” said the inspector. “And what's
the next move now? What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to put on an old suit of clothes, and leave
here shortly before dark. Drive down the hill till you are
about a mile from the village. Then make your way to the
‘Den“' by the footpath, without passing through Norton.”
“And what then?”
“You will find me waiting for you in the garden, possibly
at the gate, but if not, in the shrubs by the hall door.”
“Are you going now?”
“Yes, I am going to walk all the way from here, keeping


234 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
along the top of the hills. But I'm going to have some food
first. We've a long night before us.”
“A long night?”
“Yes, we are going to spend the night in the 'Den.”
“H'm, that's cheerful. I hope there'll be something to eat
and drink.”
“ There will be, if you bring it. Otherwise there will not.”
“I shall certainly bring it - and enough for two."
“ That's a good fellow — and bring a revolver too, if you've
got one. I fancy we are dealing with a man who is likely
to give trouble.”
“A revolver? Yes. Anything else? ”.
“Nothing else, Hughes, but a certain amount of courage.
Now let us have something to eat. I'm starving.”


CHAPTER XXXV
At a quarter to six the inspector, clad in an old grey suit
and a shabby black overcoat, hired a trap at Talbridge, and
started on his long drive. He took a policeman with him,
also in plain clothes. Nothing, however, happened, and the
drive was only remarkable for the slowness of the horse, which
took two hours to cover the eleven miles.
" I hope you'll get back, Evans," said the inspector as he
alighted a mile outside Norton. “Perhaps the old brute is
quicker up hill than he is down.”
“I'll get home somehow. Good-night, sir," the man re-
plied, and whipping up the horse, he drove off into the dark.
ness.
The inspector found the stile which marked the path leading
through the fields to the top of the hill, and commenced his
journey. Finally, after tramping through a heavy rain which
had come on, he reached the appointed place only to find that
Baildon was not there.
“Of course Baildon's not at the gate,” he thought, as he
passed through into the garden,“ and he won't be in the shrubs
either, on a night like this. He's snug and comfortable inside,
curse him.”
The inspector made his way to the door, and calling out
Baildon's name in a low voice, searched among the dripping
shrubs. Then he boldly rang the bell.
A minute elapsed, and he rang the bell again, but there
was no answer. Hughes by this time had lost all control of his
temper, and he kicked the oak panels furiously.
Another minute elapsed, and then there was the sound of
footsteps in the hall. Hughes stood a little aside, and gripped
his revolver in his right hand. It was quite possible the per-
235


236 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
son who was coming to answer the door was not Baildon
at all.
Two bolts were cautiously and slowly withdrawn, and then
the door opened a few inches.
“ Is that you, Hughes?” a voice whispered.
“Yes, let me in. I shall probably be laid up for a month
after this. I'm soaked to the skin.” Then his professional
caution returned to him. He opened the slide of the dark
lantern, and flashed the light in the door. He saw the grizzled
and bearded face of Archibald Jones, the gardener, through the
narrow opening.
“Put out that lantern, you fool.”
The inspector obeyed. He was white and trembling with
rage.
“Let me in,” he cried. “Don't keep me waiting here."
The door opened, and Hughes hurried in out of the rain.
The hall was in darkness, but far down the passage a light
gleamed through a door which was just ajar.
“Follow me,” said Archibald Jones, bolting the door, “ and
don't make a row. Why are you so late? ”
“The horse was a brute, and I sheltered from the rain.”
“Shelter! Pshaw! You ought to be a nursemaid, Hughes.
Don't fall over that mat. Come in here quick and close the
door. We must speak in whispers.”
Hughes entered the room, and saw that the gleam came
from a small night-light placed in a saucer on the table.
By the side of it was a china jug, and two tumblers, one half
full of water. The room looked wretchedly uncomfortable.
He filled his pipe and lit it. Then he began to wring the
water out of his trousers.
“Can't have a fire, I suppose?”
“ Not just yet, Hughes, but presently perhaps. Anything
happened up at Talbridge?”
“Nothing."
“Did you tell Evans or any one where you were to be
found?”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 237
“No, I did not.”
“That's good. Is your revolver all right?”
“Yes.”
“Let me have a look at it. I'm more used to firearms than
you are. After all this rain - ”
The inspector took the revolver out of his pocket and handed
it to his companion, who wiped it with his handkerchief, and
examined the action carefully.
“How did you get the information? ” asked the inspector,
after a pause.
“By the simplest of means,” Archibald Jones replied, strok-
ing his beard with his left hand.
Then he suddenly tugged at the hair and pulled it away,
and the inspector found himself looking into the face of Mr.
Robert Sankey.
“ By the simplest of means,” Mr. Sankey repeated, “ as you
perceive — no, I beg of you not to move, or I shall be com.
pelled to shoot you.”
Mr. Hughes was so completely dumbfounded by the sudden
turn events had taken that he could not utter a word. It was,
indeed, not a time for speech, but for action, and action was
rendered impossible while he was looking into the ugly muzzle
of his own revolver.
“The voice," muttered Hughes, as if to himself; “I ought
to have known.”
Mr. Sankey smiled grimly. “Whispering disguises the dis-
tinctive quality of the voice,” he said. “You now understand
why I insisted on our both speaking in such low tones. Ha,
ha! It's the best joke I've had for a long time. You laid
a trap for me," Sankey continued, “or rather Baildon did -
for I don't think you've the cunning to catch anything but a
drunken poacher — and you've fallen into it yourselves.
But I don't want to frighten you more than I can help. Mr.
Baildon is practically unhurt, and you will have the pleasure
of talking to him in a few minutes' time.”
The inspector looked more cheerful, and even bethought


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 239
nearer and nearer, and then ceased to be singing, and became
harsh and violent shouting.
And then the inspector gave a yell of pain. Some one had
pinched the fleshy part of his arm.
“What the devil - ” he blustered, striking out in the
darkness with his fists.
“Thank Heaven,” said the voice; and then Hughes realized
that it was the voice of Baildon.
“Oh, that's you, is it?” he said, raising himself up on one
elbow. “Where are we? What on earth has happened —
oh, yes, I remember. Heavens! What a splitting headache
I've got. Where are we?”
“That's more than I can tell you,” Baildon replied. “The
cellar, probably. My hands are tied. Do you think you can
undo the knots ? ”
Hughes groped for his companion's hands, found them,
and succeeded in unfastening the tarred twine that was tied
and knotted tightly round the wrists.
“How did you get here?” the inspector queried sharply.
" I'm not the only fool, it appears.”
“Oh, I didn't walk into any trap, my dear Hughes. I was
merely defeated by superior brute force. I got hold of the
fellow — actually got hold of him. But I underestimated his
strength or overestimated my own. He made quick work of
me.”
“ And you couldn't use your revolver?”
“I could have when I first saw him. But I make it a rule
not to kill people, unless I know that I shall be killed if I
don't fire first. I thought I could tackle him, and when I
found I couldn't, it was too late to use my revolver. But the
details can wait. What we have to do is to get out of this."
They searched the room, and found it absolutely empty.
They could not touch the ceiling, even when Mr. Hughes
climbed up on his companion's shoulders. It had occurred
to the detective that there was possibly a trap-door, but, if so,
it was out of their reach.


240 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“It's no good,” said Hughes; “ we've got to stay here till
some one comes and looks for us. When that will be, Heaven
only knows. Acting on your instructions, I did not tell any
one that we were coming here.”
“And Sankey knows that."
“Yes. I told him when I thought I was speaking to you."
“H’m, that's bad, Hughes. Well, I don't think the man in-
tends to murder us. He only wants us out of the way for a
little while.”
“Yes. He said as much to me.”
“But in that little while much may happen,” said Mr. Bail.
don, thoughtfully. “I suppose it occurred to you why he
went to the trouble of impersonating me when he might just
as well have knocked you on the head as you entered the
house?”
“I think he rather enjoyed the joke.”
“Oh, you think it was a joke, do you? Well, I can tell
you that it is a very serious matter. The fellow didn't put
on my clothes and disguise merely to frighten you. He is
going up to Norton-Malreward - as Archibald Jones.”
“Merciful Heavens! And Mr. Loryat — "
"He'll be a dead man by the morning."


242 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
have ever loved in my life. We shall be married in about
three months' time, I expect.”
Mrs. Hailes rose to her feet, and there was a tinge of
colour in her withered cheeks.
“ If I had known anything of this sort was going on," she
said angrily, “I'd not have stayed in your house. As it is,
I leave here tomorrow. That you, Lady Malreward, should
marry this penniless, obscure fortune-hunter is a thing I
couldn't have believed, if you hadn't told it me with your
own lips."
Before Lady Malreward could reply, the door of the draw-
ing-room opened and a footman entered. He came to her side
before he delivered his message.
“ Archibald Jones, the gardener, wants to see you, my lady,”
he said in a low voice.
“ Archibald Jones,” she repeated mechanically, and then,
for the sake of appearances, she added, “What does he want? ”
“I don't know, m’lady. I believe he's not quite sober.
He won't go away till he sees you, he says.”
Lady Malreward looked at the clock. It was five minutes
after ten. Then she turned to her aunt.
“I'll see him," she said, “and he'll leave here tomorrow.
I can't have this sort of thing going on.”
Lady Malreward gave orders for the under-gardener to be
shown into a room that was set apart for her interviews with
the servants. Two minutes later she left the drawing-room
and found the man she believed to be Mr. Baildon waiting
for her. She closed the door behind her and looked at him
sternly.
“You must be mad to come here at this time of night,"
she said in a low voice. “Even the head-gardener himself
would not dare to ask to see me at this time."
The man made no reply, but stood there, a miserable object,
with the water dripping from his shabby black clothes, and
his head sunk on his breast.
“You can say what you want to, I suppose - come, be


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 243
quick. If I stay here long all the servants will know that
you're not what you pretend to be. Is there any news? ”
“Yes, but I want to see Mr. Loryat."
“I will take a message to him.”
“No, my lady. That will not do. I must see him myself.
I must see him alone,” and the man broke into a violent fit
of coughing.
“Do you mean that there is something you wish to keep
from me?"
“Not exactly, my lady; you shall know all about it to-
morrow. But I must see Mr. Loryat tonight. I have to give
him instructions — minute instructions. The man will fall
into the trap tonight, if the thing is worked properly; but if
not, the man will escape. I suppose Mr. Loryat has not gone
to bed.”
“No, he is in the smoking-room. I can't take you to him,
unless you would like all the servants to talk about such a
peculiar proceeding.”
“ Could he see me here?”
“That would be open to the same objection, Mr. Baildon."
“Very well, then, I will see him in the smoking-room.
Tell him to leave the window open, and I will get into the
room that way. He must fasten the door, of course. Is any
one likely to go in there tonight? ”
“No one. Mr. Loryat generally sits in there after we have
all gone to bed, and he puts out the lights and sees that the
windows are fastened.”
The man bowed. “I will leave you, my lady,” he croaked.
“Kindly see that nothing interrupts my interview with Mr.
Loryat.”
He opened the door, and she passed out.
Lady Malreward gave the message to Loryat, kissed him
tenderly, and then went upstairs to bed.
“Only a few days more, and then freedom," she thought;
“ only a few weeks more, and then "


244 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
What then? Why, the greatest thing of all — the most
splendid and yet the most shameful thing of all. Marriage
with the man she loved, the breaking of the oath that had
been sworn to the dead.
“All is forgiven in the name of love,” she said to herself.
“I would forgive all — and all must be forgiven.”
So her conscience had soothed itself, again and again, till
at last it had slept altogether. No, it was certainly not her
conscience that was troubling her tonight. It was something
else — something that was at first a mere uneasiness, but was
now a grim terror, as shadowy, but as certain as death.
And then, as she stared at the glowing coals, she fancied
she saw the outline of a face, and she rose to her feet with
a cry of terror. She knew now what it was that she feared.
It was her dead husband.
“If I break my promise,” she muttered, “ he will come back
from the grave to haunt me. He is part of this house — the
last of his name, the last of those who have lived here for
so many centuries. Everything here speaks of him. It is
Philip that I fear.”
She sank to the ground in an agony of terror, and clasping
her hands, tried to pray to God for strength. But the time
for prayer was over. She could look to no one for help save
to the man she loved.
For a few minutes she remained motionless, with clasped
hands and twitching lips. Then, as though moved by a sudden
impulse, she dragged herself to her feet, and drawing aside
the curtains, opened one of the windows.
The rain beat in upon her face as she stared out into the
darkness. There was nothing to be seen, but she fancied that
she could hear a voice above the roaring of the storm.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 247
suit of blue serge, and one of his hands was bandaged with a
bloodstained pocket-handkerchief.
“What has happened? ” cried Lady Malreward.
“Nothing much, my lady; only one of those little accidents
to which we are liable in our profession. I'm glad to know
that Mr. Loryat is safe and well.”
“Yes; why should he not be safe and well? I want to know
why he has left here, what you said to him last night "
“Pardon me interrupting you, my lady," broke in the de-
tective, “but I was not here last night.”
“You were not here? ” she gasped.
“No; I wish I had been. I spent the night in one of the
cellars of the ‘Den '— not a very comfortable place, I can
assure you."
“ Then who was here last night? Who was here disguised
as Archibald Jones, the gardener ?”
“Our friend, Mr. Sankey,” the detective replied. “Great
Scott, Lady Malrewa.d, what has happened? Why do you
look at me like that?”
She had gripped a chair for support, and was staring at
him with a white, horror-stricken face. She was thinking,
not of what had happened, but of what might have hap-
pened. Loryat had been alone with the man who wished to
kill him.
“Mr. Sankey,” she cried, “ in this house — and you - on
whom he relied to guard him — ”.
“Oh, it doesn't matter about all that, my lady,” the de-
tective interrupted quickly; “let us be thankful that Mr.
Loryat is alive and well. I know that he left Norton early
this morning, and has not yet returned, that he has sent you
a telegram, and that you have replied. What did he say?
What are his movements? Where can I find him?"
“He has gone to London — by the 11.25.”
“His address ? ” queried the detective, picking up the
A B C and looking at the trains from Talbridge.
“17, Rembrandt Studios, South Kensington.”


248 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ Thank you. Yes, I can catch the 1.30 if you will let me
go in one of your cars."
Lady Malreward hesitated. She was not eager for the de-
tective to go in search of Loryat. Then she realized that he
would go in any case, and that it would be better for her to
seem willing to help him.
“ Certainly you can have the car,” she replied, after a few
seconds' pause. “Do you want to start at once?”
“In ten minutes' time, if it is possible. I should like to call
for Inspector Hughes, and take him with me as far as Tal.
bridge."
“ Where is he now?”
“Up at the 'Den.' Poor chap, I'm afraid he's in for a bad
illness. He got very wet in the storm, and had to spend the
whole night in a cellar with a stone floor, and not even a chair
to sit upon.”
Lady Malreward rang the bell and gave the order about the
for Inspector us time, if it is neco start at once? »"
car
“You don't look very bright yourself,” she said, when the
servant had left the room. “Will you have anything?”
“No, thank you, my lady. I had breakfast at the inn on
my way here. But we had a bad time last night — not much
sleep.”
She pressed him to tell her what had happened, and he gave
a brief outline of the disaster.
“Now,” he concluded, “I think I hear the motor outside.
I must be off. Good morning, Lady Malreward. I think the
next time you see me I shall have something to tell you.”
Lady Malreward went with him to the main entrance, and
stood there till the motor had disappeared through the gates.
Then she returned to the drawing-room and seated herself at
the writing-table.
“I wonder what it was that Sankey said to Dick last night?”
she thought. “I will wire to Dick and tell him that Baildon
is going to call on him. I will also write him a letter.”


CHAPTER XXXVIII
Mr. Baildon had much to occupy his thoughts on his journey
from Norton-Malreward to Talbridge, and it seemed to him
that he had only been travelling for a few minutes when the
car drew up outside the station, which was, following some
law only known to the engineers of railways, nearly half a
mile to the west of the town. He did not speak to Hughes at
all. The inspector lay huddled up in a corner of the car, and
was wrapped in a blanket.
He looked at his watch, and saw that he had twenty minutes
to wait for the train. So he was driven to the police station
and got possession of Sankey's letter.
He left as he had come, like a whirlwind, and was back at
the station with two minutes to spare. He gave the chauffeur
half-a-crown.
During the journey he thought of nothing but the business
on which he was engaged, but though the journey occupied
four hours, he had arrived at no conclusion at all by the time
he reached Paddington.
“Loryat is the key to all this,” he thought; and he told the
cabman to drive to 17, Rembrandt Studios, South Kensington.
When he arrived at his destination, the centre of a line of
low, red-brick houses, each with a very large window, he paid
the cab, rang the bell, and asked for Mr. Loryat.
The caretaker showed him into an empty studio on the
ground floor, and took his card along the passage to Loryat.
The detective waited for five minutes before she returned. She
seemed nervous and uncomfortable, and handed him back his
card.
“Mr. Loryat declines to see you, sir,” she said. “He is
very busy.”
250


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 251
“I am going to see Mr. Loryat,” said Baildon, and he
walked past the woman and down the passage.
She did not attempt to stop him, for she had read what was
written on his card.
He went along the passage very quietly on his toes, and
pausing outside a door bearing Loryat's name, gave a sharp
double knock.
Loryat came to the door and opened it. Then, seeing who
it was, he frowned.
“ I told Mrs. Rench that I was very busy,” he said sternly.
“ I can see no one.”
“You must see me, Mr. Loryat,” the detective answered in
a low voice, and he placed his foot so that the door could not
be shut. “ I have come on very important business. I wish
to help you.”
“Very well,” the young artist answered sullenly. “I s'pose
I can't keep you out, if you're the sort of person that hasn't
the decency to stay out when you are told that you are not
wanted.”
“ I'm afraid I am just that sort of person,” said Baildon,
pleasantly. “You see that is the kind of man that our de-
partment requires."
Loryat stood aside and let the detective pass into a
tiny hall. Then he led the way into a large, well-lighted
studio.
“I suppose you know why I've come,” said Baildon.
“Yes, about last night.”
“Certainly. I see that you knew you were not talking
to me last night. Before I encountered you at the door, I was
not certain on this point. But your reception of me has satis-
fied me. You knew that you were talking to Mr. Robert
Sankey."
“Not at first,” Loryat replied, “but afterwards he made no
secret of his identity.”
“And may I ask,” Mr. Baildon continued with a sneer,“ why
you let him go, why you let the very man for whom we have


252 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
to follow h Loryat answereite defenceless
been looking for so long, go out of the house, without even
making an attempt to follow him?”.
“Surely you can understand,” Loryat answered, “ that I was
at his mercy. He was armed, and I was quite defenceless.
If I'd shouted or rung the bell, he'd have killed me.”
“Yes, yes,” the detective said testily, “but that doesn't ex-
plain your inaction after he had gone. You could have roused
the house, and he might have been followed and caught.”
“Precisely, but you see, I had to purchase my life on terms.
I had to swear before God that I would do nothing of the sort.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the detective. “You know that a
promise, that an oath, extracted by force is not binding."
“Not legally binding, Mr. Baildon, but morally."
The detective made a gesture of impatience.
“It's a good thing you're not one of us,” he said sharply,
“ or you'd be in danger of losing your berth every day. An
oath sworn to a murderer! Well, you are welcome to your
morality, Mr. Loryat. But we've got to find the man. Per-
haps you will tell me what passed between you."
Loryat lit a cigarette, and his hands trembled. “I cannot
tell you anything of what passed between myself and Mr.
Sankey,” he said, “ because I have sworn not to divulge a word
to any one."
Mr. Baildon laughed unpleasantly. “If there is much more
of this sort of thing,” he said, “I shall begin to think that you
and Mr. Sankey are partners. You are aware, Mr. Loryat,
that you are placing yourself in a very invidious position."
He paused, but Loryat made no reply. It was quite evident
that the young man was not going to breathe a word of what
had passed between him and Sankey.
“If,” the detective continued, “ you still do not know about
certain unpleasant incidents in your past life, I think that it is
my duty to tell you. Sooner or later you are bound to know
them. Do you wish me to tell you?”
Loryat turned away and looked at the half-finished picture
on the easel, and the detective watched him anxiously. The


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 255
him of some discovery you had made at Norton-Malreward.
That again was an intentional error. I've no doubt you can
remember what really happened.”
There was a pause, and Loryat brushed his right hand across
his eyes as if to clear away the mists from his brain.
“I remember,” he said in a low voice. “I can see it dimly
– as in a dream. There was a letter Mr. Collis had taken
- by mistake, I think. I went after him to bring it back.
Lady Malreward asked me to bring it back. That was it,
wasn't it? I can't see things clearly at all.”
“Yes, that was it,” said the detective, rising to his feet.
“Everything is slowly coming back to you, Mr. Loryat. But
I'm not going to worry you any more now. You look quite
exhausted.”
There was a knock at the door, and he paused.
“ Come in,” said Loryat, and the door opened, and Mrs.
Rench entered the studio.
“ If you please, sir,” she said, “there is a gentleman called
to see you."
“Who is it? ” Loryat asked sharply.
“A Mr. Chidley, sir. Shall I show him in?”
Loryat looked at Baildon, as though asking for advice. The
latter nodded.
“Yes. I'll see Mr. Chidley,” Loryat said; and then, when
the woman had left the room, he added, “ Are you going to
stay?”
“For a minute or two,” Baildon replied. “That is all.”


CHAPTER XXXIX
Chidley glanced sharply at Mr. Baildon as he entered the
room. Then he smiled and closed the door behind him.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Loryat,"
said the old man, “ that is to say, the acquaintance of the
new Mr. Loryat. The old man was very well known to me.
You look surprised to see me, Mr. Baildon, but don't let
your surprise interfere with your natural pleasure at seeing
me again.”
“I am a little surprised,” the detective answered, “ as I
understood you had gone abroad, and that you would not
be back for a year at least.”
“You were merely misinformed,” Chidley said coldly, “and
that is no cause for surprise. If you knew Mr. Baildon as
well as I do, Mr. Loryat, you would know that he lives in
a perpetual state of being misinformed.”
The detective's lips tightened, and he frowned. But he
had the good sense to keep his tongue under control.
“Your friend Sankey is in sore trouble,” he said, after a
pause. “There is a warrant out for his arrest."
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old man. “Excellent! The air
is always thick with warrants when you're about, Baildon.
Fortunately they are harmless enough. And what has poor
Sankey done, may I ask? ”
Mr. Baildon shrugged his shoulders and made no reply.
It was possible that Chidley knew everything, but there was
just a chance that he did not. The detective resolved to tele-
phone to Scotland Yard for two men to shadow Chidley be-
fore the latter left the studio. He looked at Loryat's face,
and was quick to notice that the young man was in a state
256


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 257
of extraordinary terror. His lips were white and he was
trembling from head to foot.
“I will leave you now," he said to Loryat. “You and
Mr. Chidley will have much to talk over together. I will
call in again tomorrow, if I may. Good evening, Mr. Lor.
yat. Good evening, Mr. Chidley.” And with a slight bow
to Loryat he left the room.
“Amusing fellow, Baildon,” said Chidley, when the door
had closed, “keen as mustard, but apt to overreach him-
self in his eagerness to fasten crimes on the most unlikely
people. What's the matter with you? Why are you look-
ing at me like that?”
“I was trying to see if I could remember you,” Loryat
answered mechanically.
“ Can you?”
“Yes, dimly, but I always see you with a closely cropped
white beard.”
“Ah, you remember the early days of our acquaintance.
May I sit down and have a chat with you? Have a cigar."
Loryat accepted the offer in grim silence, lit the cigar, and
remained standing, while his visitor seated himself on a
chair. There was a curious look of horror on the young man's
face, as he gazed at Mr. Chidley.
“I suppose most of your past has been reconstructed by
now," said the old man, after a pause.
“Yes, Mr. Baildon "
“Oh, he has told you, has he? I thought perhaps Lady
Malreward had done so."
“Mr. Baildon has told me about the suicide of my friend
Kentisbury, about the death of Inspector Collis, about the
night I followed Collis to get the letter back.”
“ To get the letter back? ” queried Chidley. “Mr. Baildon
told you that?”
“Yes - he did not tell me the truth at first. He said that
I had followed the inspector to give him some information
about a search that had been made in Kentisbury's bedroom,


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 259
“At Norton-Malreward last night. He threatened me with
death.”
“Only in fun, I suppose.”
“ In earnest,” Loryat answered grimly.
“And why did he not fulfil his threat? ”
“He spared my life on condition that I left Norton-Mal.
reward at once. He also stipulated that I should not follow
him or give the alarm when he left the house."
“And he told you this about Lady Malreward?”
“Yes, and I would rather he had shot me there and then.”
“So I suppose," answered Mr. Chidley, “ so I suppose -
yes, it was a cruel blow, but Sankey is a man who strikes
hard if he strikes at all.”
“ Then it is true?” cried Loryat fiercely. “You don't
deny that it is true?”
“I can't deny it, Mr. Loryat," the old man answered quietly.
“I did not tell you the truth just now, because I wished to
spare you. But as you already know, I cannot deny that
Sankey has told you the truth.”
Loryat leant against the wall and covered his face with
his hands. The world lay in ruins at his feet.
“How did Sankey know?” he asked quickly.
“I cannot tell you,” Chidley replied. “Sankey is a man
who knows many things.”
“You did not tell him?”
“I did not,” Chidley replied. “Both you and I and Mr.
Kentisbury, who is dead, were under a solemn vow not to
disclose what passed at that meeting.”
“Then how did Sankey know?” Loryat repeated.
Chidley turned and scowled at him. “Don't you believe
me? ” the old man asked sternly. “I can assure you that
I did not tell Sankey.”
“Then it must have been Lady Malreward.”
“Yes, or you have done so yourself, Mr. Loryat. That
may be another of the things you have forgotten.”


260 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
He opened the door and passed out of the room. Loryat
made no effort to detain him.
“I will see Dorothy,” he said to himself, when he had
struggled in vain to pierce the veil of darkness. “I will
go back to Norton-Malreward at once, and she shall tell me
the truth.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 263
“No, that is not quite correct,” Lady Malreward replied,
and she smiled through her tears. “That is not quite the
truth, dear. There was a second will, providing that if I
married again the money should go to a distant relative
of my husband's mother. If I made the promise, this will was
to be destroyed, and I was to have the money without any
conditions whatever.”
" It amounts to the same in the end,” Loryat said quietly,
" and I think that if we handed over all the money to this
man
Lady Malreward rose suddenly from her chair, and flung
her arms round his neck.
“My dear lover,” she cried passionately, "haven't they told
you that you are the man?”
“ That I am the man? ” Loryat queried. “Dorothy, my
dear sweetheart, what are you talking about?” He gently
freed himself from her embrace, and, gripping her by the
shoulders, held her out at arm's length and looked at her
face.
“If I had refused to make that promise,” she said, “ the
second will would not have been destroyed, and if I had
married again all the money would have gone to you."
“ Then if we marry we wrong no one?” he cried passion-
ately.
“No one at all, dear,” she replied, but she did not look
him in the face as she spoke. It was a nice question of
ethics, as to whether a promise once made could be recalled,
even if the advantages gained by making the promise were
given back. She did not care to think too deeply on the
principles involved.
“Dorothy,” he said gently, “this is not the only matter
that lies between us. I have presumed to judge you. Now,
you shall judge me. There is something else I have learnt
- something else concerning which I look to you for knowl-
edge. Dorothy, they tell me — Chidley tells me — that I
am a murderer.”


264 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
For a second there was horror written on her face. Then she
laughed — but there was no mirth in her laughter.
“Chidley was trying to frighten you," she said quietly.
“He hates you like poison. You must not believe anything
that Chidley says. It is, of course, public news that the fool
of a constable in the village took you into custody on the
night of Collis's death. But the case never even went to trial.
It was proved at the inquest that Inspector Collis met his death
through an accident, and they found the very stone he struck
his head against.”
“An accident? ” Loryat queried, with a puzzled expression
on his face. “It was not an accident. I am certain that
Inspector Collis was murdered. I told Baildon as much, and
he told me I was right.”
“You told Baildon?” she gasped. “Oh, merciful
Heavens "
“Yes," he went on steadily, “and when he told me that
I went after Collis that night to bring him back to the house,
I remembered that it was nothing of the sort; I remembered
that a letter was stolen from you, and that I went after Collis
to get it back.”
“ And you told Baildon this? ” she whispered in terror.
“Yes, I did not know that it was anything I had to con.
ceal.”
“You must leave here at once,” she cried, “ at once, or
they will come and arrest you. You must not return to the
station. One of the cars shall take you anywhere - to some
port - you must leave the country - I will come to you -
wherever you go.”
“What have I to fear if I am innocent ? ” Loryat asked.
His voice was cold and clear, and Lady Malreward felt as
though he had accused her of telling a lie.
“They blunder,” she stammered. “The fools blunder.
And the story of the letter is true -- I did send you to get it
back for me.”


268 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
the church, and passed out into the sunlight. The chauffeur
followed him.
“Drive to the Raphael Hotel,” he cried. “Drive like hell!”
The man nodded, but drove at his usual pace. He was not
going to risk a fine and the loss of his licence for any foolish
bridegroom that had been disappointed of his bride. The
distance, however, was short, and five minutes sufficed to cover
it.
“Drive round to the garage in Melon Street,” Loryat said
as he alighted, “and ask for the chauffeur of car 76 F.J.-
Elton is his name. Tell him to come round with the car to this
hotel at once. Then return here, and I'll settle up with you.”
The man departed, and Loryat entered the hotel, and made
his way to the office.
Inquiries elicited no more than he had already been told
by the driver of the taxi. Whereupon he wrote out two tele-
grams. One, to Lady Malreward, ran as follows: -
“What has happened? Am most anxious. Please wire at
once to Wykeham Hotel. Fond love.-- Dick."
The other was to the housekeeper.
“What time did Lady Malreward leave in motor? Wire
reply to Wykeham Hotel, London.- RICHARD LORYAT.”
He prepaid the reply in both cases, and sent off one of the
hall porters to the post-office.
Having done this, he was condemned to a few minutes' in.
action. He ordered a brandy and soda and some sandwiches,
and made an apology for a meal.
A few minutes later, Elton, the chauffeur, arrived. Loryat
went out into the street, and the man touched his cap. From
the look on the latter's face it was evident that he knew of the
fiasco at the church.


270 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Loryat went to the table and scribbled the following
reply: —
“Her ladyship has not arrived in London. Go to the police
at once and set inquiries on foot. Most important that there
should be no delay.— LORYAT.”
He gave the page boy a shilling, and told him to find the
chauffeur. Then he went into the office of the hotel, and paid
his bill.
Five minutes later the big 60-h. p. car was threading its way
through the traffic of the London streets. Loryat was going
back to Norton-Malreward along the same route he had
traversed on the previous day, along the same roads that the
other car would have passed over, if it had been going to
London.


CHAPTER XLII
d the driver with the sameur; and Laway.
The journey to Norton-Malreward was slow, for it was being
undertaken with the object of making inquiries all along the
route.
They reached Talbridge at eleven o'clock and passed through
the streets without stopping to make inquiries at the police-
station,
Loryat actually told the driver to slow down and stop, but
countermanded the order almost with the same breath.
“Another car ahead, sir,” said the chauffeur; and Loryat
saw a dim red and white speck, that seemed to be miles away.
But distances judged at night are deceptive, and before two
minutes had passed, the car was within half a dozen yards of
them.
“Do you see that, sir,” shouted the chauffeur, and he pointed
at the number plate at the back of the car.
“ 75 F.J.," muttered Loryat. “Merciful Heavens! that
is — ” He leant forward and looked at the motor, every
part of which was now plainly visible in the glare of the lights.
There was no one in it besides the driver.
“Hi, you there!” yelled Elton. “Is that you, Greening?”
The man did not turn, and Loryat fancied that the speed
of the car increased.
“Hi, there! Draw aside a bit, or we'll run you down."
The car ahead moved nearer to the edge of the road, and
Elton quickening the speed, shot past it as though it were
standing still. Then he looked back, but now the face of the
other driver was in darkness.
“I'll soon bring him to a stop,” muttered Elton. “Shall I
stop him, sir? I can easily block the road."
271


THE SHADOW OF MALRE WARD 273
“Turn the car round,” said Loryat, sharply. “We must
get to a doctor at once.”
In less than two minutes the car was wheeled and backed
with its head towards Norton, and the limp body was lifted
into it. Fortunately there was just room to pass the wreckage
of the other car, and before ten minutes had passed they were
outside Dr. Renfrew's house. Loryat alighted and rang the
night bell. A window opened on the first floor.
“What is it? ” asked the doctor, peevishly.
“ Bad accident. Please come down at once.”
The window closed, and two minutes later Dr. Renfrew ap-
peared at the door. As he saw Loryat he scowled.
“ What do you want?” he asked.
“Mr. Chidley has been smashed in a motor accident. I've
got him in the car here. I think he's dead."
“ Bring him in,” the doctor answered, curtly; and Loryat
and the chauffeur between them carried the body into the
house. Dr. Renfrew, candle in hand, led the way to the con-
sulting-room.
“Place him on the sofa,” said the doctor. Then he went
to the table and lit an oil lamp.
“He's dead,” was his only comment, after he had made a
brief examination of the body.
“ Neck broken? ” queried Loryat.
“Yes. Death must have been instantaneous. How did it
happen? ”
Loryat told him in as few words as possible. Then he and
the chauffeur carried the body back to the car, and they drove
through the village and up the steep hill to the “Den.” As
they approached the house they saw that there were lights in
two or three rooms. It was evident that Mr. Chidley was
expected.
When the car drew up at the gate Loryat alighted and
knocked loudly at the hall door. It was opened almost at
once, and a flood of light streamed out into the darkness. An


CHAPTER XLIII
“ There seem to be strange happenings at Norton-Malre-
ward,” said old Mrs. Seton, as she perused the columns of an
English newspaper. “ And young Loryat seems to be in the
thick of them.”
The colour mounted to Beryl's cheeks and she looked up
from the book she was reading. Then it ebbed again as
quickly as it came.
“What — what has happened? ” she stammered, trying to
speak as though she had no more interest in the place than
one who had lived there for a little while.
“Oh, all sorts of things, my dear. There's a column and
a half about it. Did you know a Mr. Chidley?”
“Yes, he was half servant, half friend of the late Sir
Philip Malreward. What about him?"
“He's dead, that's all; wrecked the car he was trying to
drive. A lot of curious and interesting facts came out at
the inquest. Dorothy Malreward has disappeared, and even
the crime expert of the paper can't suggest where she's gone
to - so she must have vanished pretty completely.”
“Might I have the paper?” Beryl asked, as the old lady
dropped it on her lap.
“Certainly, dear.” And she handed the girl the newspaper.
“I will go upstairs and read it,” Beryl continued, “ if you
will spare me for a few minutes."
“ Very well, dear.”
Beryl turned away with the paper in her hand, and made
her way up to her bedroom. Then she locked the door, and
seating herself in a chair by the window, read the account of
the inquest on Mr. Chidley. The past had been torn up again,
as it is bound to be when it is linked and interwoven with
275


276 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
the present. And when she had finished, she knew that Ken-
tisbury had killed himself for love of Lady Malreward, and
that Loryat had been arrested for the murder of Inspector
Collis.
She laid down the paper, and then covered her face with
her hands. For more than five minutes she did not move,
but her quivering shoulders bore witness to the agony of her
grief.
Then she suddenly rose to her feet, bathed her eyes with a
wet sponge, and looked out of the window at the white houses
that glistened under a sky of palest blue. For a few mo-
ments she stood there, and then she went downstairs and made
her way out on to the verandah. The paper that she handed
back to Mrs Seton was crumpled, and here and there moistened
with her tears.
“I must leave you, Mrs. Seton,” she said in a low voice.
“I must go back to England.”
“Go back to England? My dear Beryl, you must be dream-
ing."
“No, Mrs. Seton. I have awakened from a long sleep. I
ought not to be here. I ought to be in England.”
“And what am I to do, pray? " asked the old lady, sharply.
“Have you no duty to me?”
“Yes,” the girl answered humbly. “I owe you a great deal
— perhaps even my life. But there is another who wants me,
one who is groping in the darkness and wants some one to
lead him to the light. If you wish to keep me from him I
will stay."
“I wish you to do as you like, dear. I don't want to lose
you, of course, but if you think that you can do any real
good by returning to England, I should not wish to stand in
your way.”
“I ought to be there,” Beryl repeated mechanically. “I
know that I ought to be there.”
“Can you give any evidence in his favour? ” asked Mrs.
Seton.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 277
The girl shook her head. “It is not that,” she said in a
low voice. “ It is only that I wish to be near him— to help
and comfort him if I can.”
The old lady was silent.
“Oh, Mrs. Seton,” the girl cried piteously, “ you must
think it horrid and disgraceful of me to leave you like this
– after you have been so kind to me!”
“ If you feel that you must go, I should be an old fool
to try and stop you. But what are you going to do when
you reach England? With whom are you going to stay?
Who is going to look after you?”
“I can look after myself, Mrs. Seton. I can stay in Lon.
don at some quiet boarding house. I have money - '
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Seton interrupted. “You've not enough
money. I'll give you fifty pounds, and you can work it off
when you come back to me.”
The girl murmured her thanks in a broken voice, and then,
bursting into tears, hurried upstairs to her bedroom and Aung
herself on her knees by the side of the bed.
“Oh God, be merciful to him!” she prayed. “Save him
from the consequences of his folly; send light into his dark-
ness.”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 279
“Of course you don't know me,” continued Mrs. Oldwin,
lighting a cigarette,“ and I had no right to ask you to come and
see me. But one catches at straws in places like this."
“I am pleased to come,” Beryl answered, and then she
suddenly leant forward, and clasping her hands together,
looked hard at Mrs. Oldwin's face.
“You have heard? ” she said in a low voice. “You know
what has happened?”
The woman's face changed; the look of welcome died away,
and gave place to a gleam of fury in the dark eyes.
“Yes, I have heard," she replied, “ and it's bad news for
me. I depend on Lady Malreward for my income.”
“Ah!” Beryl said sharply, “ do you know anything - any.
thing that would help Mr. Loryat? ”
“I know where Lady Malreward is,” she replied, “and
perhaps Lady Malreward could save him."
“You know where Lady Malreward is?” Beryl repeated
in a voice of horror, “And you say that she could save him?"
“Yes, I had a cheque from Lady Malreward this morning
- dated three weeks back, it is true, but probably written
yesterday. Now I have a proposition to make to you - one,
I think, that will serve us both.”
“What is it? ” Beryl asked.
“I'll give you the name of the place Lady Malreward wrote
from, on condition that you tell no one else, and that you go
down there by yourself and find whether she is in the neigh.
bourhood or not.”
“How will this benefit me?” Beryl queried.
“You will be able to talk things over with Lady Malre-
ward, and see if, between you, you cannot manage to help
Mr. Loryat.”
“I would rather die first!” exclaimed Beryl.
“Let him die, you mean," retorted Mrs. Oldwin. “Well,
that is as you please. You can help me by going in search
of Dorothy Malreward, because my income is dependent on
her, and I don't want her to get out of my reach.”


CHAPTER XLV
Beryl Lyte passed a sleepless night, on a hard bed, in a
small Essex inn, her room not more than eight feet square -
a stuffy smelling, little room, where, in spite of the coldness
of the air outside, it was necessary to keep the window open
if one was to breathe at all.
As she rose and dressed in the dim light of the dawn, all
the horrors of the previous night came back to her — the
drive from the station with a man, who was just sufficiently
sober to keep the horse on its legs; the arrival at the inn,
where she had to pass through a bar full of drunken and
jeering sailors, the incivility of the landlady, and the too ob-
vious attentions of the landlord, the supper of bread and
cheese, both of the worst quality; the effort to sleep with the
noise of singing and dancing in the room below. Then a
brawl outside, and after that the dying away of the voices,
and the awful silence and loneliness and darkness.
Outside the window the sun was shining on the creek, which
flowed within a few yards of the house, and beyond it, the
wide stretch of marshland looked really beautiful beneath its
thin veil of haze. It was going to be a fine day, at any rate,
and Beryl, anxious to snatch a little comfort from anything,
tried to dispel the gloom of her thoughts.
After breakfast, she walked towards the station, and the
keen air and sunshine put fresh strength into her limbs and
courage into her heart. The very loneliness of the marsh-
land seemed to have a charm of its own as she saw it in
the sunlight.
Beryl rested for a few minutes, and then continued her
walk along the grass at the foot of the bank of shingle, till
281


282 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
she came to the small square house and the ruined shed and the
signboard. She read the letters, which displayed the following
notice: -
“People are warned that it is dangerous to walk on these
sands during the time of gun practice from the fort. It is
also dangerous to touch any live shells which have not ex-
ploded.”
Beryl moved on a few steps and examined the little house,
which was nothing more than a store of ammunition, about
twelve feet square, with grey iron-shuttered windows and iron
doors. The grass had grown round it, and the metal was
brown with rust. It was evident that it had not been used
for a very long time.
Beryl looked at her watch and saw that it was time to go
home if she wished to be back at two o'clock. She walked
away from the ammunition store, and made her way to the
black roofless shed. As she pushed open the broken door
something caught her eyes, and, stooping down, she picked up
a small diamond brooch, battered and crushed as though some
one had trodden on it with a heavy heel; and, as she looked
at the poor broken thing, she gave a cry of fear. This trinket
had once belonged to Lady Malreward.
Beryl held the brooch in her hand, and muddy and crushed
though the ornament was, it sparkled in the sunlight. She
examined it more closely, and noticed that the pin had been
torn from it.
Then her eyes fell on the other little stone building.
“I will have a look at that,” she thought. “I must go
without my lunch.”
She went up to the building, which was the exact facsimile
of the other one, and leant against it, placing her ear to the
crack that divided the two iron doors.
Then suddenly she started back with a cry of fear. Some-


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 285
“The devils!” he muttered, as he laid the motionless body
on the grass. “Miss Lyte, please fetch me some water from
the sea. Here, take my hat — that'll do.”
Beryl hastened to the sea and returned with the water. But
the hat nearly fell from her hands as she looked at Dorothy
Malreward's face. It was drawn and haggard, ghastly with
an indescribable horror, and her hair was tinged with grey.
Mr. Baildon snatched the hat from her hands and flung the
contents over that white awful face. But it had no more effect
than if it had been thrown over white marble.
Beryl Lyte fetched three more hatfuls of sea water, but she
was only wasting her time. Dorothy Malreward looked as if
she were dead. Possibly the last awful thought of being left
there for three hours had proved too much for her shattered
strength.
" I've got a motor at the station,” said Mr. Baildon. “It's
one of her motors. Will you stop with her while I hurry
back? It's the only way. I can't carry her all that distance.
Directly I get to the car, I'll get back in no time.”
“She is dead,” cried Beryl, “ she is dead.”
“No, she's not,” the detective replied. “She's had plenty
of food and water all the time. But, fifteen days spent in that
place! Ye gods, it doesn't bear thinking about! I wonder she
hasn't lost her reason. Fifteen days of that! The devils!
Well, thank Heaven one of them is dead, and I'll find the
other, or my name's not Guy Baildon."


CHAPTER XLVI
Two days elapsed before Lady Malreward was well enough
to tell the story of what happened on the night she left her
home. She was still in bed, and quite exhausted by the terrible
crdeal she had gone through. But it was necessary for her
to speak as soon as she had the strength to utter a word, in
order that the police might get to work as quickly as possible.
The following is the story she told to Mr. Baildon, and it
was taken down by a shorthand writer, in the presence of
Beryl Lyte.
She left Norton-Malreward at ten o'clock at night in the
smaller of her two motors, intending to drive to London. She
was heavily cloaked in furs, and her face was almost entirely
covered with a thick sable stole. It was a fine night, and she
had the body of the car left open, in the hope that the drive
through the keen air would make her sleepy, and that she would
get some rest before she reached her destination. She did not,
however, fall asleep till the car had passed through Reading,
and when she awoke it was still dark, and she seemed to be
travelling at a terrific speed. She leant forward and asked
the driver how far they had got. There was no reply, and she
asked the question again. Then, as there was again no answer,
she was thoroughly alarmed, and, leaning forward, caught the
man by the arm. He turned round, and though she could
not see his features clearly in the dim grey light of the dawn,
she saw that it was not Greening. She screamed for help, but
the man took no notice, and drove the car at a terrible pace
through a desolate expanse of marshland.
At last the road came to an end, but the car did not stop.
It bumped and jolted over grass and shingle till it reached
286


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 287
the place where Lady Malreward was found. Then the driver
revealed his identity. It was Ralph Chidley.
At this point in the narrative Lady Malreward stopped and
shuddered, closing her eyes as though to shut out some hideous
vision.
“That corresponds with what we know," said Mr. Baildon,
wishing to give her time to recover herself. “We have Green-
ing in custody. He was given two hundred and fifty pounds
for his share in the night's work, and has spent most of it
in Paris — quick work that, eh? Two hundred and fifty
pounds in a fortnight! He got drunk one night and gave him.
self away. One of our fellows chanced to be in the café —
a sheer piece of luck. Yes, Lady Malreward, so far all you
have said corroborates what we know — what we found out
the day I fortunately came to look for you. Greening changed
places with Chidley in Hertfordshire, and at once went abroad.
He was to stay there for a year, but he spent all his money in
a fortnight.”
“And what brought you down here?” Beryl asked timidly.
“I followed you, my dear young lady. I could not follow
you at once, as I had this other matter to see to. But I came
after you as quickly as I could. Can you go on now, Lady
Malreward?”
“When I saw that it was Chidley," she continued, “I
screamed for help, but he threatened to shoot me if I didn't
keep quiet - not that screaming mattered much in that place."
“Then he put you in the ammunition store? ” said the de.
tective.
“Yes. He pointed to the place, and said I must stay there
for the night. Then he dragged me towards it, and I flung
myself on the ground. He called out, and another man came
- apparently from nowhere.”
“He must have been behind the building - this is interest-
ing. Do you know who the man was?”
“No, the light was very bad, and he had a thick mufiler
tied round the lower part of his face. And I was fighting for


288 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
my life. I had no thought for anything else. I broke away
from them for a moment, and ran for shelter to a shed.”
“Ah!” said Baildon quickly, “there was no shed by the
building in which you were found. It must have been a mile
further to the south, another building exactly the same.”
“Yes,” Beryl broke in, “ that is where I found the brooch.”
“I- can't remember,” moaned Lady Malreward. “They
put something over my mouth, and I lost consciousness. Per.
haps they moved me afterwards."
“Yes, that is likely,” said Mr. Baildon, quietly. “They
thought the first building was too near the road. But the other
man, Lady Malreward? Have you no idea who it was? Did
he speak?”
“No; he never spoke a word, while I was conscious.”
“Do you suspect who it was?” asked Baildon.
“Sankey I should say, but then I've never seen Sankey.
I've only heard about him. I saw him that night when he
was disguised, but that would give me no clue.”
“Yes, it was certainly Sankey, Lady Malreward.”
She closed her eyes, and her face was ghastly.
“You must not talk to her any more," said Beryl; "she is
not strong enough.”
Mr. Baildon smiled and rose to his feet. “You must get
well quickly, Lady Malreward,” he said. “I have good news
for you — the best medicine in the world.”
The eyes did not open, but the lips moved.
“Excellent news,” continued Mr. Baildon. “Mr. Loryat
has been given his freedom. We have Chidley's confession
in our hands. It was Chidley who killed Inspector Collis.”
For a moment it seemed as though the startling announce-
ment had fallen on deaf ears. Beryl gazed at the speaker
in a dazed, inquiring way, as if she had not quite caught the
sense of his words. Lady Malreward neither opened her eyes
nor moved. The shorthand writer alone showed any signs
of intelligence.
“Chidley left a written confession,” the detective continued;


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 289
“it was in the hands of his sister Rachel, and he had left in-
structions for it to be given to the police a fortnight after
his death. It was written some months ago. He had a
quarrel with Collis before Mr. Loryat arrived on the scene.
There was a fight, and Chidley struck the inspector on the
head with a stone which he had torn out of the bank. He re-
placed the stone, and it was argued that the inspector must
have fallen against it. He says in his confession that he
did not mean to kill Collis, but only to stun him.”
After a few further words, the detective bowed and took
his departure, but he went no further than the bedroom he had
taken in the hotel.


292 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“And then he did not care, Beryl. I was quite honest. I
spoke the truth. I played the game then, when I was certain
of his love, when my position was secure. I told him every-
thing.”
“Why do you tell me all this?" the girl asked, after a long
silence.
“Because I wish you to understand exactly how things
stand between us. I want you to know how I have injured
you.”
“It was my own fault,” Beryl said mechanically. “You
are ill and weak. You magnify the thing."
“No, Beryl, it is not that,” the sick woman replied. “I
have read that one changes in the furnace of pain and torment
— that often one changes for the better. I feel more charitably
disposed towards you — not because you have saved my life,
but because I am beginning to realize how I have wronged
you. During those hours of darkness and anguish I saw
myself as I really am.”
Beryl rose from her chair. Her face was very white and
calm, but her eyes were troubled. Her mind was in a tran-
sition stage. All the past had crumbled into dust at her feet,
and the present had yet to be constructed from the shapeless
ruins.
She hesitated for a moment, and then laying her hand on
Lady Malreward's white fingers, she pressed them slightly, and
passed out of the room.
“I will send the nurse to you," she said, as she reached the
door, and that was all.
Then, as she made her way downstairs into the hall, a well.
known voice broke in upon her thoughts, and, raising her eyes,
she found herself face to face with Richard Loryat.
Her first impulse was to turn and go upstairs again. And
then she was seized with a desire to speak to him and see if he
recognized her.
“I am Beryl Lyte,” she said quietly. “You have come to
see Lady Malreward? ”


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 295
and he grippedry quietly.bce be-
him till Beryl had crossed the room and laid her fingers on
the handle of the door.
“Miss Lyte,” he cried fiercely. “Beryl — ”
She turned and looked at him with eyes like the cold grey
of a winter sea. Then a wan smile flickered across her face.
“You think me a brute,” he blurted out. "Perhaps I was
- once — well, I'm not the same man now. The Richard
Loryat you knew is dead. Remember that; he is dead. What-
ever his faults, you must forgive him. You must not lay them
on my shoulders.”
She held out her hand, and he gripped it hard.
“Good-bye, Mr. Loryat,” she said very quietly. “I don't
think I can give you better advice than I gave you once be-
fore. Cut me out of your mind, work hard, and make a great
name for yourself.”
“Good-bye,” he said quietly. “We ought never to have met
again.”
“I am glad we have met,” she answered simply. “If you
will wait here, I will send the nurse to tell you when Lady
Malreward can see you."
She passed out of the door, gave orders to the nurse, and
then went to her bedroom, and looked at herself in the glass.
Her face was white, but there were no tears in her eyes.
“I am glad we have met,” she said to herself. “There
is nothing like cold water to bring one to one's senses."
And then she smiled.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 297
promise after all. So you want the envelope? You don't
suppose that I should keep an empty envelope, do you?”
“Not as a rule, madam, but in this case, well — the envelope
was of some importance, wasn't it?”
“To you? Yes. But not to me. I did not, of course,
know that I should have the pleasure of a visit from you,
or I would have kept it.”
“ It was not addressed by Lady Malreward. Did you recog.
nize the handwriting?”
“I did not.”
Mr. Baildon, who was standing in front of the fire in the
public drawing-room of the boarding house, shrugged his
shoulders and looked at the clock. The rest of the boarders
were at dinner, and in a few minutes some of them would be
returning to gossip over the food and their absent acquaint-
ances. Time was precious to the detective.
“When I came here,” he said, after a pause, “ you thought
I had something to sell. You were mistaken. I came to buy.
Your income is, I believe, a very precarious one.”
“You are impertinent!” the woman said hotly.
“ Not at all, madam; merely correct. Your income has
practically ceased with that last cheque. The secret which
Lady Malreward paid you to keep is, as you know, a secret
no longer. Every one is aware that her ladyship was once
engaged to be married to Mr. Kentisbury, and that he killed
himself because she refused to marry him. I don't know where
your money is likely to come from in the future. May I make
an offer to you?”
She nodded, and then closed her eyes, as if weary of the
conversation.
“If you can help us to get hold of this man Sankey,” the
detective continued, “Lady Malreward will continue to pay
you the same amount. She will, in fact, purchase you an
annuity that will bring you in the money. The first thing
we want is the envelope in which that cheque was sent."


298 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“ I will get it for you if you will put the agreement in writ-
ing.”
Mr. Baildon handed her a piece of paper; it was an agree-
ment already drawn up and signed and witnessed. Mrs. Old-
win laughed and left the room.
In two minutes she returned with an envelope and handed it
to the detective. The latter scrutinized the handwriting nar-
rowly, and a close observer might have noticed that a gleam
of triumph came into his eyes.
“You recognize the writing? ” Mrs. Oldwin asked with a
smile.
“ Yes,” he replied. “I think that I do."
“Mr. Chidley's writing, I suppose? ” queried Mrs. Oldwin.
“No,” the detective answered, placing the envelope in his
pocket. “I don't think it is Mr. Chidley's."
“Whose then?”
“I should not care to say until I am sure. We have, you
know, to be very careful what we say, or we get into trouble.
By-the-bye, you don't love Lady Malreward overmuch, do
you?”
“Lady Malreward is one of my oldest friends,” Mrs. Oldwin
replied stiffly. “What do you mean?”
“Well, that little scene in the court - after poor Kentis-
bury's death. That didn't look as if you felt very kindly dis-
posed towards her. You spoke of the tragedy of your own
life; you hinted that Kentisbury was responsible for that
tragedy. That was, of course, not true.”
“The story was partly true,” Mrs. Oldwin replied. A few
minutes before she had seemed, in the glow of the rose-shaded
lamps, to be a young woman. Now she seemed old and hag-
gard, and there was a terrible look in her eyes.
“But untrue in its most important particular," the detective
continued. “You were thinking, not of Kentisbury, but of
some one else.”
“You have said enough,” the woman cried fiercely. “I am


300 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Yes, and a photograph. But the firm that built it have
turned out a dozen similar craft this year, and are still making
them.”
“I see. Well, what else? ”
“We've telegraphed a description of Sankey and the boat
to every port in Great Britain, and to the principal ports on
the northern coast of France, Belgium, Holland, and Den-
mark. We ought to get some news in a day or two."
“Yes, the man will want petrol. He's bound to put in
somewhere, and the weather is tricky just now. He may have
to put in for shelter. Can he go under sail?”
“Yes — but very slowly. She's fitted with a mast.”
“He took plenty of food on board ? ”
“Yes, he bought ten pounds' worth in Burnham.”
“Let us pray for a storm,” said Mr. Baildon, fervently;
“that'll drive him in somewhere, unless he's made off alto-
gether.”
“I don't think he could get away far in that boat,” Dixon
replied. “He could, of course, take a short trip to the French
coast, and work along it, and, of course, he might abandon
the boat at any point. But, if so, we shall hear.”
Mr. Baildon made his way on to the Embankment, hailed a
taxi-cab, and drove to 6a, Curzon Street. After some delay
he was admitted to Lady Malreward's presence. He found
her lying on a sofa by the fire in a white-and-gold drawing-
room.
“ I hope your ladyship is better," he said.
“Yes, thank you — I am better. What do you want?”
“ Is your ladyship well enough to move from here?”
“Move? ” queried Lady Malreward. “Where?”
“Back to Norton-Malreward.”
“No," she said decisively; “nothing would induce me to
return to Norton-Malreward. I hope I shall never see the
place again.”
“Wouldn't even the prospect of catching Sankey induce you
to go back?”


CHAPTER XLIX
Five minutes later the two men left the inn, clad in oilskins
and sou’-westers, which they had borrowed from the landlord.
As they turned a corner and met the full force of the wind
they staggered and leant forward, standing there for a few
moments. Mr. Baildon took off his glasses and whiskers and
placed them in his pocket.
“No further use for them,” he shouted in Loryat's ear, “ we
sha'n't go back to the inn tonight. Sankey's either dead —
which I hope is the case — or else we'll lay our hands on him.”
A hundred yards further down the village they came on a
group of fishermen with lanterns, and they attached them-
selves to the party. No one spoke, for it was the kind of night
in which conversation was an effort, and the taciturn sailors
plodded their way grimly through the driving rain.
The little procession crossed the bridge which spanned the
creek east of the tiny harbour, and made their way along a
rough path which ran under the southern hills of the valley.
Mr. Baildon looked up, as he picked his way carefully over
the pools of water, thinking that perhaps he might see a light
in the “ Den.” But overhead and all round them was darkness,
save for the glow of the lanterns.
“One can't tell,” he thought. “This rain is enough to hide
anything. Let us hope the man is dead and there is an end of
it.”
They trudged on for half a mile, and then came upon an-
other group of men. They were standing below the bank of
turf and stone that edged the creek, and were watching a tiny
speck of light that moved to and fro in the distance.
“What is that? ” asked Loryat of a sailor.
“That be Jim and Freddy Coke, sir. They've gone out
304


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 305
acrost the sand to see if the tide be gone down enough for us
to walk out.”
“Walk out? ” queried Loryat, sharply. “Are you waiting
for that when a man's life is at stake?”
“Aye,” the sailor answered grimly, “ we be waitin' for that.
There ain't no boat in Norton as'd live in the sea by the Ridge
tonight. But the tide be ebbin', and the sands'd be dry by
now, if 'tweren't for the wind as be keepin' the water up."
“Surely some one has tried to go out to them,” Loryat cried
indignantly.
“ It be arl very well to tark like that,” the man growled,
“but you don't know what you be tarkin' about.”
Loryat looked for Mr. Baildon, but could not see him any-
where. And then, as he gazed seawards, he saw two specks
of light. He made inquiries, and ascertained that the detec-
tive had borrowed a lantern and gone out on the sands.
“ 'Twill mean the loss of our lantern,” added the informant,
“if the fool b’ain't careful, and 'twere a new one only last
March.”
Loryat hesitated for a few minutes, and then he decided to
join Baildon. But as he left the group of men and splashed
out on the wet sands, a sailor came lumbering after him and
caught him by the arm.
“Where be you goin', sir?” the man cried. “You'll git
into trouble if you goes out there alone. There be a dozen
guts as you'll find yourself in, not to speak of the quick-
sands.”
“ Very well. Come with me and I'll give you half a sov-
ereign.”
“Where be you goin' to? ”
“I want to join my friend - the man that borrowed the
lantern just now.”
“I'll take you to him, sir,” the sailor answered, “ and bring
you both back. The Ridge sands ain't the place for gentlefolk
on a night like this. I'll bring a lantern if you don't mind.”
A minute later Loryat set out across the sands with his


306 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
guide, and before they had gone a hundred yards he became
aware that the sailor's warnings had not been uttered with-
out good cause. They came to a wide stream of water that
sluiced towards the sea like a millrace.
“You're taking me right, I suppose,” yelled Loryat above
the fury of the storm. “We're not making for the other two
men, are we?”
“No, sir. I'll take you right. Don't you fret yourself.”
They trudged on for ten minutes, but they seemed to get
no closer to the light. In fact, it was gradually growing
fainter, as they proceeded on their way. Rayburn stopped and
wiped his dripping face with his hand.
“ 'Tain't no use, sir,” he muttered; “the fool be walkin'
hard away from us, and I can't think how he does it at all,
seein' as only one who knows the sands well could go as fast as
he do. Mebbe he've slipped on the rocks. I think we'll have a
look round.”
They walked over the slippery plateau of rock and examined
it carefully, but no trace could they find of Mr. Baildon.
They both raised their voices and shouted again and again,
but there was no answering cry - no sound but the hiss and
patter of the rain and the roar of the wind, and the distant
booming of the sea on the edge of the sandbank.
“He wouldn't be like to hear us,” said Rayburn, “ lest he
be close by. What be us to do, sir?”
“ Join the others,” Loryat replied. “We can't do anything
else.”
“We can't do anything else, sir, as you say. The tide won't
be back again for hours. We b'ain't far off the shore here."
They reached the store, told their story to the other men,
and five minutes later there were a dozen lights moving out
across the waste of sand in all directions.
When they were not a hundred yards from the edge of the
ridge, Loryat saw something dark on the dun sand, and ran
towards it, followed by Rayburn. They had found what they
sought.
Loryat bent over the motionless body and saw that Mr. Bail.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 307
don was bleeding from a terrible cut across the forehead. It
was impossible that the injury could have been caused by an
accident, and it was easy enough to see what had happened.
Baildon had encountered Sankey, and the latter had struck
the detective down and taken his lantern from him.
“He b’ain't dead?” Rayburn queried as Loryat examined
the body.
“No. We must get him back as quick as we can. Hail
some of the others, will you?”
Rayburn picked up the lantern and ran forward, shouting
and waving the light over his head. The words died away
in the roar of the gale, but the signal was seen and understood.
The lights began to converge, and in less than five minutes
there were half a dozen rough sailor folk on the scene.
When they reached the shore, they found a hurdle in a field
beyond the bank, and four men carried Baildon back to Norton,
and took him to the inn.
Loryat thought this was a good opportunity to ask the men
to search for Sankey. He made his way into the midst of them,
and held up his hand for silence.
“My friends,” he said, “you have worked well tonight
to save a man's life, but our work is not yet over. The man
who escaped from the wreck and who nearly killed my friend
is still at large, and he must be found. He is Mr. Robert
Sankey.”
A murmur went round the room, and some of the men
clenched their fists. There was not one of them who had not
heard of Sankey, the man who had tortured Lady Malreward.
“ The man must be found tonight,” Loryat continued, “ and
the whole countryside must be searched for him. I know that
you need no reward to stimulate you in your efforts to bring
this scoundrel to justice and avenge the terrible sufferings of
Lady Malreward. But a reward is offered for the capture of
the man. Lady Malreward will give £500 to any one who
hands the ruffian over to the police.”
In less than three minutes the inn was empty, and Loryat set
forth in the driving rain to Norton-Malreward.


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 309
“What has happened, Dick?” she asked nervously. “I am
afraid. It is awful being in this big lonely house, with so few
servants. Will they get this man Sankey? I am afraid.”
“Of what? Of whom? ”
“Of the dead,” she replied, in a voice of terror.
Loryat smiled. “You must not be so foolish, dear,” he said
tenderly. “It is not the dead that we have to fear, but the
living. And we shall not fear that much longer. Sankey
will certainly be taken tonight.”
He sprang to his feet as the handle of the door turned.
Martin entered the room, and said that the motor was ready.
“I will come in a minute,” Loryat replied. Then, when the
door had closed, he fell on his knees by the side of the couch,
and took Dorothy Malreward in his arms.
He held her in his embrace for a few seconds, and then rose
to go, but she clung to one of his hands.
“ Dick,” she cried, “ don't leave me. I am afraid. If this
man should come here — while I am alone?”
“There is nothing to fear,” he answered. “You will stay
here, in this room, till I return. Martin will remain in the
ante-room outside all the time. I'll give him the orders.
And the rest of the night I and Martin will watch outside your
bedroom door. But if you are still afraid - ” He thrust
his left hand in his pocket, and took out a revolver.
“Keep this by you,” he said, with a smile. “You've only
to pull the trigger, and it'll go off. Be careful with it.”
He placed the weapon on a small table by her side. Then
he kissed her again, and her grasp on his hand relaxed.
“I shall be back in less than two hours,” he said, and he
left the room.
When he had gone, and Dorothy Malreward was alone, she
lay back on the cushions with a white face and closed eyes.
For a little while she lay there, and stared at the fire which
blazed cheerfully in the grate. Then she picked up a novel,
and tried to read it. But she could not concentrate her atten-
tion on the story; every now and then she looked at the clock


310 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
and listened, as though she expected to hear the sound of
Loryat's returning footsteps.
Then, when half an hour had passed, she was seized with
an overpowering terror, and she rose to a sitting posture, with
a cold perspiration breaking out on her forehead.
Suddenly she started and listened. Something had tapped
softly on the window — a piece of ivy, perhaps, blown by the
wind.
The tap came again - this time louder, and it was repeated
three times. It was not the ivy, after all, the beats were too
methodical for that.
She rose to her feet, drew aside the curtains, and saw the
face of her dead husband — the face of Sir Philip Malreward
- pressed close to the glass of the window-pane.
For more than a minute she stood there, one hand gripping
the thick velvet curtain, her lips parted, her eyes wide open
with horror. She tried to move, to cry out, but her muscles
seemed to be paralysed, and no sound came from her throat.
And the face remained there motionless, the skin as grey as the
stubbly beard which covered the lips and jaw, the eyes burning
like flames in the light that streamed from the window.
And as Dorothy Malreward looked into those eyes, she felt
as though all her soul was being drawn out from her body,
as though she, too, were a dead thing in the company of the
dead. Sir Philip had said that he would return from his grave
to haunt her. He was with her now — perhaps he would al-
ways be with her, wherever she went, whether she slept or were
awake. It is impossible to escape from the dead.
Then it seemed to her that the face moved - not an inch, but
perhaps the tenth of an inch, and there was a grim smile on
the bearded lips. Then a hand was raised, and it knocked upon
the glass. A piercing shriek broke from her lips, she clutched
the curtain with both hands, tore it partly from its rings, and
crashed to the ground.
When Lady Malreward came to her senses, she found Martin


CHAPTER LI
“My dearest,” he cried, “ what has happened? What is the
matter?”
“Nothing, Dick,” she whispered. “Oh, how long you've
been away - I thought you were never coming back to me —
it has been terrible here alone — my nerves gave way — I had
to send for brandy - I felt faint.”
He placed his arms round her, and raised her to her feet.
She clung to him, sobbing as though her heart would break.
“Never leave me again,” she cried. “Never -- take me
away from here tonight — we can catch the last train to
London – or we can motor all the way. Take me away from
here — for Heaven's sake!”
He endeavoured to soothe her, but it was of no avail. Then
he spoke harshly, not because he felt unkindly towards her,
but because he believed this to be the best way to deal with an
hysterical woman.
“I want to know what has happened,” he said in a stern
voice. “You must tell me at once. Has Sankey been here?
If so, I must know at once. This is no time for foolish fancies."
His words had the desired effect on her. She looked up
at him in amazement, reproachfully, as though she could hardly
believe her senses. Then she told him what she had seen.
He listened to her narrative without interrupting her by so
much as a word. He stood with his back to the fire, his arms
folded, and his eyes fixed on her face. He did not speak,
but once an expression of fear flickered across his features, and
he glanced at the window.
"Your brain is overwrought, dear,” he said, when she had
finished and lay back on the cushions with closed eyes. “You
313


314 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
shall leave here tomorrow. Do you mind being alone for a
minute, while I have a word with Martin? I shall only be in
the next room.”
“Don't leave me," she cried. “For pity's sake don't leave
me, Dick.”
“Come, this is foolish, dear,” he protested, and if her mind
had not been so full of terror, she might have noticed a curious
change in his voice. The term of endearment was quite me-
chanical and expressionless.
“ Very well, Dick,” she answered; “I must try and control
myself. But I have been ill — very ill. That must be my ex-
cuse for — for my being foolish.”
He left the room, and closed the door behind him. Martin,
the footman, was seated in a chair by the fire and gazing at the
flames with a look of fear on his face. He rose the moment
he saw Loryat.
“Now, Martin,” said the young artist, “ what is all this
nonsense about ghosts? What has happened? Her ladyship
has been very much frightened. I'm afraid you have not been
keeping guard very well.”
“I saw him," the man replied in an awestruck voice, “ as
clearly as I see you, sir. When I heard her ladyship scream,
I ran into the room, and she were lying there on the floor, with
the curtain half torn from the rings, and I saw him at the
window. It were only for a second. Then I flung open the
window and looked out, but there was nothing there.”
“Of course not, Martin. You don't believe in ghosts, do
you?”
“No-o, sir,” the man stammered. “Leastways, I didn't
afore I saw Sir Philip."
“There are no such things as ghosts, Martin,” Loryat con-
tinued. “You saw a living man; you saw Robert Sankey dis-
guised as Sir Philip Malreward.”
Then he returned to the small drawing-room.
“ I am going outside for a minute, dear," he said to Dorothy
Malreward; “I want the revolver. It's just as I expected. It


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 315
was Sankey you saw — Sankey disguised as Sir Philip Malre-
ward. He will probably return if he thinks we are in the
house. I will wait for him below the terrace, where I can see
the window."
“Oh, Dick,” she cried piteously, “don't leave me here. It
was not Sankey."
“ I tell you that it was,” Loryat replied sharply. “He was
trying to frighten you. You will be quite safe here. Martin
is in the next room, and I'll leave the door open. But don't
scream or lose control of yourself in any way. You are quite
safe, and with luck we'll put an end to Sankey's career for
ever.”
He pocketed the revolver and left the room. His face was
grim and terrible, and the woman looked in vain for any
tenderness in the hard lines of his mouth and the fierce glow
of his eyes.
“God help us both,” he thought. “God help us both.”
He was about to open the hall door when he heard the sound
of footsteps on the landing. They were not very loud, but
they were firm and decided — undoubtedly the footsteps of a
man. He paused and listened.
“There is no other man in the house," he thought. “No
one but Martin and myself.”
He thrust his right hand into his pocket, and waited. There
was silence.
And then, looking up, he fancied that something moved in
the twilight of the upper part of the staircase. And, at the
same time the sound of footsteps commenced again, and a
short, sturdy figure emerged into the light, and stood there,
with one hand on the balusters, and the other holding some-
thing that glittered in the light.
The man was dressed in a suit of grey, and his short, grizzled
beard and moustache were neatly trimmed. He wore a pair
of patent leather boots, and looked as neat and well-groomed as
though he had just finished his toilet. There was no trace of
the man who had been wrecked on the Ridge Sands. Yet


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 317
“Tell Martin he can go to bed,” he whispered. “Then
when the coast is clear, we will go downstairs and talk this
matter over — with my wife.”
“No,” Loryat replied. “I shall not allow you to see Lady
Malreward tonight.”
The man laughed — very softly. “You think she has been
frightened enough, eh? ” he said, after a pause. “Well, per-
haps what I have to say can keep till tomorrow. I think you
realize that the blow is bound to fall very soon. If you will
follow me, we can talk the matter over between ourselves."
He walked a few steps across the landing. But Loryat hesi-
tated to follow him into the darkness.
“If you do not come,” Sir Philip continued, “ I shall turn
and go downstairs. You can't stop me except with a bullet,
and then my wife — ”.
“I will come,” Loryat said quickly, and he moved forward
cautiously, with his revolver in his hand. Sir Philip Malre-
ward laughed, and struck a match.
Loryat followed him down a long passage, turned to the left,
and ascended a flight of four steps. Here Sir Philip struck
another match, took a key from his pocket, and opened the
door.
“ An excellent place for a quiet talk,” he said. “Please
come in, and I will light some candles.”
Loryat entered, and waited by the door till Sir Philip had
lit two candles on the mantel-piece. In the dim light he saw
that he was in a room some twenty feet square - a room in
which the dust of months lay thick over everything. The win-
dows were shuttered.
Sir Philip walked to the door, closed it, and turned the
key in the lock. Then he carefully dusted a chair with an old
silk scarf that was hanging on a peg.
“Please sit down, Mr. Loryat,” he said. “We shall be
quite undisturbed here."
Loryat seated himself in the chair, and held his revolver
across his knees. He was still dazed, and unable to think.


320 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
Chidley ask you down to stay at the ‘Den’; it was I who com-
missioned you to paint Lady Malreward's portrait, so that you
two might be thrown together as much as possible. It was I
who killed Collis, and turned even that to my advantage. And
then fortune, which had been my friend all along, gave the
winning card into my hand. You were knocked down outside
the very gates of Norton-Malreward, severely injured, and
nursed to life again by Lady Malreward. Could anything have
been more opportune?”
“I suppose that was your work as well — you paid the chauf.
feur to run me down?”
“I wish I could lay it to my account,” Sir Philip answered
with a sigh; "it was a master stroke of which any man might
have been proud. But alas! I am forced to confess that the
accident was — well, a pure accident. Yet how timely, how
complete? You lost your memory; forgot Beryl Lyte; forgot
that Lady Malreward had promised never to marry again.
The old Mr. Loryat was dead, the new was head over heels in
love with Lady Malreward. So far I had led you upwards,
through the most delightful paths a man can tread. You stood
on the summit of your happiness. Then ”– and Sir Philip
moistened his lips and grinned —“I began to drag you down
foot by foot, inch by inch, now and then giving you hope and
letting you struggle upwards to the light again, but surely and
steadily dragging you down to the depths you have reached
tonight."
“Go on with your story,” Loryat said sternly. “You have
not come to the blackest, the vilest part of all."
“The end was near," Sir Philip answered slowly. “I knew
that I could not fight the battle much longer. I meant to keep
her there for a day or two — just to interfere with your wed-
ding; and then, well, like Lady Malreward, I was tempted.”
“ Tempted?”
“ Yes, to teach her what physical suffering really was — to
teach her what I have suffered, when I have been driven into
the wilds in order to try and forget her.”


324 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
“Good man,” cried Dixon. “We're on their track now.
Come on, Hughes — get ahead with the lantern.
The inspector obeyed, not with alacrity, for he had no desire
to lead the way. He stepped over the wainscoting, and walked
slowly along a narrow passage, holding the light above his
head.
The passage ran straight for twenty yards. For a few feet
the panelling was on the left. Then there was a stone partition
wall, and the panelling appeared on the right. The passage
ended in a blank wall of stone.
“We shall have to spoil some more of her ladyship’s prop-
erty,” said Dixon, “ unless we can find the spring - ah, here
it is, bolt and all. It's easy enough to see these things when
you're on the right side of them.”
But the sliding door was easier to see than to open, and
Jarvis had to use his ax again. When they had forced a way
through the panelling they found themselves in the gallery
of the great hall of the castle. Dixon hastened to the rail
and looked over. There was no one in sight.
“The men escaped this way,” he said, “and the house is
surrounded. They must still be in the house, if they haven't
been caught outside.”
They made their way through the door which led on to the
landing, and then went downstairs and out into the garden.
The rain was still coming down in torrents, but the fury of the
wind seemed to have abated. Here and there along the ter-
race, and in different parts of the grounds, lanterns were dotted
about.
Mr. Dixon walked round the house, questioning the circle
of men, and obtaining no information. He told them to re-
double their vigilance, that the man was in the house, and
would certainly attempt to get past them in the course of the
next few minutes..
“Five hundred pounds!” he said to each one." It's worth
keeping awake for that, or even part of it."
Then he returned to the house, and an organized search was


CHAPTER LII
Sir Philip Malreward struck a match, and the yellow glow
Aickered in the gloom, showing stone floor, and stone roof, and
stone walls and on the floor a man bound hand and foot.
Then the match expired, and again there was darkness.
“You could not decide for yourself, Mr. Loryat,” said the
old man, “so I have been forced to decide for you. You
said that one of us must die. It is hard to decide which. I
have thought it over, and have come to the conclusion that the
simplest solution of the difficulty will be for us both to pass
quietly out of the world.”
“You coward! ” cried Loryat, straining at his bonds. “I
trusted to your honour.”
“Well, have I not done what you wished ? ” Sir Philip an-
swered. “I saved you from an awkward situation. My wife
will never know that I am alive. She will be upset at your
death, of course, but in time she will forget you, and marry
some one else. So she will be quite happy, and I believe that
you are more concerned about her happiness than your own.”
“You are mad!” cried Loryat. “For God's sake let us talk
this matter over sensibly. I have given you your life. I could
easily have killed you an hour or two ago.”
“Yes, if you didn't mind being hanged for murder. Now, !
shall run no risk of that. I don't wish to live. I have ex.
hausted all the possibilities of life but one, and that one I am
never likely to know. You have been loved by the woman
whom you love - life has nothing better to offer than that,
unless it be death of those one hates. You say you have given
me my life. Well, I will give you yours on one condition, Mr.
Loryat."
326


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 327
“ What is that?”
“You cannot leave this place,” Sir Philip answered, “ unless
some one should chance to find out where you are. I have
locked the door, and thrown the key underneath it. I gave it
a flip with my fingers, and sent it down the step which lies
outside. So we are both here till some one comes along and
releases us. But if you like to purchase a sporting chance of
life ”
“What are your terms? ” Loryat broke in.
“ They are very easy. I will cut the cords that bind you,
and give you my revolver."
“Yes, and then?”
“ Then you must kill me
“You talk like a maniac,” Loryat said quietly. “You know
I could not kill you in cold blood."
“Why not? You have had it in your mind more than once
tonight. There will be no danger of your being hanged for
it. If anybody is kind enough to release you from your prison,
you will be able to explain. You fired in self-defence.”
Loryat shuddered, and was glad that the darkness hid his
face. The offer was worthy of the warped but subtle mind of
the man who had tempted his own wife to dishonour. As Sir
Philip had said, the murderer would escape the law, and might
even argue that no murder had been committed. But the mem-
ory of the crime would live, and would work like poison in a
man's mind. It would lie between him and Dorothy Malre-
ward for ever — as strong and sure a barrier as the existence
of Sir Philip himself.
“I cannot accept your offer,” Loryat replied, after a long
silence. “I do not care to purchase a remote chance of free-
dom at so great a price. It is possible that I may have to
remain here with your dead body, and I don't fancy that.”
“That idea did not occur to me," said Sir Philip, with a
laugh, “but it is a good idea all the same.” Then he struck a
match, and walking slowly to the far end of the room, went on
his knees, and opened a box that stood in one corner. He took


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 329
implement was made of soft iron, and twisted in his hand.
“Perhaps I could blow the lock out with my revolver,” he
thought as he sent the tin-opener tinkling to the floor. “I've
heard of such things being done, but I should think it is a
dangerous operation — the last resource of a desperate man.”
He picked up the table knife and began to cut at the wood
round the lock.
When Sir Philip Malreward left the dungeon, he did not re-
turn by the way he had come, but walking along the passage in
the opposite direction, descended a long flight of stone steps.
He carried no light, but he neither hesitated nor stumbled in the
darkness.
When he reached the bottom of the staircase, he proceeded
along another passage, and then descended some more steps till
he reached a small square room. Here he struck a match,
blew it out hastily, slid back a panel in the wall, ascended half
a dozen steps, pulled back another sliding panel, and found
himself in an old building, which a century ago had been a
summer house, but which for many years had been used as a
receptacle for lumber. It was situated at the very lowest
point of the castle grounds, and one side was built in the wall
that bounded the estate.
Sir Philip stood for a few moments irresolute. Then he
unlocked the door, and torrents of rain beat in through the
opening. He listened, but could hear nothing save the roar
of the wind. Between the summer house and the castle lights
were moving, but here he was outside the cordon of the
watchmen. It was through this entrance that he had made
his way into the castle the night he had stolen the picture, and
the night he had stood in the gallery of the hall and watched
Kentisbury plead for the love of Dorothy Malreward.
“I must get money," he thought. “Rachel Chidley will
have. to give me money."
He closed the door, and opened one of the windows that


330 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
overlooked the valley. It would be easy to drop from this to
the ground and make his way unobserved through the storm to
the “ Den.” All the efforts of the hunters were concentrated
on the castle. The country beyond would be open and it was
even possible that the “ Den ” would not be watched.
Then suddenly he heard the door close. He struck a match,
and saw that he was not alone. A woman with a white, terri-
fied face was leaning with her back against the door, one hand
clutching at her breast and the other behind her back.
“Janet,” he cried in amazement, “what on earth brings
you here?”
“I want to save you,” Mrs. Oldwin whispered. “I thought
you would be here. Years ago you told me of this place -
years ago. Do you remember?”
“You can be of no help to me," he answered quietly. “I
am going to leave England." The match burnt out and they
were in darkness. -
“I can help you,” she said. “I came down tonight to do
so. When I heard you were in the castle, and that the place
was surrounded so that no one could escape, I knew you would
come out this way. I have been waiting here for a long time.
I am drenched to the skin.”
“Go back to the inn and change,” he said grimly. “Then
sleep, if you can. You cannot help me.”
“You will not take me with you?”
“No, it would be impossible. I shall have all my work
cut out to get away as it is. The truth is that I have gone rather
too far in this matter."
“Does Mr. Loryat know?” she asked, after a pause.
“Yes. My work is ended. But my wife's sufferings are not
at an end, now that Loryat knows. Now, if you will excuse
me, I must go. Time is very precious," and he moved towards
the door.
“Give me your hand, Philip,” she said softly, “if it is to
be good-bye.”
He held out his right hand and groped for hers in the dark-


THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 331
ness. She took it in her left hand. But he did not notice
that. He only perceived that her fingers were cold as ice.
Then suddenly there was a flash, and a loud report. Sir
Philip staggered back, clutched at the air, and fell to the
ground. The woman did not move for a few seconds. Then
she struck a match, and kneeling by the side of the body, held
the flame close to the grey face. The man had been shot
through the heart. As she had grasped his hand, she had held
her weapon close against his side and fired.
She rose to her feet, struck another match, and looked round
the room. It was half-filled with old lumber; the walls and the
roof were of wood. In one corner there was a pile of deal
boxes and some newspapers. She picked up two of the papers,
opened them out, and crumpled them up again. Then she
thrust them in one of the deal boxes, and put a match to them.
The paper flared up, and the thin wood crackled and sent out
jets of smoke and flame.
She waited for a minute until the boxes were well alight;
then she dragged two or three pieces of furniture towards them,
coughing and gasping for breath.
Then she opened the door, closed it again, and made her
way through the rain to the edge of the cliffs beyond the castle.


334 THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
hind it, long and tapering, was like a purple road that led
far away into the greyness of the coming night.
“Beryl,” whispered James Cubrick, and she started almost
as though she had been unaware of his presence. Yet he
had been with her for the past hour, and it was barely half a
minute since he had last spoken to her.
“Well?” she queried with a smile. "What is it?”
“ I'm afraid I startled you out of a dream,” he answered.
“1-I am very sorry."
She shook her head and laughed. “This is not the time
for dreaming,” she replied. “ It is not yet dark.”
“Have you forgotten your promise, Beryl? ” he said in a
low voice. “You said that you would give me an answer at
sunset."
“The sun has not yet set," she answered. “ It is getting
cold, Jim. Let us go back to Mrs. Seton.”
“ Can you not wait,” he asked, “till the sun has set? Let
us walk towards the pyramid."
She nodded assent, and they moved across the sand to the
great tomb of a king whose name conveys nothing to the busy
people of today. Then, leaning against a mighty slab of stone,
they saw the sun dip its edge below the horizon.
“Your answer? ” he said tenderly, and again the look of
fear came into his eyes.
She did not speak, but he felt the touch of her fingers on
his hand, and the next moment he had clasped her in his arms.
" It is not true," he cried hoarsely, looking down into her
white face. “I cannot believe that it is true.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “it is true.”
He kissed her passionately, and when he looked up again,
the sun had set. But he fancied that he saw before him an
illimitable pathway of gold.
THE END


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