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TROUBLED TRANTON





TROUBLED TRANTON
BY
W. E. NORRIS
AUTHOR OF
"THE SQUARE PEG," "NOT GUILTY," "PAULINE," ETC.
* E MORRIS
LONDON
CONSTABLE & COMPANY LTD.
1915





Szole
CONTENTS
OHAPTER
PAGE
I. A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
II. AN INTERMEDIARY .
III. ORDEAL BY FIRE ..
IV. AUGUSTUS THE GREAT
V. THE RECTOR'S RUSE
VI. UNABLE TO OBLIGE
VII. DOROTHY TAKES A HAND -
VIII. PUZZLED AUTHORITIES .
IX. FRIEND HARRY
-
-
X. THE BOLD PATROL -
· 106
XI. HAZARDS ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE
112
127
XII. NATURAL SELECTIONS .
XIII. LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED
XIV. THE PRISON-HOUSE
· 143
- 158
XV. RELEASE-AT A PRICE
XVI. HARRY GETS A HINT OR TWO
XVII. SIR AUGUSTUS IS VERY BRAVE
XVIII. DISILLUSION
XIX. “ VICINUS ENIPEUS "
189
197
205
212
221
XX. THE EXPERT
XXI. SARDONIC SOHO
..
230
287735


CONTENTS
OHAPTER
XXII. SWEET REASONABLENESS -
•
PAGE
238
254
XXIII. GIUSEPPE THE INSCRUTABLE
XXIV. THE CAPTOR CAPTURED .
.
XXV. DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE
.
261
271
286
296
XXVI. THE MELTING OF THE SNOWS
-
XXVII. TERMS OF PEACE ·
XXVIII. DOROTHY BREAKS THE RULES ..
303


TROUBLED TRANTON
CHAPTER I
A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
“ANOTHER horrible letter !” sighed Mrs. Lynden,
laying down a sheet of notepaper and looking
across the breakfast-table at her daughter, who was
her only companion.
“ Another anonymous one ?” asked the girl
cheerfully. “Well, the great pull that letters of
that kind have over business letters and begging
letters is that they don't require an answer.”
“I almost wish they did,” returned her mother,
sighing again. “At least, I wish it were possible
to make some answer. I can't think that people
would write to me in this cruel way if they knew the
whole truth!”
Sylvia Lynden got up, walked round the table
and encircled her mother's slim figure with a strong
and shapely arm. “Dearest,” said she, “ you
aren't to let these people distress you. Why should
you ?”
“ Oh, only because I can't help it,” answered Mrs.
Lynden, laughing a little. “Of course they don't
know the truth; of course they don't know that I
am here simply because I can't help it. Still, when
it comes to the question of whether I have any


TROUBLED TRANTON
right to be here, I must agree with them. That's
another of the things that I can't help.”
“ You have just as much right to be here as you
have to the clothes that you're wearing. Though
if a beggar woman were to march in and protest
that she wanted them more than you do, I'm sure
you would at once proceed to strip them off your
back and array her in them. Let me have a look
at the thing."
The missive which she picked up resembled in
form and substance several previous communica-
tions which had been delivered at Tranton Alder
since Mrs. Lynden had come into residence there.
Written on coarse paper and in an uneducated-
doubtless disguised-hand, it did not seem worthy
of any other fate than to follow its predecessors
into the fire.
“How much longer are you going to hold on to
property which does not belong to you or your
family? Be advised and go. You are not wanted
at Tranton, and you will never be suffered to live
there in peace. We can do more disagreeable
things than write letters, as you shall find if you
defy us.”
“I think,” said Sylvia, “ we will keep this docu-
ment. Perhaps it was rather a mistake to burn the
others. The thing is becoming a nuisance, and if
the writer can be discovered, he or she ought to be
punished.”
“I don't know that I particularly want him or her
to be punished,” observed Mrs. Lynden ponsively.


A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
ated, you com to me limit isn't ima
“Dear mother, you never want anybody to be
punished! All the same, I can't allow anybody to
go on punishing you like this."
“I suppose they may consider it a duty. It says
'we,' you see; so there must be more than one
person concerned.”
“Oh, I don't know; that's only a way of trying
to frighten you, I suspect. Most likely the writer
is one of the servants who had to be discharged.”
“Do you think so? Well, it isn't impossible,
though it doesn't seem to me likely. They were all
compensated, you know."
“Of course they were, little as some of them
deserved it, and, of course, you didn't get the
thanks you deserved. Dear mother, I wish you
could be brought to see that you don't owe com-
pensation all round. It's such a fatal attitude to
adopt !”
“But I'm absolutely incapable of adopting any
other, my dear,” pleaded Mrs. Lynden.
She looked as though she might be. The frail,
pale little woman-pretty still, for all her five and
forty years, her rather sunken blue eyes and the
silvery streaks upon her light-brown hair,had the
appearance of being ill fitted to resist any demands
that might be made upon her benevolence or her
sense of justice. Demands of the former descrip-
tion had been freely formulated and liberally met;
of the latter none, save the impersonal ones which
have been mentioned, had as yet been presented to
her. These, however, combined with other causes,
had been enough to bring horizontal lines to her


TROUBLED TRANTON
smooth brow and a pathetic droop to the corners
of a mouth which seemed designed for smiles. Her
sense of justice, as she had told Sylvia again and
again, clashed atrociously with her retention of
estates which were, no doubt, hers by law, but
which certainly ought in equity to belong to
Nicholas Alder.
It was by no fault and through no instrumen-
tality of hers that she now found herself in posses-
sion of an imposing mansion and a still more im-
posing rent-roll. If the late Mr. Sidney Alder, her
uncle by marriage, had seen fit to constitute her his
heiress, this was not because such a proceeding had
been fair or reasonable or expected by anybody,
but because he had fallen out with his nephew
Nicholas, who would have been the heir of entail,
had there been any entail. Also, perhaps, in some
degree because he had been fond of her; but she
could hardly be held to blame for that-she, of
whom all the world had always and inevitably been
fond !
By no means all the world had been fond of
Sidney Alder; nor, for that matter, was all the
world fond of Nicholas either, although their respec-
tive angularities had been widely dissimilar. Old
Mr. Alder, refined and fastidious in his tastes, nar-
row in his political and religious convictions, in-
tolerant of opposition and constitutionally incap-
able of believing that any honest person could view
matters from a standpoint other than his own, had
spent two-thirds of a long life in the accumulation
of art treasures which every guest who crossed his


A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
threshold had either to appreciate or to be set down
as an ignorant savage. The residue he had given
to affairs of subsidiary consequence, such as marry-
ing a lady who had died childless, representing his
county in Parliament during a long period which
disgust at the ever-advancing inroads of democracy
had led him to curtail, and bestowing some reluc-
tant attention upon the management of a property
in which he felt little interest, since he had no son
to follow him. It was impossible for such a man
to hit it off with his nephew Nicholas, whose man-
ners were blunt, whose political opinions were not
immutable, who was irregular in his attendance at
church, who did not care much about pictures, and
who thought that a country gentleman should above
all things be a sportsman and a practical farmer.
If Nicholas had not lived at Hill Place, hard by, an
open breach might possibly have been avoided; it
was rendered unavoidable by the latter's too fre-
quent consultations with his uncle's agent respect-
ing matters in which he had only a contingent
interest—if that and by his outspoken disdain of
Cimabue.
“I won't go so far," he remarked one day, “as
to say that anybody who prefers such infantile
compositions to a good Landseer must be cracked;
but it does seem to me perverse to spend a small
fortune upon buying them.”
The thin, stooping old man to whom this
audacious criticism was addressed, and whose
patience had already been severely taxed, stood
up, trembling from head to foot.


6
TROUBLED TRANTON
"If you cannot enter my house without in-
sulting me, Nicholas,” he returned, “I think you
had better refrain from entering it at all.”
Hot-tempered Nicholas took him at his word.
Silently he stalked forth, and from that day Tranton
Alder saw him no more. Absurd as the actual
ground of quarrel was, it sufficed for the two men,
who were bent upon quarrelling, and who, while
remaining near neighbours, never spoke to one
another again. Only during a part of the year
were they neighbours, for towards the end of his life
old Mr. Alder took to spending the winter months
in Italy, a country which had always been more
congenial to him than his own. It was in Rome
that he came across the daughter of his late wife's
sister, Margaret Lynden, whose existence he had
almost forgotten, but who speedily won his heart,
as she had won so many others, by means of the
instinctive sympathy with which Nature had
dowered her. This charming widow had for a long
time made her home in the Italian capital, where
she had a large acquaintance both amongst perma-
nent residents and foreign visitors. She was well
off, and entertained frequently in an unosten-
tatious way. Perhaps she did not know a very
great deal about art, but, on the other hand, she
know a great many artists and had that intuition
for discriminating praise which is perhaps rather
more grateful to the artistic ear than the assured
pronouncements of experts. Mr. Alder found her
salon so pleasant a place of resort that he soon
became the most assiduous of Mrs. Lynden's many


A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
visitors. He conceived an affection for her and
her daughter which was but the natural outcome of
their amiability and his loneliness. He himself was
not generally accounted amiable, yet he could be
gracious and attractive when he was understood.
The two ladies, who had no difficulty in under-
standing the old man, liked him, were rather sorry
for him, wished him to feel at home with them, and
gladly gave him hospitality in the villa at Albano
to which they were wont to transfer themselves
with the advent of warm weather. It can truly
be said that when he died quite suddenly in that
villa one May morning, they had not the faintest
expectation of benefiting pecuniarily by an event
which caused them both sincere sorrow.
In due course came the startling announcement
from London lawyers that the entire Tranton Alder
estate, together with the pictures, statuary, furni-
ture, horses, carriages and other personal property
of which the deceased had died possessed, had been
bequeathed by him to his “ beloved niece Margaret
Lynden” absolutely. His beloved niece received
the news with sheer consternation. She did not
need wealth; she did not want the responsibilities
thus thrust upon her; she had no wish to exchange
Italy for England; above all, she was shocked at
the idea of despoiling Nicholas Alder, with whom
she had been intimately associated for a time in
years gone by. She wrote at once to Nicholas,
saying all this, and declaring that she desired
nothing better than to resign the unsought heritage
in his favour. She wrote at considerable length;


TROUBLED TRANTON
she asked him to believe that she was not so much
offering to make a sacrifice as begging to be re-
lieved of a burden; she assured him that, although
they had not met since the days of their dead and
buried youth, she had never ceased to hold him in
affectionate remembrance. In a word, she was-
as everyone who knew her might have expected her
to be-considerate, tactful and graceful. So the
following curt reply came to her like a blow in the
face:
“DEAR MRS. LYNDEN,
“I have instructed my lawyers, who, as I
understand, are also yours, to answer the ridiculous
suggestion contained in your letter.
“ Yours faithfully,
“NICHOLAS ALDER.”
Now, the suggestion may have been inherently
ridiculous—the lawyers were quite decided in their
opinion that it was—but surely one does not treat
a lady whose intentions at least have been of the
best in so deliberately and brutally discourteous
a fashion !
“I suppose one does if one is a pig,” was Sylvia's
remark at the time.
“Oh, but he isn't !" protested her mother-
“that is, unless he has completely changed from
what he used to be. No; I'm afraid this means
that he doesn't believe a word of what I told him,
and that he sets me down as a hypocrite who only
made that proposal because I know it wouldn't be
accepted.”


A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
9
Whatever may have been Nicholas Alder's views
with regard to the proposal in question, it was ob-
vious that neither he nor anybody else could have
accepted it. Obvious, at any rate, to the ordinary
mortal; but possibly Mrs. Lynden was not in all
respects an ordinary mortal, for even after she had
sorrowfully taken leave of her Roman home and
her Roman friends and had transported herself to
the palatial abode of which she was so unwilling a
mistress, she still clung to the idea of ultimate ab-
dication. She hinted at this to the neighbours,
when they called, with the result that some of them
seemed to be amused, while others thought it
sweet, if unpractical, of her to be so disinterested.
Naturally, they could not help looking upon her as
an interloper. For many generations Tranton had
been in the possession of the Alders, and its aliena-
tion from the present head of the family was too
glaring an act of injustice to be ignored. Neverthe-
less, there were various persons who did not like
Nicholas, whereas there was nobody who did not
forthwith begin to like Mrs. Lynden. The squires
and squiresses of the vicinity readily extended the
right hand of fellowship to a lady who made them
feel at ease in a house which they had never hitherto
entered without an apprehensive shiver, and a
rumour that she had been annoyed by offensive
unsigned letters aroused very general indignation.
Mrs. Lynden, liking popularity and being habitu-
ated to it, found some consolation in the friendli-
ness of those who dwelt round about her; but what
was the reverse of consolatory was that Nicholas


10
TROUBLED TRANTON
Alder had taken no notice at all of her advent. He
had been reported, it was true, to be away from
home; but he was now known to have returned,
and his abstention from an act of customary
civility was disagreeably significant.
"I do wish he would call !" sighed Mrs. Lynden.
“I can't very well make advances to him until he
does. He considers me a fraud, no doubt; yet,
even so, he might allow me a chance of defending
myself. If at least one could see him ! ..."
“When he has seen you, dear mother, he will
soon be begging your pardon on his bended knees,”
Sylvia predicted, laughing. “Meanwhile, if he
prefers to sulk, let him sulk. We can get on with-
out him; he really isn't indispensable."
Perhaps to so sensitive a mortal as Mrs. Lynden
he was; perhaps the mere fact of his recalcitrancy
would have rendered him so if the unquestionable
reality of his grievance had not. But Sylvia was
as unlike her mother in temperament as she was
in person. The healthy, well-proportioned girl
looked and talked as if she had been brought up in
her native land, instead of having resided abroad
almost from infancy. She had the gait, manners
and vocabulary of the modern young English-
woman, together with a little of the surface hard-
ness with which the modern young English woman
is sometimes reproached. From one defect com-
monly imputed to her contemporaries she was,
however, wholly exempt; for there never lived a
more dutiful or devoted daughter. Sylvia's love
for her mother was of a nature which would have


A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
11
been more comprehensible and usual had their re-
spective positions been reversed. It came natur-
ally to her to keep watch and ward over one whose
health was not robust, whose spirits varied with
her health and who was as dependent upon small
attentions as she was prettily grateful for them.
That “dear mother” must be spared worry was
the first article of Sylvia's creed, and anyone who
presumed to worry dear mother was likely to en-
counter the full brunt of her wrath. Consequently,
she was not too well disposed towards Mr. Nicholas
Alder. For the rest, a brave, essentially good-
tempered girl, who, if she had not inherited her
mother's style of beauty, had a comeliness of her
own which was probably adequate, inasmuch as
her figure and complexion were well up to the mark,
while her large iron-grey eyes might even be called
beautiful. They had, indeed, been so called by
more than one appreciative Roman admirer.
Evidently it was going to be Sylvia's business
to take practical charge of a somewhat unwieldy
establishment and to deal, so far as her inex-
perience would allow, with agents, bailiffs, land-
stewards and gamekeepers. The task, which was
of course impossible of competent performance at
the outset, had resolved itself for the most part
into a succession of obligatory assents; but she
was beginning to feel her way, and had already
contrived to acquire some sort of authority over
the indoor servants. She had rather a busy morn-
ing with those overfed, underworked menials, to
whose demands and complaints she gave a patient


12
TROUBLED TRANTON
hearing, though they obtained few concessions
from her; then, as her mother did not care about
driving that afternoon, she ordered the black cob
to be saddled and went out for a ride over the
chalk hills which sheltered Tranton Alder from
the north. She was not a finished horsewoman,
but she had had many a scamper across the
Campagna, and the cob, a sober beast which had
carried the late Mr. Alder, required no riding.
The stretches of turf on the top of the low hills
gave her an opportunity for a gallop and afforded
her, at the end of it, a tolerably wide view of the
surrounding country, which had a palely smiling
aspect under the veiled "sunlight of late autumn.
To an eye attuned to vivid colouring the misty
landscape, with its subdued greys and browns and
half-tints, looked a little sad, yet vaguely friendly
and familiar. Not for nothing does one come of
Anglo-Saxon stock, and Sylvia, who had never set
conscious eyes upon the confines of Kent and
Surrey before this twentieth year of her age, felt
strongly the impression that here was home. Vast,
dark-red, uncompromising Tranton, directly be-
neath her, did not, to be sure, present much ap-
pearance of being her, or anybody's, home. It
was a fine, stately pile, encompassed by formal
terraces and gardens and a well-timbered park;
one could even imagine it assuming a mien of
austere gaiety if its innumerable bedrooms had
been tenanted by guests and if shooting parties
could have been discerned wending their way
towards it at close of day from the adjacent


A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
13
coverts; but whether two lone women would ever
be able to impart a homelike guise to one of its
corners was another question. It possessed, in
fact, no corners, save in a strictly architectural
sense, and had the air of insisting upon being
taken in the lump. Hill Place, just visible as
a splash of white amongst yellow and russet
trees, struck the observer as being much more
habitable.
“ He has a very nice house of his own,” thought
Sylvia; “ why should he grudge us our gloomy
barrack ?”
This was a reflection which suggested itself to
her every time that she gazed from afar at Nicholas
Alder's abode; but she was well aware that it was
exculpatory rather than sincere. Doubtless he
was a very disagreeable, bad-mannered man; only
she could not divest herself of the conviction that
he was likewise a gravely injured one. She wanted
him to know that her mother had done him no
voluntary injury; she felt that something in the
nature of an apology might be his due, though she
also felt that he, on his side, ought to apologise.
Her sentiment with regard to him was one of
mingled irritation and curiosity. The latter femi-
nine craving met with no gratification from the
elderly groom who was in attendance upon her
and to whom she addressed sundry leading remarks
which would have elicited a flood of volubleinforma-
tion from any Italian servant. Respectful monosyl-
lables, punctuated by repeated touchings of the
hat, were pretty nearly all that she obtained. Oh


A RELUCTANT HEIRESS
15
Lynden was amongst the still happier ones whom
everybody likes.
“My dear lady," he was saying when Sylvia
entered, “ there's only one way to get on with
Nick Alder, and that is to leave him alone. I
speak from long experience of him. He has
quarrelled with a good many of his neighbours,
first and last, but he has never quarrelled with
me, and never will, because he knows well enough
by this time that I won't let him. Every now and
then we have a difference, and he won't look at me
for perhaps a week or two; but he always comes
round in the end, and I will say for him that he
never bears malice.”
“ Not even when he has been in the wrong?"
asked Mrs. Lynden.
The Rector broke into a loud laugh. “Ah,
well, he doesn't very often think himself in the
wrong."
“He can hardly think so in the matter of his
difference with me—for I suppose I must take it
that there is a difference. He's most distressingly
in the right !”
The Rector had no immediate rejoinder for that.
He crossed his legs, stroked his muscular calf
pensively and fell back upon his original counsel.
“Oh, leave him alone-leave him alone! It's
the only way. Well, Miss Sylvia, how do you
find the cob suiting you ? Rather better fitted
for an old gentleman than a young lady, eh ?
You'll have to commission me to get you a different
class of mount. One way and another, I hear of


16
TROUBLED TRANTON
a good many animals for sale; though this isn't
quite the moment to buy cheaply.”
Evidently he did not wish to be further ques-
tioned upon the subject which he had changed;
but what he had said was barely reassuring. After
his departure, Sylvia asked her mother whether
she had mentioned the anonymous letters to him,
to which Mrs. Lynden replied, with a shrug:
“Oh yes; but what is the use of consulting any
man as to such things? They always pretend
that an unsigned communication is beneath con-
tempt.”
“ So it is," Sylvia observed.
Mrs. Lynden took her daughter's hand, patted
it affectionately and laughed. “Wait till you
have received one or two, my dear. Though I'm
sure I hope you never will.”


CHAPTER II
AN INTERMEDIARY
WHETHER Parson Cotton had been right or not in
affirming that a good way of dealing with Nicholas
Alder was to leave him alone, it was the way which
had been largely adopted by his fellow-creatures
throughout the fifty years of his earthly career.
Given his temperament, which was the reverse of
sociable, and his temper, which, when aroused (as it
rather easily was), spared neither friend nor foe,
such a result was inevitable. A man who does not
seek your company and who, when in it, is more
likely than not to fall foul of you invites a wide
berth. Nevertheless, Nicholas Alder had certain
merits which were recognised by the few who knew
him well. It had to be recognised by everybody
that he was a sportsman in the best sense of the
term, that as a landlord he was both just and
generous and that in him the poor possessed an
active friend. That was the good side of him. He
had other sides, and some of these were not of a
nature to win affection or respect. Easygoing Mr.
Cotton might say that he never bore malice; but of
persons who could and would have told another
tale there was no lack. He was not, in truth, a
man who forgave readily, nor was be much more
capable than his late uncle had been of allowing any
17


18 TROUBLED TRANTON
credit to an adversary. He was inclined to look
upon those who opposed him as hostes humani
generis whom it was a duty to crush, and rumour
asserted that he was not always very particular as
to the methods of crushing them which he em-
ployed. Cut out by nature for a benevolent
despot, his abilities in such a capacity might have
outweighed his defects, though the defects would
have remained perceptible. As a country gentle-
man and a magistrate, he was bound to come into
frequent collision with his congeners, and he did.
None of them liked him very much, while some-
notably Sir Augustus Gresham of Saltwood—dis-
liked him with hearty cordiality.
The life of this uningratiating, yet (as his son
Geoffrey could have testified) not wholly unlovable
personage had scarcely been such as to sour him, if
it had offered little towards converting him into
an optimist. It had been, upon the whole, a
neutral-tinted sort of life, devoid of excitements,
pleasurable or painful, save such as he had been
able to derive from the field sports to which he was
addicted, and bare of those fond memories which
are the solace of many travellers on the downward
slope. Some lingering halo of romance might, had
he cared to recall it, have hung over the record of
his early days, when he had fallen violently in love
with Margaret Crawford and had as violently
broken with her; but that was so old a story that
there was probably no association in his mind
between the girl whom he had once adored and the
intriguing woman who had filched his inheritance


AN INTERMEDIARY
19
from him. He would no doubt have married her if
she had not been provoked, one day, into telling
him that he was impossible; to which he had
retorted,with his usual angry haste, that that being
so it must follow that their engagement was equally
impossible. It is not often that lovers are parted
by so trifling an exchange of asperities; but then
it is not often that men of Nicholas Alder's stamp
figure as lovers. Perhaps he never did so again,
despite the fact that he was soon married to an
amiable, colourless lady with whom he lived in
outward harmony for two years. She died in
giving birth to a son, and from that day the
widower allowed no woman the shadow of an
excuse for aspiring to replace her. Margaret,
already married to the valetudinarian Mr. Lynden,
who resided almost entirely in the south of Europe,
was lost to sight and, likewise, it must be assumed,
to memory. The truth is that there was next to
no sentiment or sentimentality in the mental
equipment of the Squire of Hill Place. Moreover,
he did not care for female society and took a rather
contemptuous view of women, as such. He held
no particularly exalted view of men, as such, either;
only he had interests in common with members of
his own sex which preserved him from degenerating
into a misanthropic recluse.
It was fortunate that his son Geoffrey grow up to
participate in those interests. At least, it would
have been very unfortunate if he had not; for,
although the young fellow's cheerful and accom-
modating disposition might have triumphed over


20
TROUBLED TRANTON
many difficulties, his father's would hardly have
tolerated indifference to sport and athletics. As it
was, Geoffrey gave complete satisfaction in all
respects. So much so that, without conscious
effort on his part, he became virtual master of a
man who would have laughed to scorn the idea of
being subject to anybody's mastery. Never
throughout his boyhood and youth did he have a
serious disagreement with his father, whom he was
said to understand and whom he certainly under-
stood how to manage. It was he who composed
the constant bickerings which sprang up between
Nicholas and his neighbours; it was to him that the
petitioners and aggrieved persons invariably ap-
plied; very likely the permanent breach between
Hill Place and Tranton would have been averted if
he had not been absent at the time of its occurrence.
The Lancer regiment to which Geoffrey belonged
was about to return to England from Egypt when
Mrs. Lynden took possession of her new home, and
his arrival at Hill Place on leave was anticipated
with as near an approach to eagerness as his father
ever exhibited. That, to be sure, was not saying
much, nor could anything have been less emotional
than the meeting of the two men on their reunion
after a somewhat prolonged severance. They were
very glad to see one another again, all the same, as
their eyes bore witness, if they refrained their lips
from verbal superfluities. Physically not less than
morally were they dissimilar, no vestige of even
a family likeness between them being discern-
ible, unless it was to be found in their spare,


22 TROUBLED TRANTON
ers
father's attitude towards the newcomers at Tranton,
he judged it prudent to await information. This
he received immediately after dinner, when Mr.
Alder said:
“Everybody has been calling upon that woman,
I hear. Just what I should have expected.”
It was what most people might have expected,
and although many of the callers may have been
aware that their action would be resented as a
personal affront by the umbrageous owner of Hill
Place, they had probably felt that the claims of
social observance were paramount.
“I suppose they couldn't very well cut her,"
Geoffrey remarked.
“I don't know why they couldn't. Not that it
would have been cutting her to abstain from asking
for her acquaintance; but it's all one to me.
People must choose their company for themselves.
If they like consorting with thieves, let them consort
with thieves.”
Geoffrey finished his coffee and lighted a cigar-
ette. Presently he asked: “Is it to be war to the
knife, then ?”
“Certainly not,” answered his father, frowning.
“I tell you plainly that I regard Mrs. Lynden as a
thief, and always shall; but I don't declare war upon
her. How can I ? She is legally entitled to be where
she is and to play the devil—as she most assuredly
will—with property which by every canon of moral
law ought to be ours. I can't make her drop it.”
“She did offer to drop it, didn't she ?”
“ Yes, she made that preposterous and impudent


AN INTERMEDIARY
23
offer. What would she have done, I wonder, if
she had been taken at her word ? You don't
mention it by way of a suggestion that we should
call upon her, I hope.”
“To tell you the truth,” replied Geoffrey, “I
was going to suggest that we had better. It must
be done soon, you see, if it is to be done at all, and
if it isn't done at all, things will be rather uncom-
fortable. I'm quite with you about Uncle Sidney's
will; I think it was as unjust and unjustifiable a will
as a man could make. Still it doesn't follow that
Mrs. Lynden was answerable for it.”
“It may not follow,” returned his father grimly;
“only nothing will ever persuade me that she
wasn't. But call at Tranton if you choose, and if
you think it will conduce to anybody's future
comfort. I don't forbid you to call. Don't ask
me to accompany you, that's all.”
"I might take your card, perhaps."
“ That I'll be hanged if you shall ! I see your
point; you'll be sure to come across the woman
and her daughter, and it might be awkward for you
to have to turn your back upon them. Shake
hands with them, then, and I hope they'll have the
grace to look a little ashamed of themselves when
you do. My case is different. I don't go to dinner-
parties or dances, and if Mrs. Lynden attends meets
of the hounds from what I hear she is the kind of
woman who will—I shall not be compelled to see
her."
Geoffrey nodded, and began to talk about some-
thing else. Having been prepared for considerably


24
TROUBLED TRANTON
more opposition than he had encountered, he was
glad enough to have obtained the concession which
had been granted to him. For he realised what
his father apparently did not, that a policy of open
feud with their supplanters would not only be un-
dignified and embarrassing but would cost them
the general sympathy upon which, as matters
stood, they might reasonably count. It was evi-
dent, however, that unless he could present himself
to Mrs. Lynden as in some sort his father's repre-
sentative, there would not be much use in present-
ing himself at all; so, after having allowed several
days to elapse, he returned in a casual fashion to
the charge with
“I'm going to do my duty at Tranton this after-
noon. You might as well let me leave one of your
cards.”
“I have told you that you are to do nothing of
the sort,” retorted Mr. Alder irascibly.
“Yes, I know; but, after all, sending a card is
a very different thing from taking it yourself, and,
as there are no ladies in this house, the visit can't
be returned. It's a mere formality; it doesn't
commit you to anything."
“No !" was Mr. Alder's decisive reply.
Nevertheless, when the young man was about to
start, his father strode forth and handed him the
required voucher.
“Here have it your own way! But remember
this: I'm not going to speak to thewoman or bow
to her; nor will I ever set foot within the gates of
Tranton while she stays there."


AN INTERMEDIARY
25
Whether he believed that the despatch of a slip
of pasteboard committed him to nothing, or
whether—as was perhaps more likely—he hated to
disoblige his son mattered little. The main thing
was that he had now done what, in Geoffrey's judg-
ment, a gentleman was bound to do. For the rest,
Geoffrey did not consider that either he or bis
father was bound to do much more. He wanted
to make it clear that, although pillaged, they were
not rancorous; he did not wish or intend to go
beyond cold civility with Mrs. Lynden, should he
find her at home. But, as she was at home, and
as he was really incapable of being coldly civil to
anybody, he had not been five minutes in the
Tranton library, where the two ladies were seated,
before he was laughing and chattering as gaily as
though they had been no matter what chance ac-
quaintances at Cairo or elsewhere. Of course, he
produced a favourable impression; he always did
that. But he likewise received one. By the time
that he had swallowed two cups of tea he was
almost ready to find excuses for his inexcusable
great-uncle. He thought Mrs. Lynden delightful,
while Sylvia, who had been content to take a sub-
ordinate part in the conversation, seemed to him
to be a rather particularly nice girl.
“I suppose we mustn't flatter ourselves that this
visit is the equivalent of one from your father,"
was the only observation of Mrs. Lynden's to
which he felt disposed to take some mild exception.
She herself was well aware that it was scarcely
considerate; but she had to find out how she stood


26
TROUBLED TRANTON
with Hill Place, and Geoffrey had given her nothing
in the shape of a clue. He responded after a judi-
ciously ambiguous fashion:
“Oh, the governor's bad manners are notorious
hereabouts. Nobody expects to see him, except
by special appointment, and then he doesn't always
turn up. But I dropped a card of his upon the
hall table as I came in.”
So that true statement obviated the danger of
having to state the whole truth; for his hostess,
naturally, could not invite him to be more explicit.
She spoke of Egypt, where she had once spent a
winter; she knew many people whom Geoffrey
knew; she was interested—or seemed to be inter-
ested—in polo, in cricket, even in the part destined
to be played by cavalry under the conditions of
modern warfare. She was, in short, so pleasant,
intelligent and easy to get on with that her visitor,
when at length he rose, was fain to offer shame-
faced apologies for having paid such a long visit.
“Would it,” she inquired, “ relieve your con-
science to know that, if you hadn't taken pity upon
us, I should have been playing patience ? I should
indeed—I who for years and years have counted
upon being invaded by squads of friends from dusk
to dinner-time. What one has lived to come to !
Do be compassionate and look in again soon.”
“Are you walking ?” Sylvia asked. “If you
are, and if you don't mind waiting half a minute
while I put on my hat, I'll walk part of the way
with you."
Geoffrey was shrowd enough to divine the motive


AN INTERMEDIARY
27
of this flattering proposal—which, for the matter
of that, was not unwelcome. If he was to see more
of these ladies, he would doubtless have to define
his position, and he was in hopes that Miss Lynden
would take a reasonable view of it. She lost no
time, at any rate, in verifying his anticipation; for
hardly had they emerged into the semi-obscurity
of the autumn ovening before she asked point-
blank:
“On your own or by command ?"
“Well,” he was constrained to answer, laughing,
“since you put it like that, I can't say that I'm
here by command.”
“I thought as much. All the kinder of you to
be here on your own. But what does the card
imply ?”
Geoffrey decided to own frankly that it implied
nothing more than a request on his part and a
grudging assent on his father's. “ There you are !
I know it isn't decent behaviour; but the fact is
that he doesn't think he has had decent treatment."
“Oh, nor he has ! I don't in the least wonder
at his being furious with us. He is furious, isn't
he ?”
“That depends upon what you mean by furious.
I'm afraid he's a bit prejudiced. Perhaps you
won't wonder at that either.”
“Not at all; only it's a pity, and it's rather hard
upon poor mother, who would very much rather
not have had this place. She would gladly have
given it up to him if she had been allowed.”
“As if he could have taken it from her !"


cs
TROUBLED TRANTON
“I suppose he couldn't; still he must at least
acknowledge that she keeps it against her will.”
Knowing full well that his father was about as
likely to make that acknowledgment as to believe
in the honesty of an opponent or the death of a
fox-cub from natural causes, Geoffrey evaded the
point. He explained that his father was not a
very sociable person at the best of times, that he
was just now feeling sore upon the subject of a
wrong which might not lie at the door of anybody
living, but which was none the less substantial, and
from which time should be granted him to recover.
He was sure Mrs. Lynden would understand.
“She understands perfectly,” the girl rejoined.
“That's just why she is making herself ill and
miserable.”
Mrs. Lynden, it seemed, was in anything but
strong health, suffering more from nervous head-
aches and kindred ailments than she chose to
admit. This new manner of life in an English
country house would hardly have tended to ex-
hilarate her, even if she had not been depressed by
various horrid and undeserved annoyances, of
which Mr. Alder's hostility was perhaps the most
distressing to her.
“Can't there be peace ?” Sylvia pleaded. “I
don't ask it as a personal favour; my feeling is that
we have done all we could, and if I were told that
I must go down to my grave without ever having
set eyes on Mr. Alder, I could face the prospect un-
flinchingly. But I can't have mother made un-
happy.”


AN INTERMEDIARY
28
Geoffrey was able to reply in all truth and sin-
cerity that he would try his very best to bring
about peace; only he was afraid that time, patience
and diplomacy—perhaps a good deal of all three
would be indispensable.
“I'll bring diplomacy to bear upon my father if
you'll instil patience into your mother, and I dare-
say time will help us both.”
They made friends upon the basis of that com-
pact, and, as they had liked one another from the
first, it was only in the nature of things that they
should speak of possible future meetings. On
learning that Miss Lynden was fond of riding and
would love to hunt, though she had never done such
a thing in her life, the young man promptly offered
to be her instructor and guide with one of the
neighbouring packs of hounds. The fact that the
black cob was the only available saddle-horse in the
Tranton stables was of no consequence, he declared.
“I'll put you up on an old horse of mine, called
Solomon, who'll carry you splendidly and give you
nothing to do except sit on his back. At least, he
isn't exactly my horse, but it's the same thing."
This was presuming rather far upon the general
right of user which he enjoyed with regard to his
father's string of hunters; but he had really for-
gotten for the moment that Hill Place could have
no dealings with Tranton. Sylvia, whether con-
sciously or not, made it easy for him to forget
everything, except that he was having a pleasant
walk with a very congenial companion. She accom-
panied him as far as the imposing wrought-iron
that Hi1240 had mewn to his


30
TROUBLED TRANTON
gates of the park, and was taking leave of him there
when there emerged from the gathering gloom a
bulky horseman, mounted upon a correspondingly
bulky steed, who pulled up, took off his hat and
cried:
“Ah, Miss Lynden, I want a word with you—a
word with you. That you, Geoffrey ? Didn't
know you were back. Glad to see you! Miss
Lynden, I'm disgusted to hear that your poor
mother has been getting more of those rascally
anonymous letters. The same sort of thing, I
suppose ?-calling her a usurper and so forth ?"!
“Oh yes. It doesn't matter.”
“I think it matters a great deal. Tell her,
please, that I mean to take the affair up and have it
thoroughly investigated. I consider it nothing
short of a disgrace to the neighbourhood-disgrace
to the neighbourhood !"
“Who has been writing anonymous letters to
Mrs. Lynden ?" Geoffrey rather foolishly asked.
“Well, if we knew, he wouldn't be anonymous,"
was Sir Augustus Gresham's obvious rejoinder.
“But you may take it from me that we shall know
before long, and the miscreant had better not
expect me to spare him."
This was said so menacingly that Geoffrey
returned, laughing, “I assure you I'm not the
miscrada, laughino 80 menac;
“I should hope not indeed—I should hope not !
But whoever he may be, and whatever may be his
position, he shall be exposed.”
“Quite right,” said Geoffrey. “By the way,


AN INTERMEDIARY
31
Sir Augustus, my father tells me that a couple of
dead fox-cubs have been found. ..."
Sir Augustus gathered up his reins hastily.
“What ?-what? Fox-cubs ? Oh, I don't know
anything about that—don't know anything about
that." He put his horse in motion, then stopped,
and called out over his shoulder: “Have my
coverts ever been drawn blank ? That's all I ask
-that's all I want to know.” And, receiving no
reply, “Very well, then !” he shouted, and so
jogged off into the darkness.
“I suppose we ought to be grateful to him,"
Sylvia remarked, “but I rather wish he wouldn't
be so officious.”
“He couldn't be anything else if he tried. I say,
I'm awfully sorry about those letters. You have
no notion of who the writer is, have you ?”
“Not the faintest.”
“Well, I agree with old Augustus that he or she
will have to be unearthed. Good may come of this
in one way, because when the governor hears of it,
he'll be sure to say that Mrs. Lynden must be pro-
tected. He'd side with his worst enemy against
such a cowardly cur as an anonymous letter writer.”
Sylvia laughed. “I may be wrong," said she,
“but I can't help thinking that Sir Augustus
believes your father to be the culprit.”
“I shouldn't be surprised. Old Augustus is fool
enough to believe anything. Well, I'll keep my
eyes and ears open, and if I get on the scent, I'll
let you know.”


CHAPTER III
ORDEAL BY FIRE
GEOFFREY, who knew his father better than any-
body else in the world did, was right enough in
deeming him a man to whom such methods of
warfare as stabbing a foe in the back were altogether
repugnant. It was not, therefore, quite like him
to receive without any show of indignation the
news of the trial to which Mrs. Lynden had been
subjected. At first he was disposed to be sceptical,
alleging that women often invented such stories to
make themselves interesting; then he merely re-
marked that if the lady had been called a usurper
by some anonymous scribe, she had, after all, been
called by her true name.
“I daresay her bones won't be broken by any
hard words of that kind. Oh yes, my dear
Geoffrey, I'm not disputing a word of what you say
about her being agreeable and amiable and all the
rest of it. Very likely she is; only I'm not con-
cerned in the matter. If a man picks my pocket,
I don't inquire whether he is or is not a good hus-
band and father, or whether he is a pleasant, playful
creature in the domestic circle. To me he is simply
a man who has picked my pocket, and until he has
given my purse or my handkerchief back to me, I
am not going to treat him as a friend—if then.”
32


ORDEAL BY FIRE
33
“But you admit that Mrs. Lynden can't do that,”
Geoffrey pleaded.
“ Consequently she remains to me a female
pickpocket.”
But if he was a little disappointing in his resolute
refusal to look at tentative olive-branches, he
placed no embargo upon Geoffrey's freedom of
action with regard to the Tranton ladies. He could
not have relished the prospect of a growing inti-
macy between them and his son; yet he would not
say a word in deprecation of it. The kindly old
Rector was in the habit of saying that Alder's bark
was worse than his bite, which was not a very acute
appreciation. In reality Nicholas Alder was much
more of a biter than a barker, only he did not bite
unless he was molested.
What was really magnanimous of him was the
readiness with which he made Geoffrey welcome to
put a side-saddle on Solomon. It was true that he
himself seldom rode the old horse, whose speed and
endurance were no longer what they had been; still
he might reasonably have objected to mounting
Miss Lynden. He did not. All he said was:
“Don't bring the girl out on one of my days,
please. I shan't speak to her if you do, mind.”
As there were two packs of hounds within reach,
and as Mr. Alder often hunted with a third, no great
management was needed in order to comply with
a stipulation which Geoffrey's good sense told him
that he had better begin, at all events, by respect-
ing, and thus it came to pass that Sylvia was given
what she joyously declared to be “the time of her


34 TROUBLED TRANTON
life.” Carefully coached as to behaviour in the
field, and seated upon an animal in all respects
entitled to his Scriptural designation, she soon
found that hunting over a not very difficult country
was a feat well within her compass. Perhaps she
did not realise that she had a self-sacrificing pilot,
and if she did not always see the end of a run, she
probably ascribed this to circumstances over which
neither he nor she had any control. She did see
the end of some, and one evening she rode home-
wards in blissful possession of the brush.
“ The sight of this trophy will make mother a
proud woman,” she remarked to her companion.
“At first I felt rather guilty about leaving her so
often for the whole day; but I see that she likes my
being with you. I can understand her feeling, you
know. I'm not mother, and you're not the rose;
but—it's getting as near it as we can for the
present."
Geoffrey seemed amused. “I wonder,” said he,
“whether the governor was ever likened to a rose
before.”
“He doesn't seem to be without thorns, at any
rate. But we're ready to chance getting our
fingers pricked.”
No doubt they were, and no doubt they would
suffer in the manner indicated, should the chance
be given them. The trouble was that it would
certainly not be given them with Mr. Alder's con-
sent, while to create it without his consent, which,
of course, could be done—appeared as yet to be too
hazardous an experiment. Geoffrey had already


36
TROUBLED TRANTON
thatched roofs ! A spark from one of the chimneys
did the whole mischief, I expect.”
That, however, was not the opinion of the head
gardener, who was helping to extinguish the
smouldering wreck, and who, when Geoffrey and
Sylvia rode up, announced decisively that what
they beheld was the work of an incendiary. How,
he asked, could a bare, empty structure have
broken out into flames “all of a moment like "
without human agency ? How could the fire have
spread to the pergola with such extraordinary
rapidity unless some inflammable substance or
liquid had been employed ? As a matter of fact,
an inflammable liquid had been employed. He
himself had, that afternoon, left a can of petroleum,
destined for the destruction of ants, on the spot,
and there, he added, pointing to a blackened tin
object, it was for anybody to see.
“I presume we should have seen it there any-
how, as you left it there,” Geoffrey observed.
"No, sir, excuse me; not without somebody had
moved it you wouldn't. That there can was inside
of the summerhouse when I went to have my tea,
and look where 'tis now—ten yards or more away!
Them rascals was watching for their opportunity,
sir, you may depend, and what they meant was
burning the whole place down. I shouldn't like
to say but what they might have done it, too, if it
hadn't happened to be a still evening and if
prompt measures hadn't have been took.”
Neither Geoffrey nor Sylvia inquired to what
rascals he alluded. It had become known through-


ORDEAL BY FIRE
37
out the household, as such things always do become
known, that Mrs. Lynden had been menaced by
certain mysterious rascals, and the solemn faces of
the gardener's coadjutors testified that they not
only agreed with him as to the origin of the catas-
trophe but regarded themselves as personally
endangered and aggrieved by it. One may, at a
pinch (though disliking such experiences), be brave
enough to withstand a bombardment of threatening
letters, addressed to one's employer; it is another
matter to be involved in a holocaust through the
action of her foos.
Sylvia, therefore, did not encourage further
loquacity, but said she was going to her mother,
who, she was afraid, must have been horribly
alarmed. Mrs. Lynden, she was assured, had been
told that all danger was over, and was not in the
least alarmed; but this assertion was scarcely
accurate. When Geoffrey and Sylvia found her in
the library, with a welcoming smile on her lips, but
with slightly flushed cheeks and trembling hands,
they saw at once that the poor lady had had a
good deal of a shock. And, indeed, after beginning
by making light of the whole thing, she avowed
that there had been more to perturb her than the
mere episode of a quickly subdued blaze.
“I had been taking a turn round the garden and
was having tea,” she said, “when one of the foot-
men came tearing in to say that the house was on
fire. Well, as you saw, the house wasn't on fire,
and though I'm sorry about the pergola, I can't
regret that unmeaning sentry-box at the end of it.


38
TROUBLED TRANTON
But what I don't like is that, just before I came in,
two men slunk past me and made off in the direc-
tion of the summerhouse. I haven't the slightest
doubt that it was they who tried to burn us up,
and I'm sure they are the people, or the emissaries
of the people, who have been shaking their fists at
me by post."
"Oh, mother,” remonstrated Sylvia, “why
didn't you stop them and ask them what they
wanted ?"
Mrs. Lynden spread out her little white hands.
“Ah, my dear child, why indeed! Anybody
else would have stopped them, and I wish I had;
but the ignoble truth is that I was thankful they
didn't stop me. They looked so sinister, somehow,
in their slouch hats, like a couple of stage villains,
that I half expected to see their daggers flash out.”
“Would you recognise them, do you think ?"
Geoffroy asked.
“I might; but it was nearly dark, and their faces
were almost hidden by the turned-down brims of
their hats. I ought to tell you that I did mean
to speak to the servants about them; but I thought
I should look such a fool if they proved to be per-
foctly respectable retainers of my own. Never
shall I get to know all my own retainers by sight !"
“Well," observed Geoffrey, “one thing is cer-
tain; they can't be very far off, and the police
ought to be informed at once. I'll go and see to
that myself.”
Mrs. Lynden dissuaded him from taking so much
trouble when he must be quite tired out after his


ORDEAL BY FIRE
39
day's hunting; but, as he insisted, she thanked him
very prettily, and, after he had gone, she sang his
praises with fervour.
“One of the very nicest young men I have over
met in my life !" she declared. “I am so glad
that you and he have struck up an alliance, Sylvia.
Now tell me all about your sport, and we'll try to
forget this unpleasant incident.”
She seemed anxious to forget it, or, at any rate,
that her daughter should. She refused to utter
another word upon the subject, and throughout the
evening she maintained a brave show of unconcern
which to Sylvia was more pathetic than convincing.
She was not deficient in courage, though she laugh-
ingly professed herself a coward, but her nerves
had always been her vulnerable spot. So it was
not surprising that the next day should find her
prostrated with a violent headache, nor was the
following intimation, which figured in her corre-
spondence, of a kind to allay nervous disorders:
“Do not flatter yourself that we have failed.
We did all we intended to do, and what we did was
only meant to show you what we can do. Be sure
that the police will never catch us and that you
will never find out who we are. Be sure also that
if you stay where you have no business to be,
worse and worse things will befall you.”


CHAPTER IV
AUGUSTUS THE GREAT
SIR AUGUSTUS GRESHAM of Saltwood Park re-
sembled a large piece of ordnance in taking up
much space and making a good deal of noise, but
in no other respect was he a source of annoyance
or alarm to the community. A heavy, windy
personage, with glassy eyes, a pink face, a short
white whisker and a stock usually adorned by a
massive gold horseshoe, his intentions were ever of
the best, and his execution of them not more ridicu-
lous than he could help. Nicholas Alder said of
him that for sonority of bray and other kindred
attributes he had not his asinine equal in the
county or out of it; but Nicholas was unlikely to be
· prejudiced in favour of one who, being rather a
shooting than a hunting man, was unsound upon
the question of whether foxes and pheasants can
be made to dwell together in amity. Upon the
bench, moreover, Sir Augustus was wont to show
less aptitude for trying accused persons than
for trying his fellow-magistrates' patience. The
general view of him, more lenient than Mr. Alder's,
found frequent expression in the remark that,
taking him all round, old Gresham was not such a
bad old sort.
Something like that may have been his wife's
43


AUGUSTUS THE GREAT
view of him after forty odd years of partnership
which, unfortunately, had not been blessed by the
advent of offspring to lend it variety. As thin as
he was fat, as quick-witted as he was slow, as brief
and dry of speech as he was garrulous, Lady
Gresham might have been exasperated by him if
she had not long ago decided to take him as a joke,
in which capacity he was doubtless adapted for
the solace of such persons as do not mind having
a joke all to themselves. By neighbouring ladies
and their families the gaunt, grim-visaged old
woman, who was to be seen, no matter what the
weather was, tramping about in a short skirt and
shooting-boots, with a thick stick in her hand, was
considered somewhat awe-inspiring; yet of her also
it was commonly said that she was not a bad old
sort in her way.
Her niece Dorothy had always got on capitally
with her; and this was lucky, because Miss Dorothy
Rowe, who was an only child and a spoilt one,
would never have consented to spend a whole
winter at Saltwood if she had not been sure of
getting on well with its inmates. Its inmates, for
their part, were glad enough that the absence of
her parents on the Nile—an expedition for which
her sporting proclivities disinclined her—had en-
abled them to offer her a few months' hospitality:
Spoilt she might be, but hers was an enlivening
presence in a house where liveliness was something
of a rarity, and she had the further merit--a merit
to which the old are perhaps as alive as the young
-of being exceedingly good to look upon. Her


42
TROUBLED TRANTON
abundant hair was copper-coloured and her eyes
were dark blue, an unusual combination; her nose
was short and straight; her red lips exhibited, when
parted, teeth so white and strong that no dentist
had ever been required to lay a hand upon them,
while her figure would have moved any sculptor to
enthusiasm. To the above advantages of person
she joined a disposition in the main good-humoured,
and if she rode rather straighter to hounds than a
ponderous (and unavowedly timorous) old gentle-
man could have wished, that was of the less conse-
quence since she brought her own horses with her
and took her own line across country, as she did
everywhere else. In sum, a niece upon whom
a childless, elderly couple might legitimately plume
themselves.
This generously endowed young lady was having
tea with her aunt on the afternoon of her arrival
at Saltwood when Sir Augustus came plunging in.
After colliding with the furniture several times in
the course of a rapid passage from the door to
the fireside, he bestowed a resounding avuncular
kiss upon Miss Dorothy, assumed a command-
ing position on the hearthrug and cleared his
voice.
“Well ?" said Lady Gresham compendiously.
“Well, my dear, I didn't see Mrs. Lynden. Poor
woman wasn't up to receiving visitors, and I'm
sure one can't wonder-can't wonder. But I went
across to the Rectory and saw Cotton, from whom
I got something. Not much in the way of informa-
tion, of course; that one wouldn't expect. But I


AUGUSTUS THE GREAT
43
got as much as I did expect, and what I may say
that I was-or-prepared to insist upon."
Ho produced a packet of papers, secured by an
elastic band, and waved it about.
“I must tell you,” he explained to his niece,
“ that we have had a succession of vile outrages
here, leading up to nothing short of attempted
arson.”
"So I have been hearing from Aunt Isabella,"
answered Dorothy. “Are those the famous anony-
mous letters ?"
Sir Augustus nodded. “That is, they're the in-
famous ones—infamous ones. When Cotton ad-
mitted that he had obtained them from Mrs. Lyn-
den, with a view to seeing whether the handwriting
corresponded at all to that of any of his parish -
ioners, I was obliged to point out to him that they
Omoso, - was usou pouvou
ought to be in competent custody. So he couldn't
e
well refuse to let me have them. At all events, he
didn't refuse, though I had to be firm with him-
firm with him.”
“Had he found that any of his parishioners
wrote like that ?" Dorothy inquired.
“Oh dear, no! He wouldn't. Doesn't really
want to, if the truth were told. Excellent fellow,
Cotton, but too much of a peace-at-any-price man.
As for good Mrs. Lynden not wishing anybody to
be prosecuted, I had to say at once that that was
all stuff and nonsense-stuff and nonsense. She
has a public duty to perform, and so have I. Be-
sides, dash it all I she must be defended against
attack, poor thing-defended.”


44
TROUBLED TRANTON
“ Has anything more been seen or heard of the
two men in slouch hats ?” asked Dorothy
“Yes; half a dozen people saw them, or thought
they saw them; but that kind of testimony is
never worth much. What we know for certain
is that nobody answering to Mrs. Lynden's
description of them has left Tranton station.
Consequently, we may assume that they are still
in these parts."
“I think I should have assumed that anyhow,"
Lady Gresham observed.
“Well, my dear, I am proceeding upon that as-
sumption-proceeding upon it. Not that I imagine
them to be anything but tools, or that I shall be
satisfied with their arrest, if we manage to arrest
them. As I told Cotton, the first thing to be done
in sifting an affair of this sort is to ask yourself who
is likely to be the guilty party. Who is likely to
derive profit or pleasure out of it? There's the
point—there's the point !".
" Then I'm afraid everybody in the neighbour-
hood must be acquitted,” said Lady Gresham.
“I don't agree with you, Isabella—don't agree
with you at all, my dear. You must remember
that the Alders have held Tranton for three hun-
dred years, and much as you and I may like Mrs.
Lynden, we can't be surprised if there should be a
strong feeling in certain quarters-amongst the
tenants, for instance—that she oughtn't to be
where she is. That's why I'm going to forward
these documents to an expert, together with
samples of all the local correspondence that I have


AUGUSTUS THE GREAT 45
received during the last few months. His reply
may be conclusive as to the instigator of the out-
rages.”
“He writes a rather peculiar hand,” remarked
Lady Gresham pensively.
“Who does ?—the expert ?"
“No; the instigator of the outrages. The man
you're thinking of, I mean."
Sir Augustus, with a heightened colour, pro-
tested that he was not thinking of anybody. Or,
if he had thought of somebody—and he might add
that in such a case he would not be the only one
he had at least mentioned no name, nor would be
be induced to do so. “In my position one can't be
too careful-can't be too careful.”
Miss Rowe, being in a position of greater freedom
and less responsibility, did not hesitate to opine
that Mr. Alder was the probable offender.
“A man doesn't, as a rule, burn his own house
down, even to evict an intruder,” her aunt ob-
served.
“But all he did was to burn down a summer-
house, which will have to be rebuilt at Mrs.
Lynden's expense.”
“ Understand clearly," called out Sir Augustus,
“ that there's no suggestion on my part of his
having done any such thing. I don't pretend to
like a man who never misses an occasion of dist
obliging me, but I hope it isn't necessary for me to
say that in the-er-administration of justice I
should be the last to let myself be swayed by per-
sonal animosity.”


46
TROUBLED TRANTON
“Nicholas Alder,” said Lady Gresham, in reply
to her niece, “is no fool. It isn't by firing Mrs.
Lynden out of Tranton that he can step into her
place. Much more likely that he's trying to get
up a match between his son and the girl.”
“By Jove !" ejaculated Sir Augustus, greatly
struck by a notion which was new to him, “I
shouldn't wonder if you were right, Isabella-
shouldn't wonder at all. Always together—what ?
Designing old rascal! Now, Dorothy, you had
better set your cap at the young fellow-he's a
deuced good-looking young fellow, I can tell you—
and spoil that little game."
“Any reason why it should be spoilt ?” Lady
Gresham wanted to know.
Sir Augustus was momentarily at a loss, but made
a quick recovery.
“Well, really, Isabella, I shouldn't have ex-
pected you to approve of such calculating—what
shall I call it ?-cynicism. Yes, considering the
circumstances, cynicism is the word. I'm not
blaming Geoffrey, mind; I've nothing against
Geoffrey, who is a very good lad and always has
been. But he shouldn't, for his own sake, be
allowed to be his father's cat’s-paw." .
“I'll do what I can in the good cause,” Dorothy
demurely promised. “Where does one meet the
gentleman ?"
“Oh, out hunting, I daresay," answered Sir
Augustus; “but there will be plenty of oppor-
tunities. I'll take care that you meet him, my
dear, if that's all."


AUGUSTUS THE GREAT
47
Lady Gresham looked at the clock, and pointed
out that it was time to dress for dinner. “ Of
course, it: would be useless to exhort you not to
make mischief, Dorothy,” said she, “but I shall
rub my hands if the young man declines to look at
you."


CHAPTER V
THE RECTOR'S RUSE
THE Rector of Tranton was reading letters at the
breakfast table, which had been gradually deserted
by the sons and daughters of all ages with whom
an unstinting Providence had blessed him, while
Mrs. Cotton, placid and patient behind the urn,
waited for him to resume a conversation which had
been suspended during the presence of the young
family. This he soon did by observing:
“I see the force of your argument, Jane. I
don't see much force in Gresham's, because
Gresham is—well, he is a man who can dispense
with argument, and generally does. But what
you say is, ' If this isn't Nick Alder, who on earth
can it be ?' And the fact is that I can't so much
as guess. To the best of my belief, Mrs. Lynden
has no enemies hereabouts, and I shouldn't have
thought that Alder had any such desperately
enthusiastic adherents. So—there it is! I con-
fess that I'm baffled.”
Mrs. Cotton, a good-humoured, stoutish woman,
a little fatigued by the cumulative efforts of having
brought so many small Cottons into the world and
supervised their development, opined that mys-
teries of the kind under discussion were always
solved in the long run. “Somebody is sure to be
48


THE RECTOR'S RUSE
49
caught, and if it isn't Mr. Alder, so much the
better. But, strictly between ourselves, I shall be
rather surprised if he doesn't turn out to have
been at the bottom of it.”
“And I,” returned her husband, “ shall be very
much surprised indeed if he does. It would be
about as much like Nick Alder to persecute a
defenceless woman as to write anonymous letters.
Anyhow, you'll admit, perhaps, that he didn't
write this one.”
Mrs. Cotton stretched out a hand to catch the
sheet which was tossed across the table. “Be-
ginning to attack us now, are they?" said she.
“ Well, it's some comfort to think that they won't
intimidate you.”
That, apparently, was not their aim. The script
which Mrs. Cotton put on her spectacles to read
did not threaten the Rector, but merely warned
him that he was wasting time and trouble upon
the endeavour to discover persons who would
remain undiscoverable. “Mrs. Lynden will have
to leave Tranton; but we shall be glad to see her
leave of her own free will, and we shall not use
force unless we are compelled. What she can have
under certain conditions, is breathing time. If
you really wish to serve her, you will bring about
a meeting and a reconciliation between her and
the rightful owner. Wrongs have been righted
by means of marriage before now. Take this as
a word to the wise.”
Mrs. Cotton laughed explosively. “Yes, yes,
I'll admit that Mr. Alder never wrote that, or caused


50
TROUBLED TRANTON
a word to the
Fas est ab host anybody by
it to be written. Be his designs what they may,
I'll answer for it that marrying Mrs. Lynden isn't
one of them."
“Now, now, Jane," remonstrated the Rector,
with a chuckle, “you know very well that that
isn't the suggestion. Mind you, I don't call it a
bad suggestion, and I won't deny that the same
idea has come into my own head once or twice,
for it's evident enough that the young people enjoy
one another's society.”
“ Are you going to act upon what calls itself
a word to the wise, then ?".
“Why not? Fas est ab hoste doceri. I don't
see what harm could be done to anybody by con-
triving a meeting. A reconciliation, to be sure,
is another story; still, one can but make the
attempt. I'll think it over, and perhaps I'll have
a talk with Geoffrey about it.”
The worthy man did both, and the outcome
was that Geoffrey and he concocted a plan between
them which was tolerably sure to come off, if any-
thing but sure to be crowned with success. It
depended, to begin with, upon whether Mr. Alder
decided to go to church on the following Sunday
or not. For several weeks in succession he had
absented himself from public worship, and his
reason for thus neglecting his religious duties was
not far to seek; but, since he could not intend to
discontinue them altogether, Geoffrey calculated
that it was quite six to four on his occupying his
accustomed seat in the chancel next time. Sup-
posing that he did, he would be staring Mrs.


THE RECTOR'S RUSE
51
Lynden straight in the face throughout the service
—which he would not like, though it would prob-
ably be more disconcerting to her than to him.
It was on the dismissal of the congregation, how-
ever, that he would find himself, so to speak, held
up. Geoffrey was to procede him out of church
and detain the Tranton ladies between the porch
and their carriage for a few minutes until his
fellow-conspirator should have had time to dis-
robe. Mr. Alder would naturally hang back; for
he would see the impossibility of brushing past
the group on that narrow pathway. Then would
come the irresistible outward charge of the Rector,
who was to grip him by the elbow and hurry him
towards the lych-gate before he could draw breath.
After which, surely, salutations of some sort must
needs ensue !
All this was not badly imagined, and every-
thing that had been foreseen took place, when the
time came, with mathematical exactitude. Mr.
Alder, perceiving that his son was conversing with
Mrs. and Miss Lynden, muttered a word which
ought not to have passed his lips in a sacred edifice
and stood rigidly immovable in the porch. Then
out bounced the genial Rector from the vestry
with-
“Ah, Alder, you're the very man I wanted to
catch! It's high time that some step was taken
in the matter of the schools
"Oh, don't talk to me about schools," inter-
rupted Nicholas, with whom (as the wily Rector
was well aware) the subject was a sore one. “ I've


52
TROUBLED TRANTON
done my share, and I believe we have all done our
share. If people don't want their children to have
any religious education and it looks as if they
didn't-I can't help it. Let them see how they
like having a generation of atheists, as that's
what they're anxious to breed.”
This diatribe and the little gust of temper which
had evoked it brought the speaker-according to
programme so close to Mrs. Lynden that he had
to step aside in order to avoid physical collision
with her. So far so good. But the proverbial
futility of leading a horse to the water when he is
not disposed to drink was exemplified by Nicholas
Alder's laid-back ears and stony stare. Whether
he suspected that he was the victim of a stratagem
or whether he only blamed himself for his inad-
vertence, it was plain enough that he intended to
treat the lady as non-existent. There was a
minute, which seemed like several minutes, of
embarrassed silence; after which Mrs. Lynden,
with admirable grace and self-possession, did what
was really the only thing to be done. Smiling
slightly, she held out her hand and said:
“I am glad we have met at last; I was afraid
we were not going to meet at all.”
Nicholas Alder's right hand was behind his back.
With his left ho raised his hat—that being the
irreducible minimum of courtesy's demands-but
answered never a word. Geoffrey, Sylvia and Mr.
Cotton had moved a few paces away towards the
carriage, leaving the field clear for his diminutive
and most inoffensive assailant, who went on:


THE RECTOR'S RUSE 53
“We have been seeing a good deal of your son,
as of course you know. That has been a great
pleasure to my daughter and me.”
She hesitated for a moment, but continued
bravely, though not without an audible tremor in
her voice: “It would be a very great pleasure to
me if you, too, could be induced to look in upon us
one day.”
Then at length Nicholas opened his lips. “I
must ask you to excuse me,” was his curt reply.
He lifted his hat once more and strode off, turn-
ing a deaf ear to the Rector's futile appeal of:
“Here, I say, Alder, wait half a minute !"
So that device came to naught, and Geoffrey,
whose hopes of its leading to a satisfactory issue
had never been high, regretted that he had lent
himself to it. The immediate results were that he
had exposed poor Mrs. Lynden to a brutal rebuff,
that he had provoked Sylvia to visible wrath
and that the Rector must needs proceed to give
him away quite gratuitously by laughing and
remarking:
“Well, well, that obstinate father of yours has
beaten us this time, my boy. But we won't be
discouraged; we'll have another shot at him.”
Geoffrey retired as quickly as might be and
marched homewards across the fields to face his
obstinate father at luncheon—a prospect which did
pot precisely smile at him. But it was one of
Nicholas Alder's little peouliarities that he was
less prone to fly into a rage when he had reasonable
grounds for being angry than when he had none.


54
TROUBLED TRANTON
Give him a good solid grievance, and he would
treat you as fairly as he knew how; it was when his
adversaries held the stronger position that he would
go for them with unsparing savagery. Not that
he had ever in his life been savage with Geoffrey,
to whom during luncheon he spoke no word con-
cerning the encounter in the churchyard and whose
apologetic mien appeared to afford him some grim
diversion. Only in the smoking-room afterwards
did he say, without preface or introduction:
“Don't do it again, please.”
“I'm sorry," answered Geoffrey. “It was the
Rector's idea, and I daresay it was rather a rotten
one, only both he and I thought that if you could
once get to know Mrs. Lynden and see what she
really is. ..."
“My dear fellow,” interrupted his father, “it
isn't necessary to see people in order to find out
what they really are. It is their actions that show
what they really are, not their words or their looks.
Anyhow, as I have told you before, I don't intend
to have anything to do with Mrs. Lynden; so why
attempt impossibilities ?”
“I should have thought,” said Geoffrey, “ that
you would have felt a little sorry for her. She has
had an awfully rough time of it with these anony-
mous letters and all.”
“I am afraid," answered his father, “I can't
feel much compassion for the lady because some
persons unknown have taken it upon themselves to
tell her a few home truths.”
“They aren't so much that as vague, mysterious


THE RECTOR'S RUSE
55
threats. And all resting upon the assumption that
she has possessed herself of property that ought not
to be hers.”
“Which you don't consider to be a home truth,
I suppose. No doubt it is natural that she should
have talked you over; she is a scheming woman,
and may, for anything that I know, be a clever and
agreeable one into the bargain. You realise, of
course, that she wants you to marry her daughter."
“Good Lord, no !” exclaimed Geoffrey, honestly
astonished; “I never thought of such a thing."
“Then you may depend upon it she has. How
could she help thinking of it? Why, I myself
thought of it as soon as I heard that the woman
had a daughter and no son. Tranton Alder ought
to be ours. That, I take it, is unquestioned and
unquestionable. Very well, if Mrs. Lynden’s con-
science moves her to make restitution in the only
way she can, I don't wonder. It's the habit of
her sex to be first unscrupulous and then penitent.
Far be it from me to blame anybody for penitence,
though I may think timely scruples more to the
point.”
“Do you mean," asked Geoffrey, more and
more surprised, “that you wish me to marry
Sylvia ?"
“Oh, you've got as far as calling her by her
Christian name, have you ?”
“We've taken to calling one another by our
Christian names lately. We're sort of cousins, you
know.”
“I don't quite see how you make that out; but


56
TROUBLED TRANTON
no matter! No, Geoffrey, I certainly don't wish
you to marry the girl. Nor shall I forbid the banns
if it turns out that you wish to marry her. I stand
aside; I say nothing. Yes—one thing I have to
say. Whether you marry her or whether you don't,
I, for my part, will have nothing to do with her
mother.”


CHAPTER VI
UNABLE TO OBLIGE
GEOFFREY had told the simple truth in declaring
that he had never thought of such a thing as
marrying Sylvia Lynden. The movement of
feminine unrest which in recent times has invaded
the whole Western world (even, as some assert, the
Eastern into the bargain) affects many thousands
of persons who are unaware of being concerned in
it, and one of its patent consequences is a change
in the social relations of the sexes. Today a
young man and a young woman may ride, walk,
dance and play games together continually without
so much as a suspicion of love-making; a generation
ago that would have been barely possible, Geoffrey,
though by no means averse to flirtation, and indeed
of a somewhat susceptible temperament, had not
happened to regard Sylvia from that particular
point of view. He had thought her a very jolly
sort of girl, and they had become fast friends; but,
oddly enough, the idea of paying his addresses to
her and thus making a bid for the recovery of the
alienated family estates had not entered into his
head. Now, however, that it had been suggested
to him, he could not but acknowledge that there
was a good deal to be said in its favour. Really
the thing looked almost like a duty! But when
57


58
TROUBLED TRANTON
things look like a duty they are apt, by that very
fact, to be debarred from looking like a pleasure.
Certainly Sylvia was very nice indeed, and her
husband would be a lucky fellow; only Geoffrey
was not in love with her, and to tell a girl that you
love her when you do not can scarcely be called
doing your duty by her, however well you may be
discharging it to your forefathers and to posterity.
So Geoffrey rubbed his sleek head in perplexity
and wondered what he had better do about it.
Finally he decided that he might as well try whether
he couldn't manage to fall in love with the heiress of
Tranton. No harm in trying.
A touch of piquancy, if little additional clarity,
might have been given to his ruminations had he
known that the heiress of Tranton was at that same
moment being placed in a dilemma akin to his own.
Nicholas Alder had done Mrs. Lynden no wrong in
assuming that she wished to marry her daughter
to his son. She wished it intensely, and was not-
why should she be ?-in the least ashamed of her
wish. The marriage would be such a plain, sane
way—such an eminently natural and right way,
out of an impasse which was daily growing more
and more intolerable to her! And, if she might
judge by appearances, the affair would not even
need to be brought about, but was going to bring
itself about with the most blessed ease! So she
thought until that Monday morning when for the
first time she broached the project to her daughter
and was immediately told that it was out of the
question.


UNABLE TO OBLIGE
59
She gave a little dismayed cry. “Oh, but, dear
child, why should you say that ?”
“Because we don't either of us wish it,” answered
Sylvia uncompromisingly.
Mrs. Lynden was of opinion that her daughter
could not know what the young man wished, and
might perhaps not know very well what she herself
wished. She enumerated Geoffrey's sterling and
engaging qualities, all of which were at once con-
ceded; she urged the undeniable truth that per-
fection is not to be found here below. She shook
her head, laughing, at Sylvia's rejoinder that im-
perfection is right enough so long as you choose the
variety that suits you. But if she laughed, she
also cried a little, which was a spectacle that her
daughter could never bear. Not because of the
inherent expediency of the contemplated alliance
(for she felt little disposition at the moment to
mollify the unmannerly Mr. Alder), not because
she was conscious of an affection for Geoffrey which
many girls might have deemed sufficient did
Sylvia waver and hesitate, but merely because
“ dear mother,” assailed by such a number of
troubles and trials, must not be distressed if that
could by any means be helped. So she withdrew
what she had said about the match being out of the
question. She would consider it, she promised;
she would not make up her mind definitely to
refuse Geoffrey. “Only I can't propose to him,
and I can't make him propose to me, can I ?”.
In her heart Mrs. Lynden was not far from
believing that any woman can, if she chooses,


60 TROUBLED TRANTON
make any man propose to her; but she put forward
no such bold theory. She was content to kiss
Sylvia, to caress her and to declare that not for all
the world would she ask any daughter of hers to
marry a man without loving him.
“Still I can't think it would be difficult to love
Geoffrey Alder—and oh, it would be such a good
thing if you could ! Then perhaps Nicholas would
have to pardon me.”
That seemed to be her fixed idea, her one aim,
and her daughter was at a loss to account for her
attaching so much importance to the placating of
a man who, properly speaking, had nothing to
pardon, besides having been himself unpardonably
rude. Perhaps no woman ever quite forgets a
former lover or can believe that she is forgotten by
him; but Sylvia was unaware that there had been
tender passages between Nicholas Alder and her
mother years before her birth. Amply sufficient
to occupy her mind was the question of whether
there would come to be such passages between
Geoffrey Alder and herself.
She met him in the park that afternoon—not
exactly by appointment, though, in consequence of
something that he had said, she walked down to
the lake tolerably confident that she would find
him loitering on its shore, as she did, For several
days frosts had put a stop to hunting, and there
was just a possibility that, should the north-
easterly wind hold, this large sheet of ornamental
water might be frozen over. It was, in fact,
covered with a thin sheet of ice, but Geoffrey pro-


UNABLE TO OBLIGE
61
nounced at once that the prospects of skating were
small.
“I thought I'd just come and have a look,” said
he, “but it's too early in the season. I can't remem-
ber ever skating here before Christmas in my life.”
“And after Christmas your leave expires, I
suppose,” Sylvia remarked.
He nodded and sighed. “Yes, worse luck!
Will you miss me at all, I wonder ?”.
He was trying—not very hard, still as hard as
so straightforward a mortal could—to play the
lover's part. Perhaps, if Sylvia would respond a
little.... But she did not look responsive. She
looked pretty, distinctly pretty. The keen air had
brought a bright colour into her cheeks, and
Geoffrey had always admired those big iron-grey
eyes of hers. Why the deuce shouldn't he-why
the deuce couldn't he-fall in love with her ?
Whether intentionally or not, she gave him one
reason by observing:
“Anything less suitable to your style of beauty
than a lackadaisical expression I can't imagine.
Please rub it off.”
“Mayn't one be sorry when things come to an
end ?” he pleaded.
“But nothing has come to an end yet, except
the hunting, and that only for a short time, accord-
ing to you. Cheer up ! it's very certain that I shall
miss you to your heart's content when you go.
Meanwhile, I have a crow to pluck with you.
How could you put me in such a false position as
you did yesterday !”


62
TROUBLED TRANTON
“Ah," he returned, “I thought I should catch
it about that! Yet it wasn't such a total failure
after all. They did speak to one another.”
“And never will again, I suspect.”
“I'm not so sure of that. I don't despair.
There are still ways in which the hatchet may be
buried.”
They proceeded to discuss those ways-all of
them, that is to say, except the one of which they
were both thinking—but despite their efforts to
behave as usual, they were sensible of not behaving
as usual, sensible that something had come between
them which was productive of more or less acute
personal discomfort. This was absurd and in-
tolerable. It may have been their modernity, it
may have been intuitive mutual comprehension, or
it may have been similarity of character that
brought them ere long to a frank avowal which had
the effect of setting them both completely at their
ease. As soon as Geoffrey had been told what
Mrs. Lynden's fond aspiration was, and as soon
as Sylvia had heard what Mr. Alder was not pre-
pared to oppose, the ground was cleared and a plan
which had much to recommend it could be debated
in a spirit of amused detachment.
“It's a pity that we're English,” Sylvia re-
marked. “In Italy or in France the arrangement
would simply impose itself. We couldn't be so
disobliging as to kick against it.”
“And then all we should have to do would be to
live happy ever afterwards."
“That's all. But the trouble is that we are


UNABLE TO OBLIGE
63
English. I'm sorry for mother's sake, and perhaps
a little also for yours, because I should be just as
glad as she would be to restore this place to the
old family."
“I'm sure you would. I suppose you couldn't
possibly ?”
“ As at present advised," answered Sylvia, with
much gravity, “I regret to say that I can't enter-
tain your flattering offer. By the way, I presume
you mean me to take it as an offer ?”
“Oh, I didn't quite mean that,” replied Geoffrey,
rather taken aback. “I only wondered. ...".
He was interrupted by a peal of laughter in
which he was fain to join. They agreed presently
that it was out of their power to oblige, although
they had a strongish feeling that they ought to do
80. What could be done, and what, without
putting it into so many words, they ultimately
decided to do, was to leave the door open. A slight
touch of pique, of which neither was conscious, may
have assisted this unspoken compact and even
supplied the nucleus for a future and happier one.
“I don't in the least want to marry you,” each
might have said to the other; “ only you needn't
have been so emphatic about your disinclination to
marry me."


CHAPTER VII
DOROTHY TAKES A HAND
In accordance with Geoffrey's forecast, the cold
spell proved of brief duration. Soon the south-
west wind achieved one of its customary facile vic-
tories over the east; rain-clouds swept across the
low sky, and Solomon, quite fresh and frisky after
a week of enforced inaction, was once more
requisitioned to carry his light burden over hill
and dale. But the thing which, despite all gallant
efforts, refused to be renewed was the old pleasant
comradeship between Solomon's rider and her
escort. The two tried hard to be friendly, but
they felt, inevitably, that friendship no longer met
the demands of the case; whence it followed that
homeward rides were apt to be silent, instead of
garrulous, as formerly. The demands of the case
were at once so simple, so difficult and so in-
sistent.
“I shall be an ass if I don't marry her, now that
I'm really awfully fond of her,” Geoffrey kept
telling himself; while Sylvia could not but acknow-
ledge that she would be hard to please, as well as
hard upon her mother, if she finally turned away
from a man who satisfied her in every imaginable
respect save one. What caused constraint and
produced taciturnity was that both Geoffrey and
64


DOROTHY TAKES A HAND
65
Sylvia were conscious of having been met with
explicit rejection. Under such circumstances no-
body can be eager to make a fresh move.
Mrs. Lynden, meanwhile, enjoyed a respite alike
from anxiety and from persecution. She was not
anxious, because, so far as she could judge, every-
thing pointed to the fulfilment of the project
which she had at heart; if she was not persecuted,
it may have been for the same reason. Such, at
any rate, was the view held by Mrs. Cotton, who
dropped in to tea with her one evening, and who
was more sympathising than discreet.
“Well, I'm glad at least,” remarked the fat,
kindly woman, “ that he has decided—or I sup-
pose that one ought to say that they have decided
-to leave you in peace for a while. But, after
that letter to Joe, I'm not altogether surprised.”
“ Did Mr. Cotton have a letter ?” Mrs. Lynden
asked.
“Oh yes; didn't he tell you ? Nothing of a
blood-curdling nature; merely an intimation that
he would waste his time by trying to discover the
writer, and then a couple of hints for his guidance.”
“ What sort of hints ?”
“In the first place he was advised to contrive
a meeting between you and Mr. Alder; which he
did, with the result that you know of. Why he
should have made such a suggestion, knowing very
well what could come of it, I can't imagine.”
“But you say he was advised to make it."
“ Who was? Oh, Joe, you mean ! I was
thinking of the writer of the letter. The second


66 TROUBLED TRANTON
suggestion was easy enough to understand. Will
you call me impertinent if I mention it ?”
Mrs. Lynden, having signified that she would
not hold her visitor answerable for anybody's im-
pertinence, was informed that there was at least
one point as to which she and her tormentors were
in accord. She smiled and observed that, although
this was news to her, it was not disagreeable news.
“Not at all astonishing either,” she added;
“I only wonder that they haven't proposed the
same solution to me. It sounds like a reasonable
one, doesn't it?"
“ Upon my word, I think it does," answered
Mrs. Cotton. “ The only thing is that one doesn't
quite see his object in working for it by such
roundabout, underhand means.”
“Why do you keep on saying 'he'?” Mrs.
Lynden inquired. “ You must have some par-
ticular person in your mind. Surely not Mr.
Alder !"
Mrs. Cotton nodded portentously. But her
neighbour's distressed and horrified face caused
her to recant in haste. “No, no; I haven't really
any business to say that. I daresay he is as
innocent as the babe unborn. Only I can't for
the life of me guess who else is interested in
worrying you out of house and home.”
Mrs. Lynden was greatly agitated; and when
she was agitated, she had a way of looking so like
a forlorn child that nobody could reduce her to
that condition without experiencing instant and
poignant remorse.


DOROTHY TAKES A HAND
67
“He must be innocent !” she exclaimed.
Nothwoude make
“ Nothing would ever make me believe that
your
Nicholas Alder could stoop to—to behave as you
think he has. He hasn't been very nice to me,
he hasn't even been ordinarily polite: but I have
felt all along that he has had great provocation,
and of course he doesn't know. ... Please don't
let such a horrid suspicion occur to you again !”
Mrs. Cotton made full and contrite apology.
Also she suddenly kissed Mrs. Lyndon, and apolo-
gised again for that, pleading irresistible impulse
as her excuse. If she did not exonerate Nicholas
Alder in her heart, she did so with her lips. But
where she gave real satisfaction was by asserting
that she had no doubt of Mr. Alder's wish for the
alliance advocated by his mysterious champions.
“Of course he wishes it,” she declared. “I'm
sure I should if I were he. But if you don't
mind my asking-do you wish it ?”
Mrs. Lynden's hands flew up. “ Nothing in all
the world that I wish for half so much! Only my
fear has been that he would veto it inexorably.
That's the one obstacle !"
She honestly did not think that there was any
other obstacle worth taking into account. She
was a fond mother; but she had been so persistently
indulged that she could not imagine Sylvia deny-
ing her her heart's desire. Or possibly it would
be nearer the truth to say that she could not con-
ceive such spite of Fate as would be implied in
Sylvia's inability to grant it to her. As for the
young man, she argued, with some plausibility,


68
TROUBLED TRANTON
that young men do not embarrass themselves with
an inexperienced female satellite in the hunting-
field out of pure benevolence. So it did not occur
to her that she was putting an unwelcome or un-
pleasant question when she asked, on her daughter's
return:
“Are you getting any nearer to the point, you
and Geoffrey ?"
“I think we are likely to be driven farther away
from it if we are hustled,” answered Sylvia, whose
chief desire at the moment was to gain time.
“ That I should live to be called a hustler !"
laughed Mrs. Lynden. “Have I ever pressed you
to do anything that you didn't want to do, or to
abstain from doing anything that you wanted to
do ?”
She had often done both, and with unvarying
success; but it is likely enough that neither she
nor Sylvia was aware of that.
“ Mrs. Cotton has been here," she continued
presently. “ It seems that these vindictive people
have been writing to the Rector now and saying
that if Geoffrey Alder were to become my son-in-
law, that might be taken as some atonement for
my misdeeds."
“ Brutes !” exclaimed Sylvia, flushing suddenly.
“If they weren't beneath contempt, how I should
love to catch them and hand them over to the
grooms and stable-helpers for a sound thrashing !”
om
Mrs. Lynden's smile was like a flicker of pale
den minsanlara,
winter sunshine. “I suppose they are rather
brutes,” she assented. “Whether the grooms


DOROTHY TAKES A HAND 69
dictalih, I don i postulateded to by the
would thrash them or not depends, perhaps, upon
who or what they may be. Beneath contempt,
yes, if you like; only I'm contemptible enough my-
self to be frightened of them.”
“But not to be dictated to by them, mother
dear !” Sylvia expostulated.
“Oh, I don't know. It wouldn't be accepting
dictation to do their bidding in this matter, would
it? And even if it were I long so for peace !”.
To apply pressure of that order to a hesitating
maiden was not quite fair play. Sylvia, however,
blamed neither her mother nor anybody else; she
was only sensible of a further tightening of the
screw and an increased conviction that she ought
to have done with hesitation. There was, to be
sure, the possibility that Geoffrey might hesitate,
or indeed refuse. She did not fall asleep immedi-
ately after getting into bed that night, as was her
healthy wont, nor, when drowsiness overcame her,
had she made up her mind as to what she hoped
that Geoffrey would do.
What he did, a day or two after this, was to
fall over head and ears in love with Dorothy Rowe
at first sight, and thus decisively cut a knot which
might otherwise have taken some unravelling.
It was at a dance in the neighbourhood, to which
Sylvia had not been invited, that he met “ the
only girl in all the world,” and long before the
entertainment was at an end he had mentally
bestowed that hyperbolical designation upon her.
It may be granted that, although she was neither
the only girl nor the prettiest girl in the world, she


72
TROUBLED TRANTON
The point-absurd in itself, no doubt, yet grave
enough for him—was that he had encountered
his destiny.
Miss Dorothy, it may be surmised, was far
removed from any impression of having encoun-
tered hers. She was, naturally, aware of having
made one more captive, and that was always a
pleasing sensation to her; but, since it was no
custom of hers to spoil new adorers by a too
prodigal shower of favours, she ignored Geoffrey
for the rest of the evening, leaving him to observe,
with an eye prematurely jaundiced, how enthu-
siastically his appreciation of her was shared by
others. Of his duty towards indigenous young
ladies he was scandalously neglectful. Rather
than dance with anyone but Dorothy, he went
and seated himself beside grim Lady Gresham,
who, after scrutinising him with curiosity for a
moment, remarked:
“So you've made my niece's acquaintance.”
“I have,” he replied, " and I only wish I had
made it before she was booked for everything.
How-how charming she is !"
“H'm ! yes," Lady Gresham agreed, surveying
her neighbour once more, and this time with a
touch of commiseration. “Yes, she's an attrac-
tive little cat."
What a description to give of the one and only !
Geoffrey, whose kindly disposition inclined him
always towards leniency,was making dull and dumb
old age responsible for it when Lady Gresham
rather startlingly resumed:
tive litat a descrie kinds


DOROTHY TAKES A HAND
“I should stick to the other, all the same, if I
were you."
“I don't know what you mean," Geoffrey de-
clared.
“Oh, you know well enough. Quite nice-look-
ing, and one needn't say how eligible. Just why
you aren't likely to stick to her, I suppose. Well,
you make a mistake."
“I say, Lady Gresham," protested the young
man, laughing," you're taking a lot for granted.”
“Saves time," observed Lady Gresham laconi-
cally.
"Perhaps; but it covers me with blushes. What
sort of an answer do you expect me to make, I
wonder ?"
“My dear man, I haven't asked you a question;
I only gave you a word of advice. Sound advice,
too. Ponder it at your leisure.”
He would not have pondered it for a single
moment, no matter how much leisure time he had
had at his disposal; but, as a matter of fact, he
had little time in the course of the ensuing days
for thinking about anything except Dorothy and
her divers fashions of being adorable. He had,
after this, a couple of grand days with the hounds
and—more or less—with her. Splendidly mounted
and a finished horsewoman, Miss Rowe was in it
from find to kill on both occasions, thus witnessing
what, as it chanced, were the two best runs of the
season. Pace and distance would assuredly have
been too much for good old Solomon; so on that
account it was just as well that Solomon was in


74
TROUBLED TRANTON
the stable with a slightly abrased back, while Miss
Lynden was perforce at home. Not on any other
account, nor because Miss Lynden's presence in the
field might have been a source of discomfort.
For absolute, unabashed egotism no human being
can hold a candle to a man in the first stages of
love, and Geoffrey had not only clean forgotten
the circumstance of his having recently been a
trifle nettled by Sylvia's rejection of him, but felt
comfortably assured of her sympathy in his present
passion. He meant to confide in her—was quite
eager for the earliest opportunity of confiding in
her. He thought of her now as of a specially con-
genial and companionable sister. So easy is it to
picture our neighbours as being what we should
like them to be !-and so disappointing to find,
as we too frequently do, that they are something
totally different !
Sylvia, however, proved in no way disappoint-
ing to her expectant ally. She listened to his
rhapsodies with unfeigned interest and professed
to feel much flattered by the promptitude with
which he had let her into the secrets of his heart.
Whether she herself was not sensible of something
akin to disappointment may be another question.
True, she did not love Geoffrey; but it is not cer-
tain that she would have maintained her refusal
to marry him, had she been importuned to do so.
And then there was the very disagreeable prospect
of having to dash her mother's fond hopes to the
ground. That very morning Mrs. Lynden had
alluded, with a touch of misgiving, to the Greshams'
the prompti
Whethers had let her into


DOROTHY TAKES A HAND 75
beautiful niece, respecting whom whispers had
reached her ears. In country neighbourhoods
news, true and false, is disseminated with tele-
graphic rapidity, and young Alder's attentions to
Miss Rowe both in the ball-room and the hunting-
field had not escaped notice. But of this aspect
of the case Sylvia said nothing. It was Geoffrey
who, after talking for a good quarter of an hour,
remarked cheerily:
“By the way, this gets you and me out of a hole.
No more need for us to try and make believe that
we're lovers, is there ?"
“Mercifully, none," answered Sylvia. “We
weren't brilliantly successful as far as we got, were
we? Well, you can't say that I didn't do my
best."
“I can't say that you did,” retorted the young
man, laughing. “Never was so snubbed in my
life! Look here, Sylvia, I want to ask you some-
thing. When a girl tells you straight out that
you're exactly her sort of man, would you take
that as a good sign or not ?”
Poor Sylvia had to reply as best she might to
several further questions equally idiotic, and had
also to learn after an indirect fashion that she
had better not count upon any more hunting,
unless she liked to go out independently. Solo-
mon's sore back, as to which she made casual in-
quiry, was pronounced to be going on all right;
but Geoffrey observed that there was no use in
trying to hurry these things, and it was evident
that he was not under any temptation to err in


76
TROUBLED TRANTON
that respect. Upon the whole, Sylvia had reason
to be thankful that she was blessed with an excel-
lent temper and a substantial reserve fund of
patience.
It was over the tea-table in the library at Tranton
that the cousins (as they had definitely decided to
call themselves) held their long and undisturbed
colloquy. Their colloquy was undisturbed because
Mrs. Lynden had walked across to the Rectory; it
was long because one of the pair had a theme of
inexhaustible charm to dilate upon. The other, as
has been said, was patient, if inevitably bored, and
it was not on account of Geoffrey's having said the
same thing some twenty times that she began at
last to exhibit signs of restlessness.
“What can have happened to mother ?" she ex-
claimed. “It's nearly half-past six, and she ought
to have been back an hour ago."
“Nearly half-past six !" echoed the young man
with a glance at the clock. “So it is, by Jove !
How time flies in your company! But I really
must be off now.”
“I'll walk across the park with you,” Sylvia an-
nounced, “and meet mother. She always hates
so being out in the dark.”
At that moment the door was thrown open, and
Mrs. Lynden staggered in, “looking,” as Geoffrey
afterwards said, “ like nothing in the world.” Her
hat was crushed and awry, her clothes were covered
with mud, she was shaking all over, and seemed
scarcely able to put one foot before another.
“Don't look so horrified,” she faltered out, with


DOROTHY TAKES A HAND
77
a tremulous laugh. “I know I'm a shocking spec-
tacle, but I'm more frightened than hurt. There's
no harm done.”
Some harm had indubitably been done, and
neither Geoffrey nor Sylvia felt sure that a good
deal more had not been intended. After the poor
lady had been deposited in an armchair, soothed
and smoothed, she had an account to give of what
had befallen her which moved her hearers to a high
pitch of indignation. It appeared that she had
been walking home from the Rectory, and had been
within a hundred yards of the park gate, when,
without an instant's warning or any sound of foot-
steps, she had been seized and pinioned from be-
hind, while a thick woollen shawl had been flung
over her head. Thus blindfolded and helpless, she
had been reproached in abusive language for
having disregarded the warnings addressed to
her and had been called upon to swear there
and then that she would restore Tranton to the
Alders.
“I could hardly speak, but I contrived to say
that I had offered to do that; and the answer was:
'Yes, because you knew that the offer would be
refused.' Well, it was useless telling me to take
an oath which I might not be able to keep; so, after
they had shaken me and cursed me, I said they
could kill me if they liked, but I wasn't going to
swear.”
“Dear, brave mother!” cried Sylvia, with tears
in her eyes. “How can these wretches be so cruel
and so senseless! Because, after all, it doesn't


DOROTHY TAKES A HAND
79
notwithstanding the bold front that she seemed to
have shown; she deplored her folly in having over
taken up this baneful inheritance.
“We were so happy as we were—and it's so
impossible to be happy as we are ! Still, the case
isn't quite desperate, thank God! There's one
way, if there's only one, of making amends. And
not such a very unpleasant way, either, I hope."
How was Sylvia to tell her smiling, tearful, woe-
begone little mother that it had become a forbidden
way ?


CHAPTER VIII
PUZZLED AUTHORITIES
To be seized by invisible ruffians, blindfolded, in-
sulted and cast violently into a ditch is enough to
shake anybody's nervous system, and fragile Mrs.
Lynden, though she bore up courageously through
the evening and declared that she had not sustained
so much as a bruise, found herself obliged to remain
in bed the next day.
“Not for the world !” she cried, when Sylvia
spoke of obtaining medical advice. “There is
absolutely nothing the matter with me—nothing
physical, I mean. As for ministering to a mind
diseased, I'm afraid your Dr. Munday has no
sweet oblivious antidote' for that trouble.”
Dr. Munday was sent for, all the same. Sylvia,
herself the embodiment of health, was easily
alarmed by symptoms which had, perhaps, no very
grave significance; and, indeed, she was not wrong
in thinking that any shock must be more or less
grave to a person so delicate and so habituated to
watchful protection as her mother. Accordingly,
the local practitioner was summoned, and was not
long in presenting himself. He was a youngish
man, whose keen eyes, prominent chin and quiet
voice inspired that confidence which is a valuable
80


PUZZLED AUTHORITIES
81
asset to members of his profession. Before going
upstairs to see his patient, he made some inquiries
of Sylvia about her mother's general health and
history.
“So as to avoid having to question her," he ex-
plained. “Some people like to be questioned and
some don't; but scarcely anybody tells one the
things that it would be useful to hear.”
Whether the information that he received from
Sylvia struck him as useful or not he did not say.
He nodded silently every now and then and inter-
rupted her recital of the attacks, epistolary and
other, to which Mrs. Lynden had been subjected by
remarking that he knew all about that. He even
knew already about the culminating outrage of the
previous day.
“Most disgraceful, and, one would say, object-
less as well, unless the object of these people, who-
ever they may be, is to terrorise their victim-a
result which I trust that they won't achieve.
Well, Miss Lynden, I'll see her now, and I daresay
I shall be able to do something for her.”
Hardly had the doctor left the room when
Geoffrey came in to inquire after Mrs. Lynden and
was not surprised to learn that she was prostrated.
He said:
“I was afraid so when I saw Munday's gig at the
door. Upon my word, it's too bad! Everybody's
simply furious about it.”
“Is your father furious ?” asked Sylvia quickly.
Geoffrey looked a little confused. “The gover-
nor? Oh well, not exactly that. He doesn't ...


82
TROUBLED TRANTON
that is, he's—he’s odd, you know. One can never
quite tell how he'll take a thing.”
The dreadful truth was that Nicholas Alder,
when the news of what had befallen Mrs. Lynden
was imparted to him, had laughed aloud. By so
doing he had shocked his son more than a little,
but had declared that he really couldn't help it.
“ According to you," he had remarked, “the
woman was more frightened than hurt;” and, on
its being represented to him that to frighten a
delicate woman in such a manner was in itself a
dastardly and felonious act, he had replied that he
didn't know so much about that. Perhaps she de-
served a fright. Now, this could not, of course,
be reported to Sylvia, who persistently demanded
to know what Mr. Alder had said and who natur-
ally placed her own interpretation upon a series of
evasive answers.
“Would you like me to tell you what I think of
your father ?" she asked at length, with a height-
ened colour.
“No, thank you,” replied Geoffrey hurriedly;
“I'd much rather you didn't. He—well, as you
know, he thinks, rightly or wrongly, that he has a
grievance against Mrs. Lynden, but I'm sure that
won't prevent his doing all he can to get those
devils laid by the heels. The worst of it is that up
to the present we haven't the shadow of a clue. I
examined the spot where Mrs. Lynden was thrown
into the ditch; but, although the grass was tram-
pled, I couldn't find a single distinct footmark on
the path. I expect they were clever enough to


PUZZLED AUTHORITIES
83
·
wrap something over their boots. That would
account for their not having made any noise when
they stole up behind her.”
“It seems to me very strange and mysterious,"
said Sylvia, “ that such people should be able to
hide in a little place like this."
“It is mysterious,” Geoffrey assented; "the
whole thing is a mystery. But it's certain to be
cleared up before long.”
Sylvia thought—and was only just able to keep
herself from saying—that one Justice of the Peace
was not likely to take a very active part in the
clearing-up process. It was perhaps as well that
the reappearance of the doctor put a stop to the
conversation.
Dr. Munday's report was reassuring. Mrs. Lyn-
den had been a good deal shaken and had better
remain quietly in bed for the rest of the day; but
a sedative medicine had been prescribed for her
which, together with rest, would soon restore her
to her usual state of health.
“And I wouldn't encourage her to talk about
what she has been through, Miss Lynden. Try to
get her away from the subject.”
To Geoffrey, who accompanied him to the front-
door, he was somewhat more explicit, saying that
his patient was disposed to be neurotic and that
her heart was not as strong as could be wished.
“ Naturally, these atrocious experiences of hers
are preying upon her mind; any renewal of them
might bring about a really serious illness. One
can only hope that her enemies will have the
as heart was not disposed to be plicit, sayi


84
TROUBLED TRANTON
common humanity to stop persecuting her after
this.”
Dr. Munday spoke these last words with a certain
deliberation and emphasis, looking hard at his inter-
locutor, upon whom, however, their intended sig-
nificance was wholly thrown away. Geoffrey would
as soon have suspected his father of robbing a church
as of organising brutal attacks upon a woman, and
the idea of his father's being so suspected by a sen-
sible man like Munday did not suggest itself to him.
It suggested itself, however, with a greater or
less degree of force to many of the dwellers round
about Tranton. Like Mrs. Cotton, they wanted to
know by whose behest or connivance such things had
been done if not by Nicholas Alder's. In vain did
the Rector remind them that Mr. Alder had scorn-
fully declined to accept Tranton as a gift from Mrs.
Lynden: their answer to that was that he had had
no choice but to refuse; whereas, if she were driven
to renounce her inheritance, he would presumably
succeed to the estates as heir at law. There was
indignation throughout the countryside, and it was
rather odd that neither Nicholas Alder nor his son
should have heard a word of what was being freely
said. To breathe a hint of it to the former would,
to be sure, have required some audacity; for, guilty
or innocent, Nicholas would most unquestionably
have knocked any insinuating accuser down.
Sir Augustus Gresham, being well aware of this,
was as careful as explosive wrath at the ill-treat-
ment of Mrs. Lynden and absolute conviction that
Alder was the culprit would allow him to be. He


PUZZLED AUTHORITIES
85
did not say what he thought in so many words; but
if anybody remained in ignorance of what he
thought, the fault was not his. With great diffi-
culty, and at the cost of recurrent rushes of blood
to the head, he allowed Geoffrey to remain in
ignorance. His wife had told him that he had
better, and his niece had given him to understand
that he must. Dorothy, it may be supposed, had
no wish to see Geoffrey Alder banished from Salt-
wood, and, indeed, it was by her decree that he
was bidden to one of those formidable banquets
which, at stated intervals, symbolised Sir Augustus
and Lady Gresham’s conception of their duty to
their neighbours.
The circumstance that she treated him when
he was there as if he had been non-existent was, of
course, no proof that she was not glad to see him,
though it was quite as much a matter of course
that he should so construe her behaviour. He was
separated from her by nearly the whole length of
the very long table, and occasional peeps at her
across an annoying barrier of flowers and silver
made him painfully aware of what a good time
she was having between a couple of infantry
officers, imported from Canterbury. Normally
sweet-tempered, he was just then in an abnormal
condition, so that more than once in the course
of an interminable repast he was forced to wonder
seriously whether she really thought that he was
going to stand that kind of thing. He was quite
certain to stand it, poor fellow, and if she thought
so, she made no mistake; but it was never her way


86
TROUBLED TRANTON
to inflict protracted suffering upon her captives;
and as soon as dinner was over she converted the
nascent rebellion of this one into ecstatic gratitude.
While the ladies were trooping out of the room
majestically in single file, what did Miss Dorothy
do but halt behind Geoffrey's chair and whisper:
“Slip away as quickly as you can and deliver
me from the tabbies. Uncle Augustus always sits
for ever after dinner.”
So that was delightful, and an outlook of in-
creased benevolence upon the world and its inhabi-
tants naturally ensued. It was even possible to
address civilities to the brace of foot-soldiers, who
had, after all, been entitled to converse with their
neighbour and who could not, being human, have
helped doing homage to her. Moreover, there
were two of them, which rendered them additionally
pardonable. Upon the pretext of wanting to
smoke (his inhuman host actually objected to
smoking while wine was being drunk), Geoffrey
presently inveigled them into the billiard-room,
and, having seen them started on a game of a
hundred up, made good his retreat to the drawing-
room, where Miss Dorothy had an enchanting smile
of welcome for him.
“Now,” she began, after she and he had taken
cover behind one of the umbrageous flowering
shrubs which, in deference to a long-expired
fashion, still adorned the reception-rooms of Salt-
wood Park, “ tell me about your friend Mrs.
Lynden and her tribulations. Who is playing
these pranks upon her ?-and why ?”


PUZZLED AUTHORITIES 87
“I only wish I knew !” answered Geoffrey.
“ Can't even guess ?”
“No; I haven't the foggiest idea.”
Dorothy's low laugh was always pleasant to the
ear, just as the dimples which showed themselves
on her cheeks when she laughed were bewitching
to the eye. Still there did not seem to be anything
particular to laugh at just then. Geoffrey made
inquiries upon the subject, and received the not
very illuminating reply that he was rather funny
sometimes.
“You're really fond of the lady, aren't you ?”.
his companion pursued.
Yes, Geoffrey liked Mrs. Lynden very much
indeed. She was awfully nice.
“ And the daughter—the girl whom you're going
to marry ?”
Geoffrey repudiated the assertion with much
warmth. “I'm not going to marry Sylvia Lynden!
Whoever told you that I was is a drivelling idiot."
“At that rate,” observed Miss Rowe com-
posedly, “the care of the feeble-minded will soon
become a burning question in these parts. Every-
body says you're going to marry her, and it cer-
tainly looks as if you ought. What's the matter
with her ? Isn't she as nice as her mamma ?”
“She and I are great pals,” answered Geoffrey,
“ only we are not going to be husband and wife.
For one thing, she wouldn't take me if I asked her,
and another thing is that I couldn't be induced to
ask her.”
“Why so obstinate and unaccommodating ?”


PUZZLED AUTHORITIES
89
what he meant, giving him, however, from time to
time a glance from those wonderful sapphire eyes
of hers to go on with.
While Miss Rowe was diverting herself in the
above style it was a form of diversion which
seldom palled upon her—Sir Augustus was holding
a solemn conference in the dining-room with the
Chief Constable of the County, Major Humphreys
by name, Parson Cotton and a few other fellow-
magistrates.
“I think you'll all agree,” he was saying oratori-
cally, “ that this state of things must be put a stop
to-put a stop to. As far as I can understand you,
Humphreys, you consider that it's more your affair
than mine. You warn me off-warn me off, eh ?”
Major Humphreys, a quiet little man, with
grizzled hair and a drooping moustache, hoped that
no such construction would be placed upon his
words. “All I said was that I don't think amateur
detectives are much good, as a rule.”
“God bless my soul ! Do I look like a detec-
tive ?” inquired Sir Augustus, who certainly did
not. “I agree that it's a matter for the police;
only, as the police admit to being at their wits'
end-and I must say it hasn't taken 'em long to
get there—it seems to me that I'm entitled to do
anything I can. What ?”
“We all feel that you may be depended upon
to do something, Gresham,” said Mr. Cotton
gravely. “What about your expert? Have you
had any report from him ?”
“Yes, I've heard from the fellow," answered Sir


92
TROUBLED TRANTON
come? What do you say ?-brought by a little
boy ? What little boy ? Tell him to come in here
at once! You haven't been such damned fools as
to let him go, I hope.”
The footman believed the boy had gone, but
said he would inquire.
“Look sharp about it, then,” bawled his master,
“and if the young rascal has made off, run after
him as hard as you can lay legs. He can't be far
away.”
In the meantime Sir Augustus Gresham's guests
were invited to inspect the missive by which he
had been so powerfully stirred and which was
indeed of a stirring character.
“If you value peace and safety,” it ran, “you
had better leave us to deal with Mrs. Lynden in
our own way. We know what you are about, and
you may take it from us that a fussy old fool like
you will neither lay hands upon us nor prevent us
from laying hands upon whom we choose. Stop
interfering, or you will soon find out that this is no
empty boast.”
“An uneducated fist,” commented Major Hum-
phreys pensively; “so far I'm with your expert.
But the spelling is all right and the wording is in
the manner of an educated person.”
“Of course it is,” returned Sir Augustus, fuming.
“I forget where he was at school, but it seems that
they didn't teach manners there. “Fussy old fool'
indeed! Curse the fellow's insolence !”
“I don't like their menace of laying violent hands
upon anybody who presumes to interfere with


PUZZLED AUTHORITIES
93
them,” observed the Rector, shaking his head
solemnly. “You will have to be very careful,
Gresham.”
“ Careful ?” roared Sir Augustus. “Not I, sir !
-not I! If these scoundrels think they can
intimidate me, they mistake their man, that's all
I have to say. All I have to say !"
He would doubtless have said a good deal more
if the footman had not now reappeared, leading a
round-eyed boy of tender age, upon whose counten-
ance bewilderment and alarm were writ large.
“Hullo, Sammy !” called out the Rector, recog-
nising a juvenile parishioner. “So they've enlisted
you into their service, have they ?”
Sammy darted to the Rector's side and clutched
the hand extended to him. “I ain't done nothing
wrong," he whimpered.
“Now, boy,” began Sir Augustus severely,
“now, boy, speak up and speak the truth. Who
sent you with that note ?”
"Please, sir, I dunno, sir.”
“Come, come, don't tell me that! The note
didn't drop out of the clouds, I suppose. Who
gave it to you ?”
Sammy again protested his inability to answer
the question. Evidently he thought that he was
in for trouble, and the brilliantly lighted room, the
glitter of silver and glass, the assemblage of stern-
visaged gentlemen, presided over by his fiery inter-
rogator, who had a good deal the appearance of an
ogre in a white waistcoat—all these features of a
novel environment were ill qualified to reassure


94
TROUBLED TRANTON
him. But what he feared more than anything else
was that he might be deprived of the half-crown
which had been the reward of his mission and
which now reposed, snug and warm, in his breeches
pocket. Never in his life before had he possessed
such a coin, nor could he contemplate the surrender
of it without being moved to tears. Not until he
had inade a whispered communication to the
Rector_upon this subject and had received a dis-
tinct promise that he would not be despoiled could
he be induced to tell his tale; which, when told,
was anything but enlightening.
It appeared that, after spending a blameless
evening, upon the details of which he dwelt at
unnecessary length, he had been accosted by a lady
in a long black cloak, with a hood over her head, who
had asked him to run up to Saltwood Park with a
note and had given him half a crown for his
trouble. That was all. Darkness and the lady's
hood had hidden her face from him; as for her
voice, he had not noticed that it differed from
“anybody's else's ” voice. Urged to say whether
the unknown had not reminded him of some lady
whom he did know, he first stated that she had
been uncommon like Mrs. Cotton, who was at that
moment in the Saltwood drawing-room, then
hazarded the conjecture that it might have been
Mrs. Lynden. This suggestion proving unaccept-
able, he proceeded to name, one after another,
most of the matrons in the district, gentle and
simple, until at last Sir Augustus lost patience and
jumped up.
in a long by length, he had been which he dwe


CHAPTER IX
FRIEND HARRY
“If anybody can hit upon an explanation of this
cruel campaign,” observed Geoffrey to his father,
“I believe it will be Harry Marsh."
“What are his special qualifications ?” Mr.
Alder inquired.
“Well, he's a devilish clever chap, you know.”
“He will need to be if he is to find any cause
for what you call a campaign, but what looks to
me much more like a succession of silly practical
jokes. By all means, let him be consulted,
though.”
Nicholas Alder had a liking for the young man
referred to, whose friendship with his son dated
from early school-days, and who had not visited
Hill Place during the latter's absence on foreign
service. Harry Marsh was scarcely the type of
man to commend himself à priori to the master
of that establishment, seeing that he was only a
lukewarm lover of sport and had never excelled
in athletics. He was not, however, afraid of his
friend's father, while his unfailing common sense
had more than once stood Geoffrey in good stead.
On these two grounds, therefore, Mr. Alder not
only tolerated, but esteemed him. The fact that
he had achieved a fair measure of literary and
96


FRIEND HARRY
97
journalistic success probably did not count for?
much with one whose daily study of the news
papers occupied but a bare quarter of an hour and
whose inherited library served a purely decorative
purpose. Marsh was entitled to call himself a
barrister, inasmuch as he had been called to the
Bar; but his legal activities had begun and ended
with that ceremony. He lived in London, read
comprehensively wrote when he felt inclined and,
as he had an income more than ample for a
bachelor of inexpensive tastes, never did any work
for which he did not feel inclined. Geoffrey had
for him the admiration which we all feel for our
intellectual superiors, together with the affection
which was doubtless due to a “ripping good
fellow.” He was really a good fellow, for he had
not been at all spoilt by social and professional
flatteries. A well-to-do young man, brought into
prominence, if not exactly raised to eminence, by
occasional brilliant essays and articles, is likely
enough to be flattered and not very unlikely to
be spoilt.
This clean-shaven, dark-complexioned, bright-
eyed representative of contemporary culture was
received by Geoffrey, on his arrival at Hill Place,
with as near an approach to effusion as any self-
respecting young Englishman ever allows himself
to display in welcoming another. The new-
comer began with:
“Now, don't say that you're dying to put me
up on some fiery animal, because I may as well
tell you at once that I haven't hunted since the


98
TROUBLED TRANTON
last time I went out with you, and perhaps you'll
remember what happened then.”
“I remember that you rode thundering well,”
Geoffrey mendaciously declared. “There's no
known way of remaining on a horse's back when
he puts his foot in a hole and comes down on his
head. But you shan't be asked to hunt if you'd
rather not, and I expect the governor will breathe
more freely when he hears that you'd rather not."
“That settles it, then. Never shall it be said
of me that I caused a fellow-creature, or one of
his horses either, to draw a more laboured breath.
And how is Mr. Alder ?”
“All right, thanks. Still a little upset about
the loss of Tranton, you know. The truth is that
we're all a little bit upset just now, owing to some
deuced queer things that have been happening
lately. I should rather like to hear what you
think of them.”
A full and minute account of recent occurrences
drew no expression of opinion from Harry Marsh,
except that he was disposed to doubt its being a
local outbreak.
“How do you mean ?” asked Geoffrey.
“I mean that if the culprits belonged to these
parts, they must have been spotted before now.
The whole thing sounds to me like a blind. Suppos-
ing Mrs. Lynden had enemies, not connected with
this place, who wanted to harrass her and deprive
her of her fortune, they might have thought that a
good way of wreaking vengeance upon her would
be to pose as champions of the supplanted family.”


FRIEND HARRY
101
to mother. She has been made so ill and so
wretchedly nervous, poor dear! It has been
enough to frighten anybody, hasn't it?"
“Has it frightened you ?”
“Well, I'm not very timid. Besides, I haven't
been attacked yet. I only wish they would attack
me !"
“What would you do ?”
“I suppose one doesn't know until one has been
put to the test, but I think I should clutch one
of them by the throat and hang on like grim
death.”
“The thing to do would be to get a good look
at his face, so as to be able to swear to him.”
“Well, I'll do that if I'm given the chance, but
I fancy that they are too cowardly to go for any-
body who is capable of showing fight. Let us
talk about something else. Are you fond of
hunting ?”
"Now I am going to make you despise me.
No, I can't honestly say that I am. When I was
last in these parts I did, in an involuntary sort of
way, ride after hounds, thanking God that I
didn't ride over them, but this time they and I
are to be let off. Geoffrey has formally released
me."
“Then we can sit out together, for Geoffrey
has informally released me.”
“I thought he had given you a mount.”
"He did, and in return I gave his mount a
sore back. That back, from what he tells me, is
going to take rather a long time to heal.”


102
TROUBLED TRANTON
As her grey eyes encountered Harry Marsh's
dark brown ones, both she and he laughed. The
indiscretion of mentioning Miss Rowe by name
was thus rendered superfluous, and if Harry con-
trived to intimate that he deemed Miss Rowe
herself superfluous, there was nothing in Miss
Lynden's answering smile to imply that she was
of a different opinion. They chatted for a few
more minutes, and then Geoffrey, who had finished
his tea, challenged Sylvia to a game of billiards.
Or was it from Mrs. Lynden that the proposal
emanated ? She had, at all events, the air of
being anxious to dismiss the young couple, who,
to be sure, often did adjourn to the billiard-room
at that hour. When they had gone, she beckoned
to her remaining visitor, saying, with a smile:
“Now come and talk to me, Mr. Marsh, if it
won't bore you to talk to a humble and constant
reader of yours.”
He might have been a little bored if this pretty
and soft-voiced old lady (to the insolence of a
writer who was still in his twenties she was an old
lady) had expatiated upon his literary efforts; but
she had soon said all she had to say with regard to
that topic and had come to what she really wanted
to say, which was that she hoped to enlist Mr. Marsh
as an ally. She did not, of course, make that
crude and direct statement; but she did-aided by
his tacit concurrence and swift perception of what
she was driving at end with a frank avowal of
her intense wish to see Geoffrey and her daughter
united in the bond of matrimony.


104 TROUBLED TRANTON
he had expected to be. To come unexpectedly
into a large property does not sound like ill for-
tune, even though the inheritance be followed up
by offensive letters and modified physical violence;
yet all depended upon circumstances. When your
circumstances are already sufficiently comfortable
for your needs, additional wealth may easily be
more of a nuisance than a luxury. Moreover, it
was impossible to talk to Mrs. Lynden and doubt
the sincerity of her longing to be rid of Tranton.
“If only I could hand the place over to those
two,” she sighed, “how gladly I would pack up
my trunks and be off! Surely Nicholas Alder
would be satisfied then that I had done all that
was possible ! Meanwhile I must hang on here,
at the mercy of these horrible people, who may
seize me again at any moment and perhaps murder
me.”
“They won't do that,” Harry Marsh took it
upon himself to affirm. “Whatever else may be
inexplicable, it is pretty clear that their obejct is
to frighten you, and the best way of meeting them
is not to be frightened.”
This, however, was a counsel of perfection. Not
only was Mrs. Lynden visibly frightened, but she
was in a state of nervous excitation all the more
painful to witness because she was doing her best
to control it. She conversed with a show of cheer-
fulness, she laughed tremulously at intervals, and,
though owning herself a coward, displayed bravery
of a sort which her companion could appreciate.
He found himself liking her, commiserating her,


FRIEND HARRY
105
growing wrathful against her persecutors. If he
could have done anything to further the project
to which she recurred again and again, he would
willingly have placed himself at her service; but
he was not prepared to get up a flirtation on his
own account with Miss Rowe, which was what she
finally suggested.
"Oh, my dear man, I do wish you would !
It would amuse you and hurt nobody, and it's of
the last importance that poor Geoffrey should be
rescued !”
Perhaps so, but a rescue was hardly to be effected
by the proposed means. Geoffrey and Sylvia
returning from the billiard-room at this moment,
the subject had to be dropped. Did Sylvia guess
that it had been under discussion ? Harry Marsh,
who was an observant young man, judged from
her face, which wore a look of mingled amusement
and concern, that she did. During the next
quarter of an hour he saw also, or thought he
saw, that if Mrs. Lynden was doomed to disap-
pointment, it would not be by her daughter's fault.
Even supposing that the girl did not love Geoffrey
(yet why shouldn't she ?), she would accept him
to please her mother—and what happier lot could
the Fates have in store for him ? Between Sylvia
Lynden and Dorothy Rowe only a born ass could
hesitate for a moment. But then it was beyond
all question that poor old Geoffrey was an ass !


CHAPTER X
THE BOLD PATROL
WHILE Geoffrey was playing billiards with Sylvia
and Mrs. Lynden was acquiring one more partisan
in Harry Marsh, another would-be protector of
fair ladies in distress was valiantly mounting guard
on the road which skirted Tranton Park. Sir
Augustus Gresham, whom business had brought
to the vicinity, and who was now homeward
bound beneath a starry sky, said to himself that,
should certain miscreants be lurking thereabouts,
and should they dare to carry out an impudent
threat of theirs, he would very soon show them
the sort of man they had to deal with-very soon
show them. So he marched with superb delibera-
tion down the middle of the highway, twirling a
heavy stick and trailing a metaphorical coat be-
hind him.
“Hullo, you !" rang out in a deep bass voice
from the hedgerow. “Hands up, or you're a
dead 'un !”
Sir Augustus sprang into the air like a stricken
deer; but, for obvious reasons, he could essay no
further imitation of that fleet-footed animal, and
when his descending form shook the ground, his
hands pointed to the stars.
“ Come out,” he gasped, “come out and show
106


THE BOLD PATROL
107
yourself, you murderous villain! I can't fight
you—I'm an unarmed man—but I'll—I'll com-
mit you for trial at the first opportunity!"
In response to this alluring invitation, Parson
Cotton stepped forth from the darkness, shaken
with laughter from head to foot, and said:
“I beg your pardon, Gresham; it was too bad
of me! But the temptation was irresistible.”
Sir Augustus, at once enraged and relieved,
puffed and blew for a minute without replying,
but made a creditable recovery. “Look here,
Cotton,” said he," you may think this monkey
trick a capital joke, but you'd have thought it a
deuced poor one if I had broken your head for you,
as I might have done-might have done. And
you'd only have had yourself to thank, mind.”
“ Too true,” answered the Rector in a subdued
voice. “ Shows what desperately reckless fellows
we both are, notwithstanding our years. You
came here to invite assault, I suppose ?”
“I won't say that,” returned Sir Augustus, re-
stored to full self-respect by the suggestion—"I
won't say that. But I do say that, for Mrs.
Lynden's security, these roads ought to be better
watched than they are.”
“So you're undertaking the job yourself ? It's
most public-spirited of you, though rather fool-
hardy, after the warning that you have had. I
confess that I, who haven't been warned, have been
doing a little nocturnal prowling of late, but so far
I have had a succession of blank evenings.”
“Cotton,” said Sir Augustus impressively, “ you


108
TROUBLED TRANTON
are pleased, I notice, to make light of this infamous
plot; but in my opinion it is no laughing matter,
and I doubt whether we have seen or heard the
worst of it. At present it seems to me that we are
downright impotent. What we want is evidence-
evidence.”
“We do, Gresham; we want it rather badly."
“And I cannot help thinking that, for reasons
which-er—which-in short, for reasons which I
needn't particularise, you are better able than any
of us to obtain evidence, if you desire it. If you
desire it."
“Kindly particularise,” said Mr. Cotton.
“ No, sir—no, Cotton, I won't be drawn into the
use of actionable language. You know as well as
I do whether evidence is obtainable by you or not,
and better than I do whether you wish to obtain
it.”
The Rector might have said something rather
uncivil (Sir Augustus occasionally goaded him into
incivility) if he had not been prevented from saying
anything at all by a sudden clutch at his sleeve and
an agitated whisper of, “ Listen! What's that ?-
what's that?"
“ That” was nothing more redoubtable than the
ringing tramp of two pairs of stalwart legs, march-
ing down the adjacent drive and in no way sugges-
tive of the stealthy approach of malefactors.
Presently the iron gates clanged behind Geoffrey
and his friend, whom the Rector lustily hailed.
“ Come along, you youngsters, and stand by a
couple of old crocks who are out to chastise stray


THE BOLD PATROL
111
“ Only that you're choosing the wrong girl, my
son.”
“Rot!"
“Well, if it's rot, I suppose I'm the idiot. Any-
how, I don't dispute the uncle's claim to be one.
A mendacious one, too, if you like."
But was he, in this instance, either ? Harry
Marsh was fain to ask himself the question which
had been forced upon others who wished Nicholas
Alder no evil. If that aggrieved person was inno-
cent, who was—or could be guilty ? The ad-
monition of Sir Augustus as to being on the alert
and noting any significant incidents appeared, upon
the whole, to be sound.


CHAPTER XI
HAZARDS ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE
LADY GRESHAM did not think that she owed Mrs.
Lynden a call; but Dorothy said that was neither
here nor there. It is a neighbourly duty to visit
the sick and ask how they are getting on; if they
are too sick to be seen, they have only to intimate
as much. This meant that Dorothy wanted to
have a look at the Lyndens, and, as she almost in-
variably got what she wanted, she followed her
aunt into the Tranton library one dark afternoon.
She would have been less tamely employed, no
doubt, if the wind had not shifted into the north-
ward and the ground become as hard as iron; still
she looked as glad as she smilingly said she was
to meet the delicate little lady who smiled back
at her.
“You are a mighty huntress, I am told,” Mrs.
Lynden said. “We hear of you sometimes from
Geoffrey Alder.”
What she had heard about Miss Rowe from the
source named was remarkably little; but what she
now saw sufficed to make her heart sink. For
there was no getting away from the fact that the
girl was simply lovely. She might be as good as
she was beautiful, or she might be nothing of the ·
sort; the question was immaterial, inasmuch as her
112


ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE 113
hair and eyes furnished all that was required to
render her horribly dangerous. Superfluities were
not wanting, though. Mrs. Lynden took account
of them, one by one, in the course of an amiably
sustained colloquy which was interrupted by Lady
Gresham's deep voice, asking:
“ Any more creeps and shocks ?”
“No," answered Mrs. Lynden, with a quivering
laugh, “nothing fresh has happened; only I feel
rather like an unfortunate literary friend of ours
in Rome who had a family of small children living
on the floor above him. He said he didn't so much
mind their throwing balls and running races as the
agony of waiting for them to begin.”
“Nerves," observed Lady Gresham. “Best
cure for that trouble is to forget it."
“Oh yes," assented the sufferer, “ there's no
better remedy for illness than getting well, and some
people maintain, I believe, that we might all be
well if we chose. I dare say it's because I'm de-
moralised that I dread the sight of the postman."
“ The postman won't do you any harm, my dear.
People who wanted to do you harm, or knew how
to do it, wouldn't give you notice of their intentions
by letter, you may be sure. Augustus got one the
other night-did you hear ? A nice state he has
doen in ever sind you hear ? Augustus go
“ Was he very angry ?”
“Very. I don't know what he isn't going to do
to those rascals when he meets them. Talks of
carrying a revolver now. I only hope he won't
hurt himself with it."


114
TROUBLED TRANTON
Dorothy had transferred her attention to Sylvia,
with whom it was easy to lay the foundations of a
friendly understanding. As far as she could judge,
she was going to like this young woman, and she
was quite clear that the very best thing Geoffrey
Alder could do would be to marry her. Geoffrey,
to be sure, had averred that he meant to marry
somebody else or nobody; but in spite of that he
must take Miss Lynden and be thankful. Dorothy
Rowe was not exactly what Harry Marsh and others
took her to be, and although she did not despise
such philanderings as her youth and beauty forced
upon her, it was never her wish to break hearts.
For the matter of that, she had little belief in broken
hearts and felt comfortably assured against any
risk of breaking her own. Geoffrey's unconcealed
adoration was pleasant to her because he was him-
self so pleasant; still she had not asked for it and
could not quench it. Let him by all means fulfil
his patent destiny and espouse the heiress of the
ancestral acres. There was apparently no great
danger of his being rejected by the heiress, who
looked pleased when something was said in praise of
him, and who, on being asked how she liked English
country life, answered without hesitation that her
cousin had made it delightful for her.
“We are going to play golf the day after to-
morrow,” Sylvia informed her mother, after the
visitors had left. “A mixed foursome, composed
of Geoffrey and Miss Rowe against Mr. Marsh and
myself. We shall win, Miss Rowe says, as Mr.
Marsh is so much the best player of the lot."


ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE 115
“ Then why not change partners ?” Mrs. Lynden
asked.
“ Because that would make matters worse. It
seems that we really can't make a good game of it.”
Mrs. Lynden had it on the tip of her tongue to
observe that, that being so, the match might as
well be abandoned; but she refrained, reflecting
that even if she could stop the proposed foursome,
she would not be able to prevent Geoffrey and Miss
Rowe from playing golf together. Presently out
of the fulness of her heart she sighed:
“I wish that girl was at Jericho !”
“But why wish to deprive me of a Heaven-sent
playmate ?” protested Sylvia. “Don't you see
that she just fits in and balances Mr. Marsh ?"
“Ah, if she would set her cap at Mr. Marsh !”.
Sylvia's rejoinder of, “Oh, I don't think she is
setting her cap at anybody," did not seem to have
the ring of truth and sincerity, although the words
were sincerely spoken and were, in fact, very nearly
true. Mrs. Lynden, knowing her daughter, knew
that, should Geoffrey be meditating treachery (she
had reached the point of feeling that serious atten-
tions on his part to Miss Rowe would be nothing
short of that), no attempt would be made to allure
him back to his allegiance. Creditable to Sylvia
perhaps, but-desolating !
What Sylvia had gathered, and may have been
meant to gather, from certain remarks of Dorothy's
was that Geoffrey's attentions had not, so far, been
taken as implying anything at all serious, and she
was sorry for this—not on Geoffrey's account alone.


116
TROUBLED TRANTON
It forbade her to regard herself as definitely and
through no fault of hers out of court, which was the
position that she longed to occupy. For as well as
anybody she perceived what was inherently ex-
pedient, and she hated to thwart her mother. She
saw how, under easily imaginable circumstances,
her hand might come to be solicited as a pis aller,
and she doubted whether she would have either
the right or the strength of mind to refuse it.
It was not Harry Marsh who could be counted
upon to imbue her with a saner conception of duty.
That briskly intelligent young man, having taken
stock of the situation at Hill Place and Tranton,
recognised distinctly what his own duty was to old
friends and new ones. Whether or not Mr. Alder
was as innocent as the driven snow (and there was
very little to support the view that he was not), it
seemed probable that, given a certain event, he
would have to pardon Mrs. Lynden, while it had
been intimated by her unknown foes that they
would then cease to molest her. These advan-
tageous results, together with the reparation, so
far as it could be repaired, of an act of flagrant in-
justice, were, it was true, jeopardised for the time
being by Geoffrey's infatuation for Miss Rowe; but
Miss Rowe, if Harry knew anything of her, was
likely to prove a transient stumbling-block. A
more formidable one might be furnished by Miss
Lynden, who, with every wish to give her mother
pleasure, could hardly be asked to pick up a rival's
leavings in a spirit of meek gratitude. She would
need rather delicate handling, Harry thought, and


ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE 117
perhaps an altruistic outsider would not be able to
accomplish a great deal. Still one must do one's
best.
Full of the above admirable sentiments and
intentions, he marched towards the golf links,
where he was to meet the young lady whose future
he had mapped out for her. It was a sunny,
frosty day, and he had chosen to walk three miles
rather than occupy a back seat in the dogcart which
Geoffrey had driven over to Saltwood to pick up
Miss Rowe. The golf course whither he was bound
was situated on a high-lying, gorse-covered com-
mon, across which the white highway stretched
towards the sky-line. Conspicuous upon the
veranda of the little club-house was the figure of
Miss Sylvia Lynden, who waved a salutation to her
approaching partner and remarked:
“ One of you at last! When are the others
going to turn up ?"
“ At any moment," answered Harry. “In fact,
I thought they would have been here before me.”
And, mindful of his diplomatic obligations, he made
haste to explain: “Miss Rowe wanted Geoffrey to
fetch her. Why she shouldn't have driven over on
her own goodness knows; but, of course, he couldn't
refuse."
“Poor fellow !” remarked Sylvia drily ; “a
great bore for him, no doubt. He's always so good-
natured, though. How long should you think that
it would take them to drive here from Saltwood ?"
“Oh, not more than ten minutes."
“ Then we may expect to see them in about half


118
TROUBLED TRANTON
an hour, I daresay. Suppose we go in and warm
ourselves until they come.”
In the club-room, which was untenanted, a huge
fire of dry logs had been kindled. Sylvia drew an
armchair up to it, and her companion, after imitat-
ing her, began, like the conscientious man that he
was, to improve the shining half-hour. The im-
pression which he wished to suggest was that Miss
Rowe was one of those girls with whom nobody
could avoid the appearance of flirting, because she
would not allow anybody to avoid it. She did not
mean, and seldom did, much harm; her little ways
of going on were perfectly well understood by her
intimates—and more to that effect. But Sylvia
did nos want to analyse Miss Rowe or Geoffrey
either. Apparently she was not jealous; it seemed
certain that she was not interested.
“Tell me about your golf,” she interrupted with-
out ceremony. “ Are you absolutely firstrate ?”
“Oh dear, no!" answered Harry, laughing;
“my handicap is eight, and I'm afraid I don't play
up to it. I can give Geoffrey a third, because he's
a bit wild, but he outdrives me almost every time.
How about your game ?”
“There's a good deal to be said about my
game,” replied Sylvia; “a good deal has been said
about it at one time and another by people who
have had the privilege of playing with me. But
it's only fair to tell you that there isn't one solitary
word to be said for it.”
“I don't believe that,” Harry declared.
“ You will before you are much older; faith will


ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE 119
be forced upon you. Miss Rowe calls herself a
middling player. What does that mean?”.
“Well, of course, if a man says that, it means
that he is pretty good. In the case of a lady, it
may mean anything from proficiency to total inepti-
tude. I daresay we shall manage to beat them if
we play them even. Oh, and here they are !”
Dorothy, rosy-cheeked, swathed in soft woollen
garments and beating a pair of sealskin gloves
together to keep her hands warm, expressed great
contrition for being late; but Geoffrey, who fol-
lowed her into the room, with a beatified smile upon
his face, had no apologies to offer. Very likely he
thought that the supreme joy of beholding Miss
Rowe ought to be full compensation for no matter
how protracted a spell of patient suspense. He
admitted, however, that if eighteen holes were to
be played before dusk, there was no more time to
be lost.
Golf in frosty weather has its charms. These
may not be apparent to the adept, who finds his
approach shots seriously impeded by the hard
ground, while he does not relish putting greens
whereon the ball bounces right and left with ill-
timed levity; but to the great army of foozlers it is
a joyous sensation to drive far beyond their accus-
tomed limits or their particular deserts. Thus
Sylvia, when requested to hit off first, smote her
ball on the top with great violence, and had
the satisfaction of getting some thirty yards
further than Dorothy, who responded with a quite
respectable, but more lofted, stroke. Geoffrey,


ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE 121
approve. But nobody was ever preserved from
anything in that way.”
Harry, who had imagined, stupidly enough, that
he might compel Geoffrey to join Miss Lynden, had
no reply ready, except the rather insincere one of:
“Oh, I only wanted to make sure that the siren was
harmless. I believe she is this time. She isn't
really Geoffrey's sort at all.”
“How can you possibly tell ? She is or she
isn't. For my part, I should like to think that
she was, because he evidently thinks so; but either
way, it's their affair. Besides—aren't we playing
golf ?”
“Of course we are," answered Harry.
“ Then please pay attention to the game for one
instant and watch me while I lay this ball stone
dead. Ah, there it goes into the only bunker that
I felt quite certain of dodging! My intentions, like
yours, are a little better than my execution of them.
But what can you expect of a timid, uncertain
player when her partner so ostentatiously doesn't
care where she puts him ?”
“I care a lot,” Harry protested. “ Please don't
mistake iron self-control for indifference. I thought
I was behaving so nicely!”.
“Oh, did you? Well, we've lost this hole now,
which leaves us only one up. We really must pull
ourselves together.”
After this Harry dropped his clumsy tactics. It
had, indeed, been made impossible for him to
resume them, and he was not sorry; because, as a
matter of personal preference, he liked Sylvia's


122
TROUBLED TRANTON
company a great deal better than Miss Rowe's.
More than once in the course of the afternoon it
occurred to him that if he had been in Geoffrey's
shoes, he would have found it quite easy to fall in
love with Sylvia and not at all difficult to avoid
falling in love with Dorothy; but since tastes can
neither be accounted for nor influenced, and since
he was not in the foolish Geoffrey's shoes, why
shouldn't he get what fun there was to be had out
of being in his own ?
His own did not pinch him. He had done, and
meant to continue doing, all he could to promote
the general welfare; no such fatuous notion as that
he might be compromising it by devoting himself
for a short while to an attractive companion dis-
turbed his mind. For the rest, Sylvia was not one
of those girls who see in every unmarried man a
potential admirer or husband. All she asked of
Mr. Marsh for the moment was that he should play
the game, both in a literal and in an analogical
sense, and, as he complied with her wish, she
naturally thought well of him. She intimated as
much when, by dint of steady good play, he secured
a substantial victory for himself and her.
“ Considering the circumstances,” said she,
“ three up and two to play must be called credit-
able. To Mr. Marsh, I mean. I represent the
circumstances, and I don't want to be considered
more than can be helped.”
“You put in some splendid shots,” Harry
declared.
“I did; but the splendour of my shots is apt to


ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE 123
be dimmed by the tragedy of their fate. Never
mind; we won, thanks to your evident genius for
triumphing over circumstances. And now we'll go
home to tea.”
Mrs. Lynden's carriage was waiting to take the
golfers to Tranton, whither it had been arranged
that they should repair for tea after their game.
Geoffrey, not much dejected by defeat, had the
happy prospect of conducting Dorothy home in his
dogcart at a later hour, and, as that young lady
had been enjoying herself upon the whole, not-
withstanding occasional lapses on the part of a too
erratic colleague, the quartette reached their des-
tination in excellent spirits. But no sooner had
they entered the warm, softly-lighted library than
they saw that something was amiss.
Even if Mrs. Lynden's forced smiles and pro-
fessed eagerness to hear who had been the winners
had imposed upon three out of the four, they would
not have deceived her daughter, who guessed at
once by the involuntary twitching of her lips that
some further blow had been aimed at her.
“What is it, mother dear ?” Sylvia asked,
dropping on her knees beside the trembling little
lady's chair. “What have they been doing to
you? And—oh, what has happened to your hair ?”
“Only singed, like my eyebrows and eyelashes,"
answered Mrs. Lynden, trying to laugh. “I
wasn't going to tell you about it yet; but you're so
sharp and I'm such a poor dissembler! I'm really
none the worse, and I daresay I wasn't intended to
be. It was rather startling, though.”


124
TROUBLED TRANTON
She had gone out for a drive earlier in the after-
noon, she explained, and had found, when she
returned, a small parcel lying on the table beside
her accustomed chair. Supposing it to contain a
brooch which she had sent to the jeweller's to be
mended, she had opened it, and had instantly been
deafened and blinded by a loud explosion. For a
minute or so she had feared that she had been
literally blinded, but had soon realised that a
slight scorching was all the injury she had sustained.
“So there's nothing to make a fuss about.
Scared, but unharmed—which is what they always
want me to be and always succeed in making me by
their attentions. No, Sylvia, dear, don't ring the
bell. I've asked already where the parcel came
from, and, of course, nobody knows. Before I
went out I told them to open the windows, which
probably explains how it found its way in. I begin
to feel, like the Emperor of Russia, that it's useless
to take precautions against these invisible pests.
One must put up with them, as one puts up with
flies and wasps.”
Poor Mrs. Lynden had not much of the Stoic in
her composition, while the irate young people who
surrounded her had no notion of “putting up”
with atrocities which cried out for condign punish-
ment by the strong arm of the law. Unfortunately,
their ire and the arm of the law lacked any attain-
able subject. Somebody had placed a box, con-
taining an explosive, upon Mrs. Lynden's table;
but nobody had been seen to enter or leave the
house, nor could Harry Marsh discover any foot-


ON THE LINKS AND ELSEWHERE 125
marks on the hard gravel outside the windows. As
for the box itself, it had been blown to atoms, Mrs.
Lynden told him. He did, however, come upon
some fragments of cardboard in the fender, and
slipped them into his pocket for future scrutiny.
Meanwhile, the obvious and immediate way to be
of service to the victim was to leave her to her
daughter's care. Both Harry and Dorothy recog-
nised that, despite her pluck and assumed vivacity,
she was not in a condition to entertain guests, so
they took themselves off as speedily as might be.
No catastrophe, perhaps, could have spoilt for
Geoffrey the exhilaration of a moonlit drive with
the loveliest of created beings; still he was as
incensed against Mrs. Lynden’s dastardly foes and
as bent upon laying them by the heels as Sir
Augustus himself could have been, and it was in a
very decisive tone of voice that he told Harry
Marsh, whom he joined in the smoking-room at
Hill Place before dinner, that this sort of thing had
got to be stamped out.
“First catch your hare," observed his friend.
“Well, I have an indication. Not much of a one,
but a good deal better than nothing.”
He held up a shred of charred cardboard which
might have formed part of a small box such as
chemists use for powders, and upon which the
corner of a label remained. The greater portion of
this had been consumed, but the surviving scrap
exhibited the letters “NZE,” together with some
slight trace of a preceding “ E."
“ I can't at present think of any town in England


126 TROUBLED TRANTON
with a tail like that,” said Harry, “but I can think
of Firenze. Have Mrs. and Miss Lynden been in
Florence lately ?”
“Yes, I should think they may have been.”
“Ah! And do you happen to know whether
there are any Italian servants in the Tranton
household ?”
“Well,” answered Geoffrey, “ oddly enough
there is an Italian there just now; but she couldn't
possibly have done it. A former maid, married to
a former butler, with whom she now keeps lodgings
in London. She's only there on a short visit, and
Sylvia says that both she and her husband are
simply devoted to Mrs. Lynden.”
“Good! What's the devoted creature's name ?”
“I don't know what her surname is. Sylvia
called her Lucia.”
“Signora Lucia shall be cautiously reconnoitred.
Now look here; don't breathe a word of this to any-
body, or the woman may slip through our fingers."
“ All right; but I'm afraid you're on a false
scent.”
“That remains to be seen; my idea all along has
been that you hadn't to do with local malefactors.
Anyhow, it was a happy inspiration that led me to
save this poor little brand from the burning. Lucia
may or may not be guilty; but one thing is fairly
certain: the person who tried to blow Mrs. Lynden
up was the owner of a box bought in Italy."


CHAPTER XII
NATURAL SELECTIONS
As hunting was the chief, if not the sole, joy of
Nicholas Alder's life, a genuine hard frost was a
visitation which he could not be expected to bear
with equanimity. He never bore any annoyance
with equanimity, Nature having denied him all
the qualities which make for the exercise of that
virtue; so, when he took his place at the dinner-
table, his two companions could see that he was
not in the serenest of moods. It appeared, how-
ever, that he could endure to hear of a neighbour's
tribulations without other emotion than found vent
in a sardonic smile, and he once more disappointed
his son by using no strong language about the un-
discovered felons.
“These perpetual flashes in the pan are becoming
a shade monotonous,” he remarked after listening
to Geoffrey's account of the latest outrage. “Be
Mrs. Lynden's enemies who they may, they seem to
take remarkably good care on every occasion that
she shall escape unscathed.”
“She had all her front hair singed off this time,
anyhow,” said Geoffrey.
“It will grow again if it was hers by right of
birth, and it will be all the more easily replaced if
it wasn't.”
127


128
TROUBLED TRANTON
“She might have been blinded.”
“I don't know, I'm sure; as a matter of fact, she
hasn't been blinded. All these so-called attacks
upon the woman sound to me simply puerile, and,
as far as I can make out, there is no design in
them.”
“Oh, there isn't any doubt about the design,” said
Geoffrey; “it has been plainly stated all along that
the design is to drive her out of her own property.”
His father frowned, drumming irritably upon
the table. In the first place, the property was not,
or ought not to be, her own; and in the second,
there was a tacit understanding, which Geoffrey
usually respected, that the usurpation of Tranton
was not a subject to be alluded to before third
persons. The third person now struck in abruptly
with-
“I suppose Mrs. Lynden has been a good deal
mixed up with Italians, hasn't she ?”
“I suppose so," answered Nicholas; "she has
lived the greater part of her life in Italy, I believe.”
But he made no inquiry as to the relevance of
Harry's observation, which apparently failed to
excite his curiosity.; so that shot missed the target.
After all, the balance of probability was against his
being concerned in proceedings which might or
might not enure to his profit. Upon the whole, he
was not the man, Harry thought, to attempt or
even consent to profit by such strategy; and al-
though, no doubt, many strange and inconsistent
acts are committed every day, consistency remains
the rule.


NATURAL SELECTIONS
129
But if there was not much to connect Mr. Alder
with the despatch of explosives and still less to
suggest his complicity with an Italian maid, there
was at least prima facie ground for associating an
Italian maid with a box which came from Florence.
On the following afternoon, therefore, Harry Marsh
walked over to Tranton, intent upon finding out
anything that he could with reference to that
faithful (or possibly faithless) ex-retainer. Geof-
frey, who was lunching at Saltwood, had said that
he proposed to call and inquire for Mrs. Lynden on
his way home; but he was not likely to start for
home until a late hour, unless perchance Miss Rowe
should wish to get rid of him, and, in the absence
of an alternative admirer, Miss Rowe would
scarcely entertain that inhospitable wish. So that,
should Mrs. Lynden be alone and willing to receive a
visitor, there ought to be a fair chance of obtaining
information from her without directly asking for it.
Mrs. Lynden was both alone and more than
willing to receive a visitor in whom she liked to
think that she had a co-operator-were it only that
she might gently reproach him for the inefficiency
of his co-operation, so far as it had gone.
“I'm as well as you see me, thanks,” was her
smiling reply to his first question, “and a good deal
better than I should be if I were not getting case-
hardened. One ends by growing accustomed to
anything. Sit down and tell me about your golf.
I couldn't ask you yesterday, and all I could get
out of Sylvia was that you had had what she called
a 'topping match.'"


130 TROUBLED TRANTON
“Well, that is quite true,” said Harry. “Miss
Lynden and I won it too.”
“So she told me. I congratulate you both.
Frankly, though, I didn't so much want to hear
about the golf match as about the prospects of
another match that you know of. I'm afraid you
can't report that they look very bright, can
you ?”
“Not just at the present moment,” Harry con-
fessed. “We must have patience and trust to
time, I think.”
"And while we are patiently trusting, my
martyrdom is to continue ?”
“Oh, I hope not."
“It rather evidently will. Not that I want to
lay too much stress upon that; as I tell you, I'm
becoming callous. But if there were no question
of my being victimised, I should still feel that this
marriage was the one thing to be prayed for and
striven for.”
“I'll do all I can to help you, Mrs. Lynden.”
“You aren't doing all you might. I thought it
was agreed that you were to make ardent love to
that girl.”
This was said with such gravity that Harry could
not help laughing aloud. “No, no,” he protested,
“I never agreed to do that. What sort of a jack-
anapes do you take me for? I should be sorry to
back myself against Geoffrey with any girl, and I'm
quite sure that Miss Rowe wouldn't honour me
with a second thought while he was at hand. Be-
sides, don't you think that direct interference is


NATURAL SELECTIONS
131
the surest way of converting a flirtation into some-'
thing more serious ?”
“Ah, if it were only a flirtation ! Even so, it
might be disastrous enough. You see, there is
Sylvia to be considered. Sylvia isn't all meekness;
one can't be sure that she would accept a flirtation
as a negligible episode.”
It occurred to Harry that Sylvia was not being
conspicuously considered in the matter. Mrs.
Lynden's anxiety to relinquish a valuable estate
lent an air of unselfishness to her attitude; yet the
longer she talked the more evident it became that
all her thoughts were centred upon herself. Not
in any objectionable or offensive way; on the con-
trary, she expressed herself so prettily and persua-
sively that a wish to give her what she longed for,
if by any means that could be done, was irresistible.
Still, nothing was more clear than that she would
be prepared to sacrifice her daughter with a great
deal of cheerfulness should occasion arise. Harry,
who liked studying the human subject, found her
interesting, but in no wise abstruse. A charming
person, with a gracious disposition and a smallish
mind, in which, for the moment, there was room
only for two strong desires—firstly, to rid herself
of a white elephant and secondly, to conclude
peace with Nicholas Alder. She wanted very much
to know what Nicholas had thought of the previous
day's attempt upon her, and had to be met with
guarded answers.
“Don't you think he might show just a little
common compassion ?" she asked.


132
TROUBLED TRANTON
“Yes, I do,” Harry could truthfully reply; “but
his idea seems to be that there was no real intention
to hurt you."
Mrs. Lynden laughed. “I shouldn't advise him
to say that to Lucia. There would be such a storm
as he wouldn't forget in a hurry.”
Thus was Harry spared the trouble of leading up
to a subject which he had been meaning to ap-
proach. “Who is Lucia ?” he made haste to
inquire.
“A former maid of mine who is here for a few
days on a visit. She and her husband Giuseppe
Ricci were in my service for years, and I believe it
was chiefly to be within hail of me that they fol-
lowed us to England and set up lodgings in London,
though that has always been a cherished scheme of
Giuseppe's. Nearly all his life he has been with
English masters, and he speaks the language per-
fectly. The dearest people, but—Sicilians, which
means that they're wildly excitable, both of them.
When Lucia saw my singed hair last night, she
danced about the room like a maniac. You should
have heard her breathing out threatenings and
slaughter against the villains who had played me
such a trick !”
“She sounds rather violent.”
“Yes, but her fits of violence pass like the erup-
tions of Etna, and when she is her ordinary self
there isn't a kindlier creature in the world.”
“H’m! Treacherous folk, the Sicilians.”
“No, that's just what they are not. They can't
control themselves, and they don't try, which


NATURAL SELECTIONS
133
makes them a little troublesome at times as domes-
tic servants; but if they once become attached to
you, you can trust them implicitly. I know Lucia
would go through fire and water for me, and so
would Giuseppe.”
Harry was not convinced. Having elicited the
facts that Signora Ricci was a self-invited guest
and that, so far as Mrs. Lynden knew, there was
nobody to cook the lodgers' dinner during her ab-
sence from London, he concluded that she would
hardly have put herself to so much inconvenience
out of sheer affection for her former mistress. The
woman, it might be surmised, was in somebody's
pay; but in whose ? He was not particularly likely
to find out by asking her questions; still, he thought
he would like to see her, and he was wondering
upon what pretext he could request an interview
when Geoffrey and Sylvia walked in. They had
met, they said, in the park, and their joint arrival
caused Mrs. Lynden's eyes to brighten.
“Oh, you needn't worry about me,” she bravely
assured the solicitous Geoffrey. “I quite agree
with Dr. Munday that the less one talks or thinks
about unpleasant experiences the better. Much
more sensible to concentrate upon the pleasant
ones.”
But if amongst these she included the appearance
together of a pair whom she would fain have seen
permanently united, her pleasure may have been
somewhat marred when she heard that Geoffrey
had been spending the greater part of the day at
Saltwood. Not only did he make no secret of that


134 TROUBLED TRANTON
circumstance, but he proudly proclaimed it, as is
the fatuous wont of the lovelorn after intercourse
with their respective charmers. Possibly also he
wished to impress upon Mrs. Lynden that, much as
he liked and esteemed her, he could never be her
son-in-law. He was the bearer of a message to her,
he announced. The Greshams, at Miss Rowe's in-
stance, were going to give a dance-quite a small
affair, for which no formal invitations were being
issued; but they had a ripping good floor, so it
ought to be rather fun; and they had charged him
to say how much they hoped Mrs. and Miss Lynden
would honour them with their company.
Mrs. Lynden smiled and made a negative gesture.
“I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid gaiety of any kind is
beyond me just now. Would it be allowable for
Sylvia to go without me, do you think ?”
“Rather !” answered Geoffrey, with alacrity.
“They told me to say that they would be awfully
glad if she would dine there before the show begins.
I'll call for her if you like.”
"My refusal on my own score seems to have been
anticipated,” observed Mrs. Lynden. “Well, it's
very kind of them, and I'm sure Sylvia will be de-
lighted to take advantage of your escort."
She caught at that straw, poor woman, telling
herself that the mere fact of the young people
arriving at an entertainment hand in hand, so to
speak, must be significant. Mrs. Lynden held in
a somewhat exaggerated degree the very general
belief of her sex that appearances may transform
illusions into realities.


NATURAL SELECTIONS
135
2000: manetted that Tant for
By neither sex, perhaps, is it readily believed
that what is desired with great fervour is an illu-
sion; so if Geoffrey was more sanguine than Miss
Rowe had given him any warrant to be, he must
not be accused of vanity—from which defect, in-
deed, he was more exempt than most people.
Dorothy, no doubt, would have denied that she
had given him any sort of warrant for hopefulness,
and would have asserted that she had merely been
“nice” to him: much depends upon what may be
understood by niceness. At all events, the dance
at Saltwood, which took place a few evenings later,
gave her an opportunity of showing, and him of
sorrowfully realising, that she was not to be
counted upon for a sustained manifestation of any
such quality. She had summoned military pil-
grims from Canterbury again, together with sundry
youths from London, the disgusting effect of which
was to render her hard of access.
“You're so dilatory," she very unjustly said,
when at length the humblest of her slaves did con-
trive to get speech of her; “I'm afraid there's very
little left for you. Well, perhaps number eight; I
think I might sneak eight. On, if you're going
to look so glum about it, you shall have nothing
at all. One has to be decently civil to one's
guests."
“I thought I was a guest,” pleaded Geoffrey
meekly.
“Well, I'm civil enough to give you a dance
which belongs to somebody else. What more
would you have ?”


136
TROUBLED TRANTON
“Three more, please," answered Geoffrey with
promptitude.
“I like your moderation ! Do you know that
Aunt Isabella is going to have the lights put out at
one o'clock ?"
“She wouldn't do such a thing as that !"
"She says she will, but you might try to soften
her heart. Meanwhile, it's your bounden duty to
dance a great deal with Miss Lynden, after adver-
tising her as your especial property by bringing her
here under your wing."
“Sylvia Lynden,” said Geoffrey firmly and a
trifle crossly, “is to all intents and purposes the
same thing as my sister.”
“The other day she was only the same thing as
your cousin. You're advancing, you and she. At
any rate, you ought to be dancing with her.”
He did dance with her once, after which he in-
vited no other partner, which was sufficiently
ridiculous of him. But who has not been similarly
ridiculous once upon a time ? By Sylvia he was
the more leniently judged because his society was
growing rather wearisome to her. His craze for
Dorothy Rowe was well enough-was, in fact, ex-
cellent by reason of the disqualifications which it
entailed—but as a sole subject of dialogue it left
something to be desired. She confided to Harry
Marsh, who was more than once or twice her
partner, that in her opinion enamoured persons
ought to seek seclusion.
“It's as if they had measles or mumps. How-
ever fond one may be of the patients, one would
ought to see if they had of the pati


NATURAL SELECTIONS
137
rather not have to see them until they are better.
Only a short time ago Geoffrey was as companion-
able a mortal as one could wish to meet, and now-
I grieve to say it—he is not very far from being a
first-class bore.”
“He is a first-class idiot,” said Harry.
“Why? Because you don't like Miss Rowe ?"
“I don't dislike Miss Rowe; I respectfully admire
her. But he is an idiot all the same.”
“And I am another, I suppose. Of course, I
understand your thinking us a couple of idiots,
and it's true that we're both of us intractable-
which is what you mean, perhaps.”
“I think," answered Harry, “what I meant was
that it is idiotic of him to let himself be made in-
tractable by Miss Rowe. Or by anybody else, for
that matter."
“In other words, a keen eye to the main chance
is the surest proof of sanity.”
“No; but do you object to frank compli-
ments ?”
“I simply love them.”
“Then I'll be very bold and say that preferring
Miss Rowe, or anybody else, to you seems to me
to argue an ill-balanced mind.”
It was not so much the jocularly exaggerated
words as the tone in which they were spoken that
caused Sylvia to colour faintly; but her embar-
rassment, if she felt any, was short-lived.
“Thank you very much,” she replied; “I shall
always remember that unsolicited tribute to
character.”


138
TROUBLED TRANTON
“And person.”
“And person—thank you more and more. But
what stands out is that Geoffrey, with his ill-
balanced mind, does prefer Miss Rowe, and that I
can't help it. Acknowledge, please, that I can't
help it.”
“I don't know that I should be particularly
glad if you could.”
“Yet you have been undisguisedly exerting
yourself-oh, with the best intentions, I'm sure !
—to bring about what can't be.”
“I have—I'm sorry. I won't do it any
more.”
Sylvia may not have expected so sudden and
unconditional a surrender; but she welcomed it,
and confessed in return that, for all her inability
to alter accomplished facts, she was not without a
sense of guilt.
“Poor mother's heart is absolutely set upon
this impossible thing, and I dread having to tell
her that it's impossible.”
“Would it have been impossible if Miss Rowe
hadn't appeared upon the scene ?” Harry ventured
to ask.
“Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I'm secretly full
of gratitude to Miss Rowe, and I daresay
that's why I'm ashamed of myself. What
selfish wretches we all are, if the truth were
known.”
“Not you,” Harry declared, with conviction.
“Don't tell me that you are selfish, because you
won't get me to believe it."


140
TROUBLED TRANTON
giving him a hint to that effect when he joined
her, on the termination of the authorised pro-
gramme.
“Now I'm a free agent,” said she. “I've been
doing my duty unflinchingly since I saw you last,
so for the short rest of the time we'll enjoy our-
selves. Not that you can boast of any duties
accomplished.”
“Didn't I go and dance with Sylvia, as I was
told ?”
“Yes, once, and then you—shall we say
sulked ?"
“ You can say that if you want to be unkind;
but the truth is that I just wandered about in a
harmless, dejected sort of way.”
“Whither did you wander ? Upstairs and
downstairs and into Aunt Isabella's chamber ?!!
“How can you suggest such things ? No; but
I did poke my nose out of doors once, and I'm glad
to tell you that it's thawing."
“Oh, good! A real, nice, rainy thaw ?"
“Working up for it, I expect; but I doubt
whether the hounds will be taken out before next
week.”
“Well, this is Thursday night, or rather Friday
morning, so I don't much care. Especially as I
have got to go up to London to look at a
horse.”
“How many more horses do you want ?”
“The owner of this mare is confident that I shall
want her as soon as I set eyes on her. A Mr.
Jackson, who writes that he used to see me out


NATURAL SELECTIONS
141
hunting last season and that he feels his mare
and I were made for one another. Only I've got
to decide in a hurry, because he is going abroad
and, unless he can do a deal with me, the mare
must be sent to Tattersall's. So he is to meet me
at Charing Cross and motor me down to Enfield,
where he lives.”
“There's something wrong with that animal,"
said Geoffrey decisively.
“I shouldn't wonder, but if so, I shall soon
find out what it is."
“It never does any harm to have a second
opinion on these occasions. I'm sure your judg-
ment is as good as anybody's, only when one has
been brought up amongst horses ”.
“No, thanks,” interrupted Dorothy, laughing.
“ I'm much obliged, but Aunt Isabella would
certainly draw the line at letting you escort
me up to London and back. She doesn't even
quite like that motor drive with the elderly
Jackson.”
“Is he elderly ?"
“Really, I can't tell you, but he signs himself
mine respectfully Amos Jackson, which has an
antique ring. Now shall we go on discussing Amos
or shall we dance ?”
They did both. Also they discussed other sub-
jects of closer personal interest. When Sylvia,
driving homewards with Geoffrey and Harry Marsh,
hoped that the former had had a pleasant evening,
he was able to reply with equal emphasis and
truth that he had never enjoyed anything more in


142 TROUBLED TRANTON
his life; whence it was to be inferred that Dorothy
had known how to make amends to him for a part
of it which he had not appeared to enjoy. He
forgot to address a corresponding inquiry to his
companions; but perhaps, if he had, he might have
been answered in much the same terms.


CHAPTER XIII
LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED
The incipient thaw which Geoffrey had scented was
established in a few hours with a thoroughness un-
usual even in this land of quick climatic changes.
People who had not been dancing half the night
through, besides some who had, were amazed when
they opened their eyes in the morning upon
windows splashed by driven rain and saw the
bare boughs outside tossing under a furious south-
westerly gale. The barometer dropped, the ther-
mometer rushed up, the increasing force of the
wind had no diminishing effect upon the deluge
and two young men who had no particular occu-
pation were fain to fall back upon billiards.
“I'll give you twenty and play you a hundred
up for five bob,” said Harry Marsh. “Quixotic
of me, but something must be done to make you
look less woebegone and reconcile you to my com-
pany. It's no weather for going out and paying
surprise visits to one's friends, you'll allow.”
Neither was it any weather for a lady to try a
horse. Still, it was improbable, Geoffrey re-
flected, that Miss Rowe had abandoned her ex-
pedition. The threat of Tattersall’s would have
had weight with her, while the risk of a wetting
would not; added to which her uncle and aunt
143


144
TROUBLED TRANTON
would certainly have endeavoured to dissuade her,
and Geoffrey was already well enough acquainted
with his beloved to guess in what sense she would
be swayed by such entreaties. Throughout the
long, storm-vexed day, therefore, he resisted a
powerful inclination to wade across to Saltwood,
and on the following morning he had his reward.
For not less suddenly than it had arisen did the gale
subside, and, with the sun shining brightly upon a
washed landscape, it became both permissible and
an act of common courtesy to inquire how the fair
purchaser of horseflesh had sped on her errand.
Mounting one of his father's covert-hacks soon
after breakfast, Geoffrey trotted over to Saltwood,
and noticed as he drew near that a brougham was
waiting at the door. The groom who was on the
box said that his orders were to take Sir Augustus
to the station in time for the 11.30 train. He
believed Sir Augustus was going up to London.
So far as Geoffrey was concerned, Sir Augustus
was welcome to go anywhere, but most unwelcome
was the information which he received from the
butler that Miss Rowe had not yet come back.
Her ladyship, however, was in the morning-room.
Her ladyship turned a perturbed countenance
upon the visitor.
“Oh, it's you !” said she. “Well, this is a nice
business about Dorothy, isn't it?"
“What has happened ?" asked Geoffrey, feeling
his heart stand still. “Not an accident ?"
Lady Gresham shrugged her shoulders. “ No,
it looks as if what has happened to her had hap-
his heart stand
shrugged her su
her had hap-


LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED 145
pened on purpose; but we don't really know what
has happened. Last night she never turned up,
and, as you may suppose, there was a fine to-do-
Augustus buzzing about like an angry hornet and
I myself in more of a twitter than I care to be.
You see, we were absolutely helpless. All we had
been told was that she was to be motored from
Charing Cross to Enfield by a man named Jackson.
Not much good telegraphing to Jackson, Enfield;
though, as a matter of fact, we did. No answer,
of course. Then this morning Augustus gets an
unsigned letter which, he seems to think, explains
the mystery. I'm sure I hope it does, because
at that rate the girl probably hasn't come to any
serious harm. He is off to Scotland Yard, anyhow.”
At this moment in bounced Sir Augustus,
very red, excited and incoherent. It was im-
possible to get anything like a lucid statement out
of him; but the upshot of much vociferation and
tautology appeared to be that, in his opinion, his
niece had been drugged and abducted by the same
band of ruffians who had been tormenting Mrs.
Lynden, and a half-sheet of paper which he thrust
hurriedly into Geoffrey's hand seemed to lend
some support to his view. The handwriting,
Geoffrey noticed, was not identical with that of
the letters which Mrs. Lynden had received; but
the writer plainly identified himself with her ad-
versaries. This was what he had to say:
“ You and your niece are pleased to work
against us. You have already been warned not
10


146
TROUBLED TRANTON
to interfere; but, as you will not take warning you
must be taught that we have more power than you
think for. The wisest thing that you can do now will
be to wait until you hear from us again; the most
foolish and useless will be to apply to the police."
That was all, and the postmark on the envelope,
Sir Augustus said, was “ London, W.,” which, of
course, told nothing. Despite the advice tendered
to him, he was going to put himself in personal
communication with the police, opining that that
course had only been pronounced foolish because
he was not desired to adopt it.
“We'll see who'll look foolish when accounts
are squared—we'll see !-we'll see! As for people
being kidnapped at a London railway-station in
broad daylight, the thing's simply incredible.
Don't tell me !—don't tell me !"
Nobody had told him that such an occurrence
had taken place, although he apparently believed
that it had. After he had snatched the paper out
of Geoffrey's hand and had bustled off to catch
his train, Lady Gresham said:
“No mention of kidnapping or of Dorothy's
being in these people's hands, you see.”
“No," answered Geoffrey, after pondering a
moment ; “only they do mention her name and
they speak of showing their power. What puzzles
me is why they should accuse her of working
against them.”
“You're rather easily puzzled," observed Lady
Gresham drily.


LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED
147
Remembering then that Mrs. Lynden's corre-
spondents had spoken with favour of an alliance
which had become out of the question, he looked
a little sheepish. Nevertheless, so far gone was
he in infatuation that the old lady's remark was
not wholly disagreeable to him. His only com-
ment-and perhaps he only made it in the hope
of being contradicted—was:
“But that's such rubbish, you know !"
“I think it is,” Lady Gresham agreed. “Still,
I offer you the suggestion for what it may be
worth.”
He could not, upon reflection, think that it was
worth much. Dorothy had, to be sure—whether
consciously or not-put the extinguisher upon a
certain scheme; but the theory that she had there-
fore been seized and was being kept in durance
sounded a very far-fetched one.
“Puzzle or no puzzle,” he resumed presently,
“ we must suppose that these people have got hold
of Miss Rowe. If not, where is she ?”
“ Answer that question and you'll greatly oblige
an innocent but responsible old woman. It's my
duty, I take it, to write or telegraph to Dorothy's
parents, but I'm provisionally neglecting my duty.
Lord knows what has become of the girl! I don't.
All I can say is I most sincerely hope and trust
you're right; because if the letter-writers have got
her, they're bound to let her loose soon, and they
themselves are bound to be nobbled. Not even
the combined astuteness of Augustus and the police
can save them. I don't always see eye to eye with


148 TROUBLED TRANTON
Augustus, but, broadly speaking, I'm with him
as to the practical impossibility of kidnapping
people nowadays."
Geoffrey wished he could feel sure that kid-
napping was practically impossible. A risky
operation, no doubt, owing to the problem of what
to do with the kidnapped person, but not neces-
sarily difficult of execution, nor did there seem
to be any valid reason for counting upon its being
followed by the speedy release of the victim.
Upon the whole, the one crumb of comfort that he
could discern lay in the expressed intention of Sir
Augustus's informant to write again. The second
letter would presumably take the form of a de-
mand, and demands, whether for money or for
anything else, must needs involve either an inter-
view or the mention of an address.
He took his strange news, together with his
misgivings and perplexities, back to Hill Place,
where he had his father for sole companion at
luncheon, Harry Marsh having gone to lunch at
Tranton. On this occasion Mr. Alder showed more
astonishment and displeasure than he had done at
the report of previous acts of violence. He was
evidently startled and owned himself at a loss to
account for what had taken place.
'Of course,” said he, “ the girl has walked into
a trap. Jackson was a decoy, and a rather clumsy
one, for she ought to have known that a man who
has a good horse to sell doesn't dispose of him in
that hole-and-corner way. But whether the people
whom you and Gresham suspect are concerned in


LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED 149
the matter is another question. In spite of their
letter, I can't for the life of me see why they should
be."
Geoffrey, with an embarrassed laugh, adduced
one reason for supposing that they might be,
whereupon Nicholas Alder knitted his brows.
“ So that's the way the wind blows, is it ?” said
he. “ You might have told me. As you know, I
have never made a point of being taken into your
confidence; I used not to ask for it even when you
were a boy, and I quite understand that there are
many things which a young man doesn't tell an old
one. Still, when all's said and done, this is a little
bit my business, isn't it? If I can't claim a voice
on any other ground, there's the vulgar one of my
paying the piper. Unless, indeed, this young lady
should happen to be an heiress.”
“Well, as far as that goes, I fancy she is inde-
pendent; but I haven't asked or thought anything
about her fortune. I didn't tell you, partly because
there was nothing to tell—for I haven't dreamt of
proposing to her, and I'm afraid it would be long
odds on my getting 'No'for an answer if I did
partly because I didn't think you would like it.
What you would like me to do, I suppose, would be
to marry Sylvia Lynden, and I fully admit- ".
A resounding blow upon the table from his
father's fist checked him. “Like you to marry
that woman's daughter !” ejaculated Mr. Alder.
“What can have put such a fantastic notion into
your head! When you seemed rather disposed to
marry her, I gave you to understand that I


150
TROUBLED TRANTON
shouldn't forbid the banns. I don't think I should
be justified in forbidding any arrangement that
promised to restore your rightful inheritance to you.
But as for liking it—why you might as well suggest
that I myself should like to marry Mrs. Lynden !"
Quite suddenly it flashed across him that once
upon a dim, far-away time, his whole heart had
been set upon doing that very thing. He was not
given to thinking about the past, and this odd,
ironical memory, coming back to him like a whiff of
perfume or a snatch of melody associated with days
long dead, had, as it were, a humanising effect upon
him. True, Mrs. Lynden was not Margaret Craw-
ford. Margaret Crawford, like the Nicholas Alder
of ages ago, was as extinct as the ancient Greek
gods or the fairy tales of one's childhood. Yet that
fugitive recollection of what she and he had once
been served to bring him into closer touch with the
youth on the opposite side of the table, who might
very well stand for the symbol of what youth always
is and always will be. It is absurd to work oneself
up into a state of excitement and emotion over
some particular woman, seeing that there is so little
difference between one woman and another and
that the essence of love is illusion; but neither men
nor angels will ever convince the young of that, and
doubtless it would be a pity if they could. So he
wound up tamely enough with:
“Well, you don't want to marry Miss Lynden, it
seems, and you do want to marry the other girl; so
that exhausts the subject. Please don't impute
inconceivable wishes to me again, that's all, what-


152
TROUBLED TRANTON
nor maid did he deem it wise to say any more to
Mrs. Lynden that day; but after luncheon he took
advantage of a visit to the stables in Sylvia's com-
pany to ask plainly:
“ Has it ever struck you—I only throw it out as
a possibility—that that Italian servant of your
mother's may have had something to do with the
attacks that have been made upon her ?”
Sylvia laughed heartily. “Poor dear old Lucia !
I should almost like to take you to her and tell her
what you are kind enough to think of her. Only
then she would tell you what she thought of you in
such explosive language that perhaps it is as well
that she has gone back home. After this I shall
scarcely be surprised if you accuse me of being in
league with the enemy.”
“I told you that I only put it as a possibility,"
said Harry, a little disconcerted. “ Apparently
you consider it an impossibility.”
“I can't imagine anything more impossible.
Without figure of speech, I believe that Giuseppe
and Lucia Ricci would die for mother, and I'm as
certain as I am of my own existence that they
couldn't be bribed into causing her even the
slightest annoyance.”
It was evident that to persist would be to cause
Sylvia annoyance, and that was not at all what
Harry desired to do. Nor, indeed, was he par-
ticularly desirous of inspecting the spacious Tranton
stables, in which empty loose-boxes and stalls
predominated; so he must have had some other
reason for detaining his companion within their


LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED 153
precincts as long as he did. But perhaps she was
not very unwilling to be detained.
The brief winter afternoon was closing in when
they sauntered round towards the main entrance
and descried Geoffrey marching up the drive. He
waved his stick at them, but was seen, as he drew
nearer, to be without his customary complacent
smile. In the course of a few minutes he had told
his friends what good cause he had to wear a grave
countenance, and their own faces, after they had
heard him out, became long also.
“How extraordinary and improbable it all
sounds !” exclaimed Sylvia. “I shouldn't have
believed that such things could happen in sober,
orderly England. In parts of Italy, of course,
they might. Oh, and I daresay Mr. Marsh thinks
that this last exploit is the work of Italians, for
he has been trying to make out that the culprit
is our poor Lucia, of all people in the world!
Imagine Lucia hiring a couple of bullies to hurl
mother into a ditch, besides attempting to set fire
to the house and writing ever so many abusive
letters in good English !”
“I never suggested that she had done all those
things off her own bat,” Harry expostulated.
“In fact, I don't think I suggested that she had
done any of them, did I ? All the same, I should
rather like to have Signora Ricci's address.”
“She and Guiseppe have started lodgings in
Dover Street, where I'm afraid there isn't much
hope of Miss Rowe's being found. Mother will give
you the number. By the way, are we going to say


154
TROUBLED TRANTON
anything to mother about Miss Rowe? Better
not, perhaps; there's no necessity for her being
told.”
Although there was no such necessity, reticence
proved in the sequel to be impracticable. Hardly
had the young people joined Mrs. Lynden before
her overwrought nerves and sharpened sensibilities
warned her that they were concealing something,
and as, on being interrogated, they essayed pre-
varication, it naturally followed that they soon had
to come out with the truth. The effect upon one
whose mental equilibrium had been disturbed by a
succession of shattering personal experiences was
much what Sylvia had expected it to be. Nobody
(unless it were Harry Marsh) had ever thought Mrs.
Lynden a selfish woman, nor was she in truth an
unsympathising one, yet it was noticeable that in
what had taken place she saw only another blow
aimed at herself. If she was sorry for Dorothy
Rowe and the Greshams, she did not say so.
“ This,” she wailed, “ is meant as a punishment
to Sir Augustus for having exerted himself to pro-
tect me. I'm not even allowed to have friends!
What can one do against such ubiquitous, in-
tangible people? The only thing to be done is
to give in to them. Oh yes, my dear Geoffrey, I
know I'm a despicable coward; but I have never
pretended that I wasn't, remember.”
Geoffrey explained that he had not intended to
use hard words about a perfectly excusable faint-
heartedness; he had only been going to say that
Miss Rowe's fate was, after all, a matter of pure


LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED
155
conjecture. She might, he added, with a slight
quaver in his voice, have met with an accident,
But Mrs. Lynden would not hear of that alternative
solution.
“ Accidents are always reported at once. One
can't be upset in a motor or knocked over by one
without one's relations being telegraphed for on
the instant. Besides, that letter to Sir Augustus
would have had no meaning unless it had referred
to his niece. I don't suppose they will hurt her;
only I feel sure that there will be no peace for me
or for any friends of mine while I stay in this ill-
starred house. And all the time I'm dying to
leave it !"
Sylvia could scarcely restrain herself from saying:
“Let us leave it, then.” Why should her mother
be made to undergo such continuous martyrdom ?
But she bit her lips and held her tongue. In her
heart she did feel that it would be despicable and
cowardly to run away. Moreover it went against
the grain with her to play into the hand of the
hostile Mr. Alder, who had indeed refused Tranton
as a gift, but who would not be able to do other-,
wise than enter into possession of a derelict
estate.
For the rest, Mrs. Lynden may have been less
pusillanimous than she chose to call herself. At
any rate, she plucked up spirit enough to laugh
when Harry Marsh observed that one should never
allow oneself to be cast down by somebody else's
misfortunes.
“ You wouldn't, I'm sure,” she retorted; "it's


LOST, STOLEN OR STRAYED 157
was patent. Sir Augustus had stated his own
theory-supported to some extent, as was ad-
mitted, by the letters addressed to himself and to
Mrs. Lynden, which he produced. It was, how-
ever, pointed out to him that the forcible abduction
of a lady in possession of her senses must entail
risks wholly incommensurate with any advantage
that could be hoped for from such a proceeding.
Finally there had been a promise of investigations,
but little encouragement to look for speedy results.
Upon the whole, Sir Augustus had come home
somewhat dejected and crestfallen. But while he
was still asking aggrievedly whether he could be
expected to await events with folded hands, a tele
gram was brought to him which, so far as it went,
conveyed reassurances.
“There you are ! there you are! Didn't I tell
you they had got her ?” he cried, handing the slip
of paper to his wife, who put on her spectacles and
read its unpunctuated contents aloud:
“ Safe but detained Writing DOROTHY."
“ Detained,” as Lady Gresham remarked, might
mean anything; but “ safe” could have no other
meaning than safe.
“Where does the telegram come from ?” asked
Geoffrey.
“ Handed in at Piccadilly, I see. Perhaps not
by the sender, though. Looks to me as if the
sender had said no more than she was allowed.
However, since she's writing, I suppose we shall
hear all about it tomorrow morning."


CHAPTER XIV
THE PRISON-HOUSE
ACCORDING to Nicholas Alder, Dorothy ought to
have divined that Amos Jackson must be either a
fiction or a horse-thief, and so perhaps she ought;
but as a matter of fact neither alternative presented
itself to her. She did indeed think it on the cards
that something might prove to be amiss with his
mare; but, like all those who are superficially ac-
quainted with a subject, she fancied that her know-
ledge of it was exhaustive, and had no fear of
being inveigled into a bad bargain where horses
were concerned. She set forth on her errand with-
out fear of any kind, except that she might have
a rather disagreeable ride in the rain; for of course
she did not mean to purchase the mare without
having tried her, and she had brought her habit,
taking it for granted that Mr. Jackson would have
a side-saddle at her service. At any rate, she knew
where she could obtain the loan of one, should be
have been so stupid as to forget that one would be
required, and she tied a knot in her handkerchief
to guard herself against forgetting that the first
thing to be done was to question him as to this.
But when the train rumbled into Charing Cross
Station there was nobody on the platform who
looked at all like a gentleman with a horse to sell,
158


THE PRISON-HOUSE
159
nor was there anybody perceptibly expectant of a
lady who had come up from the country by ap-
pointment. Not until Dorothy, surprised and a
good deal annoyed, had emerged from the terminus
in the wake of the porter who was carrying her kit-
bag did a man, dressed as a chauffeur, approach
her and, touching his cap, inquire whether she was
Miss Rowe. She replied that she was, and asked:
“Are you from Mr. Jackson ?”
“Yes, miss,” answered the man, “and I was to
say, please, that Mr. Jackson is very sorry he was
prevented from coming to meet you by a business
engagement. But we're to pick him up in Isling-
ton."
Well, Islington sounded as if it might be on the
way to Enfield—a locality only vaguely known to
Dorothy as being somewhere on the north side of
London—and the deprivation of Mr. Jackson's
company during a part of the run was not in itself
a thing to be greatly regretted. What was regret-
table was the truly fiendish weather. The streets,
swept by the gale and converted into seas of filthy
mud by the driving rain, offered the utterly forlorn
and forbidding aspect which London alone can
achieve under such conditions. It was almost
dark, too, though not quite dark enough for the
lamps to have been lighted. Dorothy, shuddering,
turned up the collar of her waterproof coat in an-
ticipation and sank back into a corner of the car.
It was a taxi, not a private car, she noticed, and
afterwards she was very sorry that she had not
noticed the number, though of course at the time


160
TROUBLED TRANTON
there was nothing to suggest the advisability of
such a precaution. Neither did she take much
notice of the streets through which she was making
rapid, if tortuous, progress. She was soon in a
district totally strange to her—a district of dirty,
woebegone, red-brick dwellings which she imagined
to form a portion of the great wilderness beyond
King's Cross and which succeeded and resembled
one another at infinite length. All of a sudden the
car came to a standstill in front of one of them,
and the driver, jumping down, rang the bell. He
then stepped briskly back and said his fare was
three shillings.
“But aren't you going to take me to Enfield ?”
asked Dorothy.
“Not me, miss. I was on’y told to give you Mr.
Jackson's message and bring you 'ere to meet ’im.”
“You said we were to pick him up," objected
Dorothy, with a dawning suspicion that all was not
as it should be.
“Did I, miss? I should have said you was to
pick 'im up. I dessay he's got his own car waiting
somewheres.”
It seemed a pity that his own car was not on the
spot; for the trysting-place looked the reverse of
inviting, and Dorothy felt no inclination to enter
it, despite the beckoning finger of a gaunt, grinning
woman who had appeared in the doorway. There
was, however, nothing else to be done, since it was
impossible to remain on the pavement in the pour-
ing rain and her bag had already been taken pos-
session of by the virago. Frankly a virago, this tall,


THE PRISON-HOUSE
161
muscular woman, with the tousled black hair and
the flashing eyes and teeth, who, as soon as Dorothy
had stepped hesitatingly into a dingy little hall,
slammed the front door, locked it and put up the
chain. That action of hers was distinctly alarm-
ing; but much more so was it to be abruptly en-
circled by her brawny arm and whisked up two
flights of stairs into a small, shabbily furnished
sitting-room where a fire was burning, and from
which the light, what there was of it, was excluded
by drawn curtains.
“What is the meaning of this ?” gasped Dorothy,
too angry to be frightened. “Who are you ?-
and how dare you behave in such an extraordinary
way ?"
“ All right !" answered the woman, laughing and
nodding repeatedly. “All right !-all right !”.
It was evident that she was a foreigner, and per-
haps her knowledge of English did not extend much
beyond that partially reassuring phrase, to which
she recurred once more when called upon to pro-
duce Mr. Jackson or state where he was. But Mr.
Jackson, needless to say, was nowhere on the
earth's surface, and—where was Miss Rowe ? Miss
Rowe would have given a good deal to know and
a good deal more to be elsewhere. That she would
in all probability have to give a good deal before she
recovered her liberty was already clear to her; for
her wits, momentarily scattered, soon told her that
she must at any rate be in a den of thieves. Now
it may be humiliating to pay ransom, but when
one is—as she manifestly was—beyond reach of
11


162
TROUBLED TRANTON
succour, humiliations have to be swallowed. So
she came to the point without waste of words.
“How much do you want ?” she asked. “I
quite understand that you are robbers, and I
shouldn't wonder if you were to be sent into penal
servitude for what you have done today; but that
we shall see about later. I am ready to pay now.”
The woman looked pained and shook her head
vigorously. “Not robbers !” she protested—“not
robbers !” Then she tapped her breast and added:
“Good-good !"
Self-praise is proverbially no recommendation,
and she did not look very good. On the other
hand, she had the air of being anxious to in-
gratiate herself. She essayed to remove Dorothy's
hat—a liberty which was indignantly repelled—she
stroked her hand gently and made little affec-
tionate noises of a nature commonly employed to-
wards dogs and babies. Information, however,
she would not, or could not, give. In reply to
Dorothy's very natural question, “If you don't
want to rob me, why in the world am I here ?" she
only hoisted up her shoulders, spread her hands
wide and murmured, “ Eh, signorina, non saprei !"
Further queries met either with the same response
or with renewed ejaculations of “ All right !”
“My good woman,” exclaimed Dorothy im-
patiently at length, “whatever else it may be, it
can't possibly be all right; so you needn't say that
again. I suppose you are not alone in this house,
are you? Isn't there somebody who can come
and talk sense to me ?”


THE PRISON-HOUSE
163
The woman looked puzzled; but presently, as if
struck by a bright idea, she patted one of the
rickety chairs, by way of inviting her questioner
to sit down, and, holding aloft five dirty fingers,
with the cheering promise of “ Cinque minuti !” made
for the door, which she was heard to lock behind her.
The situation was as unpleasant as it was in-
explicable; but Dorothy thought less about that
than of whether or how she might get out of it.
She at once pulled back the curtains of the only
window, thinking that if she thrust forth her head
and shouted for help, somebody would surely come
to her rescue. But the window, unfortunately,
could not be opened, for not only was it shuttered,
but the shutters were screwed together, and a
screwdriver was not included in her personal equip-
ment. She drew the curtains again and seated
herself by the fireside to consider her position,
which was none the less disquieting because
pecuniary gain did not appear to be the object of
those who had tricked her into it. What their
object could be she was unable to conjecture, but
that it was not in any immediate sense sinister she
gathered when her female gaoler returned and
offered her, with many encouraging nods and
smiles, a half-sheet of paper, inscribed in rough,
sprawling characters with these words:
“You have not to be afraid. Please to order all
you want. Francesca will serve you.”
"Are you Francesca ?” inquired Dorothy, look-
ing up at the woman, who had watched her in-
tently while she read.


THE PRISON-HOUSE
165
their purchase, Francesca would have none
of it.
“No, no; all paid for! You pay nossing!”
“Really,” said Dorothy sarcastically, “your
employers are very kind. As you refuse to tell me
anything about them, I'll only ask you one more
question. What would they do to you if I were to
go out with you to buy these things, and—if I
didn't come back ?”
“What they do to me?” repeated Francesca,
with a grim laugh. “You would know what they
do to me?”
She drew her forefinger across her throat and
made a noise like the tearing of linen. “Oh no,"
said she, “ you go not out wiz me !"
Under the circumstances, it seemed scarcely
worth while to attempt the corruption of Fran-
cesca, who now signified that her presence was re-
quired in the kitchen and took herself off, locking
the door on the outside, as before. She was absent
for a length of time which seemed interminable to
a restless, unoccupied captive; but in reality
scarcely half an hour had elapsed before she re-
appeared, bearing in her arms a mighty pile of old
magazines and illustrated papers, which she cast
down triumphantly upon the hearthrug.
“Ecco !" she cried. “Now you will be no more
dull !”
It was a bold assertion, considering the nature
of the literature supplied; but to a person shut up
in a darkened room, with absolutely nothing to do
but to stare at the fire and count the passage of


166
TROUBLED TRANTON
the slow minutes, even a treatise on economics or
the serial fiction of the daily press would be wel-
come. Welcome also, on similar grounds, was the
meal which Francesca proceeded to set before her
prisoner and which was ample in quantity, if a
trifle highly seasoned in quality. Francesca was
insistent in recommending each dish, voluble in
apologies for unskilful cooking, but impenetrable
to the most cunningly disguised interrogations.
Possibly, after all, she knew no more than that she
was to keep watch and ward over the young lady
committed to her custody.
Aided by the back numbers and the illustrated
journals, the afternoon wore itself slowly away.
Once or twice during the course of it Dorothy heard
footsteps and subdued voices; but her privacy was
not invaded until evening, when Francesca re-
turned, laden with necessaries. Francesca, for all
her unengaging exterior and awkwardness in dis-
charging the functions of a lady's maid, was so
good-humoured and ready to oblige that Dorothy
could not help being drawn towards her. It was
not very easy to talk to her, because she understood
so little of what was said; but, to set against that,
she had not the least difficulty in talking, and if her
mixture of broken English and Italian was intel-
ligible only by fits and starts, it was at least prefer-
able to the silence of solitary confinement. Subtly
fostered garrulity resulted in some incidental ad-
missions, such as that she was Neapolitan by birth
and a Socialist by conviction; also that her husband
kept a restaurant in Soho (she was not “only a


THE PRISON-HOUSE
167
poor servant,” then); but these facts, whatever
might prove to be their future value for purposes
of identification, threw no light upon her present
lawless job, as to which not a word was to be
elicited from her, save a repetition of “Eh,
signorina, non saprei !” accompanied by the usual
shrug. She did not say that she and her husband
were the tools of a secret society, though that may
have been what she implied.
Towards bedtime Dorothy made up her mind
that a dash for liberty was worth trying. All she
had to do was to reach the front-door, the unlocking
of which would be an affair of two seconds, and
once out in the street-even should it be, as it
probably was, situated in a thieves' quarter—she
might surely trust to the swiftness of her heels and
the penetrating quality of her voice. The initial
problem was, however, rather a tough one; for an
encounter with the sinewy Francesca was not to
be thought of, while the forcing of the sitting-room
door (there was no separate access to the bedroom)
could only be accomplished by measures too ob-
streperous to be contemplated. Stratagem, there-
fore, was the captive's sole resource, and this she
employed with a beating heart, at the last moment,
after bidding good-night to her janitress, whose
offer to assist her in undressing she had declined.
“Oh,” she exclaimed on a sudden, “what am I
to do without a hot-water bottle ? I never can
sleep when my feet are cold. Francesca, do you
think you could manage to get a hot bottle for
me ?"


168 TROUBLED TRANTON
Francesca, at first perplexed, was made to under-
stand by signs what was wanted, and at once
nodded smiling assent.
“Sicuro ! I go fetch him. Only the time to
make water boil—un momentino !” And down the
staircase she ran, omitting to lock the door behind
her.
This was exactly what Dorothy had hoped,
though scarce daring to hope, might happen. She
waited until the clatter of Francesca’s noisy de-
scent had died away, peered forth upon a vacant
staircase and hall, then darted like lightning for
the outer door. The chain gave her no trouble,
but a bolt high above it was almost out of her
reach. At this, however, she sprang, and suc-
ceeded in pushing it back, with an unavoidable
rattle, after which it only remained to tackle the
lock, wherein (praise Heaven !) the key was
sticking.
Alas! it is only after victory has become an
accomplished fact that any prudent person will
give praise to Heaven, and on this occasion it did
not appear to be the Heavenly will that Miss
Dorothy Rowe should triumph over her enemies.
She was in the act of turning the key when the
gas was extinguished, while two strong arms,
stretched out from the darkness, caught hold of her
and swept her off her feet. It was a man (a man
sickeningly redolent of garlic) who bore her swiftly
upstairs and tossed her back into her sitting-room
with a violence which landed her upon her hands
and knees; but he spoke no word, nor did she obtain


THE PRISON-HOUSE
169
a glimpse of him, so rapidly and deftly was his task
performed. Well, it was an ignominious failure,
and Francesca, who appeared after a time with a
stone bottle in her arms, seemed to regard it as a
breach of faith into the bargain.
“Bad, verree bad !” said she, wagging a re-
proachful forefinger. “Now you have make them
angry!”
“I don't care a straw whether they are angry or
not,” returned Dorothy desperately. “They have
made me angry, I can tell you, and smashed they
shall be, if I have to get the Home Secretary and
two batteries of artillery to do it !”
Francesca was not moved by this threat. She
continued to shake her head and her finger gloomily,
murmuring: “It is not good to make them angry-
it is not good !”
Now Dorothy might assert that she didn't care
whether “they ” were angry or not, but the truth
was that the more she meditated upon her pre-
dicament the less she liked it. What was certain
was that she was at “their” mercy, and although
it was difficult to see what motive a band of Anar-
chists or Nihilists could have for maltreating her, it
was equally difficult to imagine why they should
have taken her prisoner at all. Only for a moment
did it cross her mind that they might be connected
with the band which had declared war upon Mrs.
Lynden; not even for a moment did she imagine
that she might have incurred their displeasure in
the manner suspected by her aunt.
As may be supposed, she passed a restless night,


THE PRISON-HOUSE
171
last chapter was brought to her, with a request that
she should fill in the name and address of the in-
tended recipient. This she gladly did, the promise
conveyed by the concluding word being especially
cheering to her. That she would be suffered to
impart anything like precise information to her
people by letter was not to be supposed; but that
she should be allowed to communicate with them
at all was no trifling concession. Moreover, with a
little ingenuity, hints might be inserted which would
evade the scrutiny of illiterate Italians. She did
not, to be sure, know very well what hints to
transmit; she had not, to begin with, the remotest
idea of where she was, which was a serious draw-
back. Nevertheless, she must see what she could
do, and it was with suppressed exultation that she
asked for pen, ink and paper.
To her surprise, Francesca's gesture was negative,
and was followed by a laconic reply of “ Vietato !”
“But I was made to say in the telegram that I
was writing,” protested Dorothy. “A letter from
me will be expected, and I suppose it was meant
that I should write one."
Francesca shook her head. “Not now. Be-
cause of last night they are not content with you.
Now you write no letter; they write. Capisce ?”
This was a disappointment, but if Dorothy's con-
dition had been normal she would not have taken
it so much to heart; for since there was an evident
intention to parley with her relations, it could not
greatly signify who the go-between might be. As
it was, her courage failed her. It was to be pre-


172
TROUBLED TRANTON
sumed that she would be set at liberty some day;
but of immediate release there seemed to be no
prospect, and, like Sterne's starling, she wanted to
get out. She wanted to get out so badly that she
could not keep the tears from rising to her eyes,
and, as soon as Francesca left her, she let them
flow without restraint. Perhaps that did her good;
it had, at any rate, a generally softening influence
upon her which turned to the incidental profit of
one absent champion. That he would be a present
and prompt champion if she could but get into
telepathic touch with him she very well knew. She
saw him taking that wretched house by storm,
scattering her foes with his strong right arm, and
eke his left, restoring her to the blessed daylight-
and perchance receiving, if he did not claim, the
traditional reward bestowed upon heroes and
rescuers in the good old days of romance.
But this was the dull twentieth century, and her
dungeon was no nice conspicuous fortress, but a
squalid little habitation like a thousand others in
Islington or somewhere, and poor dear Geoffrey
was doubtless wasting time in consulting detectives.
He was sure not to detect her, only it was soothing
to dwell a while upon the thought of how glorious
it would be if he should.


RELEASE-AT A PRICE
175
servants were implicated in it. He had not at
present, he confessed, any theory which could
explain the abduction of a lady who might on
certain accounts be supposed to be rather obnox-
ious than otherwise to Mrs. Lynden, for he was
unable to accept that of the abductors' being
anxious, in the special instance, to further Mrs.
Lynden's wishes. It was inconceivable that they
should propose to abolish Miss Rowe, and they
would hardly advance matters by effecting her
temporary removal. But Italians were queer cus-
tomers. He would, in any case, keep a vigilant
eye upon Giuseppe, who might have reasons of his
own for coming down to Tranton.
Geoffrey, for his part, had neither theory nor
suspicion. To him the whole thing was unac-
countable; the one obvious and exasperating
feature in it being that he would have to wait for
any light that might be thrown upon it by the next
morning's postal delivery at Saltwood. He did
not have to wait quite so long, inasmuch as
the next morning's postal delivery at Hill Place
brought him the following portentous com-
munication:
“The young lady is in grave danger. If you
wish to save her, be at Charing Cross at eleven-
thirty tomorrow, Monday. You will be met if you
are alone. If not alone you will see nobody. For
recognition, please to put a small piece of paper in
the band of your hat. It is better for the sake of
the young lady that you say nothing to anybody.
The police cannot help you or her, but if the police


RELEASE-AT A PRICE
177
to a taxi and presently pushed him into it might
have belonged to either sex; but the voice which
was raised as soon as the vehicle began to move
was distinctly, if harshly, feminine.
“Be so good as to put these on," it said, “ so you
not see where you go.”
He was handed a pair of goggles, the glasses of
which were covered on the inside with what ap-
peared to be sticking-plaster, and, as he had a
moment of hesitation, his companion added:
“Not put on spectacles; go no further."
Remembering that, after all, they could be
removed at any moment, and that he could hardly
expect his destination to be made known to him,
he did as he was requested. The instant effect of
this blindfolding was to render him abnormally
sensitive to sound, so that the roar of the traffic
seemed to be doubled on a sudden; but sound
unaided by sight is useless as a guide to direction,
and whether the taxi was taking him north, south,
east or west he had no idea. It was travelling
very fast, he thought, and it travelled for a very
long time. His neighbour did not open her lips,
nor did he address her, feeling sure that it would
be a waste of breath to do so. She was doubtless
a mere emissary who was conducting him to her
principals; but he wished that the dwelling of her
principals were not so inordinately remote. When
at last it was reached, he was hustled into it with
such celerity that he had scarcely time to raise his
hand to the darkened glasses before he heard the
entrance-door clang at his back.
12


178 TROUBLED TRANTON
“Now you can look,” the woman's voice told
him.
There was not much to look at. A narrow hall,
dim and dirty, giving access to a small, gaslit room,
which he was invited to enter, and the door of
which was immediately closed upon him. It was
not altogether pleasant. Very possibly he was in
Queer Street; very possibly he was in the power of
people who had no intention of releasing either him
or Miss Rowe. He called to mind his father's sage
counsel and regretted that he had been given no
opportunity of acting upon it. But one must take
some risks. He dropped his hand upon the revolver
in his outside pocket which he had thought there
would be no harm in bringing with him and
modestly told himself that he was ready for any-
body or anything.
It must be confessed that he was not quite ready
for the abrupt, noiseless apparition of two tall
forms, shrouded from head to foot in black
dominos and masked by cowls which left only their
eyes visible. One of these weird figures, remin-
iscent of torchlit Italian obsequies, approached him
and said gently, in good English, though with a
foreign accent:
“You have nothing to fear, sir, only be so good
as to show me your hands.”
Geoffrey held out his fists, which were instantly
gripped, while the second man like a flash relieved
him of his revolver.
Naturally there was a tussle; but two against
one is rather long odds, and in this instance the
him of his
there was
and in


RELEASE-AT A PRICE
179
two happened to be not only powerful but excep-
tionally adroit. The quick end of it was that poor
Geoffrey found himself seated in a chair, with his
arms pinioned behind him, and one of his assailants
-the only one who had spoken—said suavely:
“A mere measure of precaution, dear sir.
Firearms must not be used in this house; but your
weapon shall be given back to you when you leave,
and that will be very soon, I hope.”
“Look here,” said Geoffrey, “you've got me all
right, and you can dictate terms, which is what
you wanted, I suppose. Now let's hear your
terms."
The shrouded figure bowed. “Perfectly, sir.
I will formulate our terms, which are simple and
easy. But first, would you not prefer to have
your arms freed ?"
Geoffrey having signified that, as a matter of
choice, he would, a few rapid words were addressed
in Italian to the second man, who at once un-
bound him, and the speaker went on:
“I shall not ask you to give your word of honour
that you will sit quiet, sir, because you will under-
stand that it is useless and a pity to be violent.
Respecting the terms upon which the young lady
may be set at liberty, you will possibly not like
them, but, as I say, they are simple and easy.
Also they are not for discussion; they are to take
or to leave. It has been decided, for reasons which
I am not to give you, that you are not to marry
that young lady, and it is decided that you and she
shall be allowed to go as soon as you have bound


180
TROUBLED TRANTON
yourself by an oath, which I shall administer to
you, that you will never ask her to marry you.”
“Go to blazes !” said Geoffrey.
The masked head which confronted him was
slightly inclined, and its owner continued, with
undiminished courtesy: “The condition does not
please you? I have the regret to repeat that it
is imperative.”
“And what if I refuse it absolutely—as I do ?”
“Pardon me, sir, but I do not think you can
refuse it. You have the right to accept danger for
yourself, yes; but for the young lady—how is it
possible ?"
“Do you mean me to understand that you are
a crew of assassins, then ?”
The cowl was agitated as if by a faint laugh, and
there was a deprecating murmur of, “ Eh, caro
signor mio!” Then the speaker resumed:
“Listen, sir. There are things which I cannot
tell you, because I do not know them myself;
only you have been told—is it not so ?—that the
young lady is in danger, and when certain persons
say that there is danger-well, then, believe me,
what they say is true. For assassins, no, we are
not assassins. At times and in cases of necessity
removals may have been ordered, just as your
judges are sometimes compelled to pass sentence
of death; but in this case I am merely to assure you
that there is danger. From the moment that you
decide to do as you are requested there will be
none."
Geoffrey considered for a short space and


RELEASE-AT A PRICE
181
then returned doggedly: “Well, I'm not going
to do it.”
“Not even if the young lady implores you ?”
“That, of course, would be another matter.
Is she in this house ? Can I see her ?”.
No answer was vouchsafed to these questions,
but presently the dictator in the black domino
said:
“The young lady will now be informed of your
being here and of the condition upon which she
may be given back to her friends. As yet she
knows nothing. This will mean your being kept
where you are for another hour or so. Meanwhile
there will be luncheon for you. The cooking is not
precisely that of the Ritz or the Carlton, but--"
“I don't see why,” interrupted Geoffrey, “you
should try to put me in a position which no man
with a shred of self-respect would accept. If what
you say you want is really all you want, why don't
you make Miss Rowe promise to refuse me ?"
“For the reason, dear sir, that a woman's
promise, even on oath, is of no account. Women
will get a priest to absolve them, or it may be that
they will absolve themselves. Our rule is never
to trust a woman or a priest. I shall probably
have a message for you when I return. I take
your revolver with me for the time, as you see,
and let me warn you for your guidance that my
friend here, who will keep guard over you in my
absence, is not alone.”
So saying, the speaker bowed once more and
withdrew. Even alone, Geoffrey's warder would


182
TROUBLED TRANTON
perhaps have been capable of holding his own,
for he had broad shoulders and was above the
average height; but, of course, there might be half
a dozen myrmidons within call. He stared steadily
through the eye-holes of his cowl at Geoffrey, who
stared back at him, wondering what on earth he
and his confederates could be driving at with their
medieval proceedings. Presumably they were
identical with Mrs. Lynden's persecutors, although
their present policy appeared to conform to her
wishes. As far as that went, their policy, it had
to be assumed, was designed to be friendly to
him and his father; yet why should alien Anarchists
or Nihilists be interested in the ownership of
Tranton Alder? After a longish spell of silence,
he could not restrain himself from blurting out:
“Who the devil are you, anyhow ?”
For all reply, the man addressed raised his hand
to the level of his face, and waved it gently, palm
outwards, to and fro. Probably he did not speak
English; for that matter, he did not speak any-
thing during the hour and a half which he spent
in patiently watching his prisoner. Soon he moved
a few paces to take a tray which was passed to him
through the half-opened door, and Geoffrey, rather
to while away the time than because he was
hungry, disposed of a highly flavoured but not
badly cooked meal. After that he smoked several
cigarettes and meditated. One thought gave him
a thrill of joy: Dorothy must needs guess now
that he loved her. She would be told what he had
refused to do, and—well, how the announcement


RELEASE-AT A PRICE
183
would affect her was just the question. But he
did not think that she would be displeased; he
was sure she had plenty of pluck; and could it,
after all, be seriously believed that she was threat-
ened with anything worse than perhaps another
day or two of detention ? The more he pondered
over it the more he became convinced that these
people were only bluffing. The police might be
rather duffers; still, they did know, or were sup-
posed to know, the haunts of all the Anarchists
domiciled in London,so that methods of brigandage
could hardly elude their vigilance much longer.
For his part, he was not going to be bullied into
submission, nor, he fancied, would Dorothy be
either. And, happen what might, he was heartily
glad that she knew! He was almost in a good
humour and quite in a sanguine one when the
masked plenipotentiary reappeared, and, after
apologising for unavoidable delay, held out a note
to him. He tore open the envelope, and read as
follows:
“DEAR MR. ALDER,
“I hear that you have kindly come up to
London to look for me, and that, like me, you have
been impounded. I am so sorry; but they tell
me that we shall both be liberated at once if we
will only bind ourselves by an oath, which I must
confess that I haven't any objection to take. It
seems that you are making difficulties, but really
you must forgive me for saying that that is rather
absurd of you. I daresay it may not be particu-


184
TROUBLED TRANTON
MO
larly pleasant to be dictated to, but I can assure
you that it is very far from pleasant to be shut up
in the dark for three days. And now they speak
of something worse than imprisonment, though I
am left to conjecture what it is to be! I can't
think that, if you realise my position, you will
hesitate any longer to deliver me from it. All you
are asked to do is to refrain from making a request
which I don't suppose you would have been foolish
enough to make anyhow, and which I couldn't
possibly grant, even if I wished to do so. Not that
I have any wish of the kind. The one thing I do
wish is to get out of this horrible place. Is it too
much to hope that you will behave with ordinary
humanity and reasonableness ?
“Sincerely yours,
“ DOROTHY ROWE.”
After that there was but one thing for Geoffrey
to do. He had no right to be disappointed, still
less to be angry, and although he was both, he
kept a tolerably unmoved countenance.
“That's all right,” said he shortly. “Now I'm
ready to take your silly old oath, if you like.”
It was a solemn and formidably worded pledge
that was imposed upon him by the man in the
black domino, who made him hold a crucifix in his
hand while he repeated the prescribed formula,
and who wound up with: “If at any time you
break this oath, may you be damned for ever and
ever !"
“Thanks,” returned Geoffrey ; “ the same to you,


186
TROUBLED TRANTON
waiting which had still to be gone through Geof-
frey's thoughts were less engaged with the mys-
tery of an audaciously lawless exploit than with
its devastating consequences to himself. Devas-
tating was not too strong a word to employ. Of
course he was not the first man to be defeated in
love, and of course one only laughs when such an
everyday mishap occurs to somebody else. One
says he will get over it right enough; and so, in
nine cases out of ten, he does. It is when you
chance to be the unhappy tenth victim that you
find out how very far the matter may be from a
laughing one. No doubt he had been a fool-in
fact, it had been proved to demonstration that he
had—for fancying what he had fancied; still,
Dorothy had said things which, since she had
meant nothing by them, must have been deliber-
ately misleading, as well as cruel. Her note, he
thought, was certainly the latter, if her conduct
had ceased to be the former. “A request which
I couldn't possibly grant, even if I wished to do
so.” Did that imply that she was already engaged
to be married or only that she had never dreamt
of marrying him ? Well, no matter what it im-
plied, she and he were irrevocably separated now,
and separated by her unhesitating choice. Ad-
mitting that she was perfectly entitled to choose
as she had done and that she could not be asked
to defy unknown perils for the sake of humouring
a man whom she did not love, the fact remained
that she had expressed herself with marked ab-
sence of sympathy. So perhaps poor Geoffrey


RELEASE-AT A PRICE
187
had some ground for feeling aggrieved, and perhaps
it was as well for him that he had. Anger relieves
mental pain just as inflammation draws the first
sharpness out of a wound.
At length it was signified to him by mute
gesture that the time had come for his emancipa-
tion. He was made to resume the black spectacles,
which converted him into a blind man and gave
him the appearance of one; then there was a short
pause, during which his warder presumably laid
aside cowland domino; then he was led forth into the
outer air, assisted into a taxi and whirled away.
After some distance had been traversed the taxi
stopped, he was helped out on to the pavement
of what seemed to be a crowded street and was
held by the arm for a minute, while another taxi
was heard to draw up. All this was doubtless
done with the intention of covering up the trail,
and it would have been easy enough to frustrate
that intention in some degree by snatching off his
goggles and thus at least ascertaining what his
companion looked like; but he was withheld partly
by lack of curiosity, partly by a vague sense of
obligation to play the game. When he had seated
himself in the second taxi, he heard somebody
outside call to the driver, “ Charing Cross Station,”
from which he gathered that he was no longer
accompanied. Presently he stretched out his
hand and encountered his revolver, which was
lying on the seat beside him. Then, removing the
black spectacles, he found that he was alone. The
taxi at that moment was crossing Oxford Street,


188
TROUBLED TRANTON
he perceived, and the short remaining run to his
destination was soon accomplished.
Thus ended an adventure which might indeed be
said to have achieved its object in the liberation of
Dorothy, but which left her liberator both dejected
and disabused. That the reason for it and the
high-handed contrivers of it remained obscure was
to Geoffrey, in his actual mood, a minor matter.
When only one thing in the whole world has really
signified, and when that one thing has just been
ruled out of existence, what save minor matters
can survive ?


CHAPTER XVI
HARRY GETS A HINT OR TWO
It is customary to assert that this is an age of
nervous maladies, and such ailments are notoriously
difficult to treat. If our ancestors and ancestresses
suffered in a similar way—and it is on record that
some of them were liable to fits of the megrims—
the difficulty may have been evaded by giving them
no treatment at all; but no medical man is per-
mitted to plead impotence nowadays, and Sylvia
was not best pleased with Dr. Munday when he
frankly said that he could not prescribe anything
for Mrs. Lynden which was procurable in a
chemist's shop
“What is the matter with your mother,” said he,
" is that she is completely unstrung, and naturally
Miss Rowe's disappearance has had an unfortunate
effect upon her. I'm not blaming her, and I'm
not surprised."
“But she is ill,” persisted Sylvia.
“Oh, she's ill,” agreed the doctor, frowning and
pinching his chin between his finger and thumb;
“I admit that she's ill.”
Nobody looking at her could doubt it. She had
lost flesh; her eyes were too bright, as were also
the small patches of colour on her cheekbones; her
lips had a bluish tinge at times, and she showed
189


190
TROUBLED TRANTON
other symptoms which might have disquieted Dr.
Munday if he had not satisfied himself that she
was organically sound. Even as it was, he did not
like them. At the same time, she made little com-
plaint about her health, for which she laughingly
declared that Sylvia possessed a sovereign remedy.
“If you want to make me well, dear child, you
know how to do it !”
With unwitting cruelty she harped upon that
broken string, going so far as to affirm that the
reason why a swoop had been made upon the luck-
less Dorothy was not obscure to her.
“I don't mean that Geoffrey was seriously fas-
cinated by the girl; I'm sure he wasn't. But those
wretches may very well have thought that he was,
and I expect that what they are about now is ex-
torting a promise from her to leave him alone.
Perhaps that accounts for their having left me
alone these last few days. For once in a way, you
see, they and I want the same thing.”
All this was not too pleasant to Sylvia, who saw
herself being held answerable ere long, not only
for her mother's health and happiness, but for the
release of an incarcerated rival. The only comfort
was that it really could not be required of her to
offer marriage to Geoffrey Alder. Even in the
twentieth century a young woman must wait to
be asked, and she assured herself—without wholly
convincing herself—that she might wait twenty
centuries before Geoffrey would ask her.
So far as Sylvia was concerned, Harry Marsh,
who arrived early in the afternoon of an elsewhere


HARRY GETS A HINT OR TWO
191
eventful day, had no need to apologise for present.
ing himself alone; but Mrs. Lynden, as soon as she
heard that Geoffrey had gone up to London, sprang
to accurate conclusions and was proportionally
agitated.
“ He has had news of Miss Rowe and has gone
tearing off to her help !" she exclaimed; “I am
certain that is it !”
“Well, he didn't say that was it,” observed
Harry; “ still, I shouldn't be very much surprised
if it was.”
“But don't you see how rash and foolish it is of
him ? If he has heard anything, it can only have
been through the people who have seized Miss
Rowe, and it isn't to be supposed that they would
entice him up to London for any benevolent
purpose.”
“Supposing they have enticed him up to
London, it would probably be with the object
of doing a deal. They might think him a safer
and easier person to negotiate with than Sir
Augustus.”
But Mrs. Lynden scouted that comforting and
not unreasonable hypothesis. Her persecutors,
she averred, were not ordinary blackmailers or
brigands; had they been anything of that sort, they
would have demanded money from her long ago.
She could not understand Mr. Alder's having
allowed his son to walk into such an evident am-
bush. Hadn't he felt at all uncomfortable about
it ?
“Well, no," answered Harry, “I can't say that


192
TROUBLED TRANTON
he seemed so. You see, it isn't proved that
Geoffrey has started in search of Miss Rowe. And,
anyhow, Mr. Alder is hardly what you could call
a nervous person.”
Mrs. Lynden raised her hands and let them fall.
“Oh, nervous, no! I don't suppose Nicholas
Alder has a nerve in his body. But he might,
one would think, have a soft place in his heart
for his own son, even if there's none in it for
poor me.”
It was, at any rate, incredible that he could be
plotting any mischief against his own son. Al-
though Harry did not, of course, say this aloud, he
was glad to be able to say it to himself; for Mr.
Alder's unconcealed hardness of heart with regard
to his hapless neighbour, and the levity of his com-
ments upon her various tribulations, had lent some
colour to the theory of his complicity in them.
What now looked more and more probable was
that the people who bore Mrs. Lynden a grudge
were not partisans of Mr. Alder at all, but foreigners
who were utilizing the situation to pay off some
old score. Not caring to put forward that surmise
as yet, Harry exerted himself to divert the con-
versation into another channel; but in vain. Mrs.
Lynden could think and speak of one subject only.
It was painful to note her loss of self-control, her
futile efforts to talk in her usual pleasant fashion,
her strained laughter, which trembled upon the
verge of tears. Harry cut his visit short, and it
may have been as a reward for this tact and con-
sideration on his part that Sylvia followed him out


HARRY GETS A HINT OR TWO 193
into the hall. That, however, was not the reason
that she gave.
“ You don't really think that anything has hap-
pened to Geoffrey, do you ?” she asked.
“Oh dear, no," answered Harry; "he can take
care of himself. Most likely he is taking care of
Miss Rowe into the bargain by this time."
“Yes, most likely. I wish mother wasn't so
worried about him! How did you think her
looking ?"
“Not very well; but she'll be herself again when
this fuss and excitement is over."
“Perhaps I'm not so sure. You see, of course,
what will happen.”
“I can't pretend that I do.”
“Oh, you're not blind. If there has been a
scene and a rescue, there is sure to have been a
declaration too. But Miss Rowe doesn't really
care for Geoffrey, and when he has forced her to
tell him that she doesn't, he will be in the state
that men are so apt to get into after they have been
rejected—ready to marry anybody, ready to marry
the kitchenmaid! And then—what is one to do ?”
The dilemma was not very lucidly put, but
Harry was equal to the occasion.
“ If,” he replied gravely, “you want to know
what the kitchenmaid ought to do under such cir-
cumstances, I can only say that it would be most
unprincipled of her to accept the rejected one in
order to oblige—let us say the cook.”
“Even if the cook’s life depended upon it ?”
“ The cook’s life wouldn't depend upon it. I'm
accept that woul, such
13


194
TROUBLED TRANTON
sorry to beg the question, but sometinies there's no
other way of answering to the point. The cook
would swallow a disappointment and think no
more about it. We all have to gulp down dis-
appointments now and then; the dose isn't
poisonous.”
“ Well,” sighed Sylvia, “Heaven grant that the
case may not arise! But I think it will. And it
isn't only mother who wishes that it should; it's
everybody."
“Not quite. I can answer for one humble unit
who doesn't, and one who won't let it arise either,
if he can help it.”
“ Thank you,” said Sylvia, smiling. “A unit
isn't much, but it's better than zero.”
Their eyes met for an instant before she turned
away, and he fancied that there was a suspicion of
moisture in hers. However that might be, he was
fully determined to stand between her and an act
of monstrous self-immolation. He liked to put it
so because he was in a manner pledged to Mrs.
Lynden and because he was aware that his present
attitude smacked of perfidy. One regrets being,
or even appearing to be, a traitor; nevertheless, it
is axiomatic that a man's duty to the girl whom
he loves must override all other obligations, and
he was no longer in doubt as to Sylvia's occupying
that position of supremacy.
Any apprehension that Mr. Alder might have
felt with regard to Geoffrey's safety was allayed by
the telegram which had been despatched on his
behalf; but the profound gloom of the young


196
TROUBLED TRANTON
“How could I? When I pulled off the spec-
tacles on the return journey, we were crossing
Oxford Street from the north side; but how many
miles we had done by that time I've no notion.
As for identifying two men enveloped from head to
foot in black calico, you might as well ask me to
spot a couple of cockroaches out of a hundred.
The only thing I did happen to notice was that the
one who talked had a long scar across the back of
his hand—if that matters.”
“Why, of course it matters! It may be most
important. What sort of a voice had he ?”!
“Rather a nice, soft voice. He spoke excellent
English, with scarcely any accent.”
“ Good! I shan't make any mistake about that
gentleman if I come across him.”
“ Which you're jolly unlikely to do."
“Oh, I don't know. It's very evident that he's
a member of some secret society or other. The
police ought to recognise him upon your description
of him."
There was a pause, and then Harry resumed:
“I'm sorry about your having had to take that
oath, old man."
“Thanks,” answered Geoffrey listlessly; “but
it didn't really matter, you see. All they have
done has been to save me from asking to be kicked."
This was so true and, in one sense, so deplorable
that there was no more to be said. Harry accord-
ingly said no more.


CHAPTER XVII
SIR AUGUSTUS IS VERY BRAVE
SIR AUGUSTUS GRESHAM, astride upon a chestnut
horse of massive proportions, was turning in at the
gates of Hill Place when he espied the Rector of
the parish, who appeared to be bound for the same
destination.
“Ah, Cotton,” he called out, “how are you ?-
how are you? Well, here's a pretty state of things
—what ? Pretty state of things !”
“Which is better than an ugly state of things,
anyhow,” observed the Rector cheerfully. “ I'm
delighted to hear that you've got your niece back
safe and sound.”
“Oh; safe, yes, as far as that goes,” Sir Augustus
rather grudgingly admitted; “I don't know so
much about sound. Dash it all! to be locked up
for three days and nights is no joke for a delicate
woman."
“ I shouldn't have thought that Miss Rowe was
delicate," said the Rector.
“ God bless my soul, Cotton, you'd argue with a
stone wall !-stone wall! All women are delicate,
and, in my opinion, Dorothy has been intimidated,
though she wants us to believe that she wasn't
badly treated. Nothing to be got out of her—says
they made her swear to hold her tongue before
197


198
TROUBLED TRANTON
they would let her go. Well, you know, I won't
sit down under this sort of thing, whatever other
people may be prepared to do. I told my niece
plainly—I made no bones about it I said, “ I'm
going straight off to see Alder.' And so I will !"
concluded Sir Augustus, resolutely flourishing the
ashplant which he carried, and thereby giving his
hearer a troublesome fit of coughing.
Unenviable indeed would be the plight of any-
one who should take it into his head to shake a
stick at Nicholas Alder; but Sir Augustus, as the
Rector was well aware, would never do that. On
the other hand, it is easy to be a fool without being
foolhardy, and quarrels between neighbours are
always to be deprecated; so the impending inter-
view, if there was to be one, seemed to call for the
presence of a dispassionate third person. In that
character the Rector judged it advisable to say:
“ You don't, of course, suppose that Alder knows
any more than you do.”
Sir Augustus laughed scornfully. “ Don't I,
though !” he returned. “Then let me tell you,
Cotton, that that's just what I do suppose-just
what I do suppose. Why does his son go up to
London ? And why is my niece set free at his
request ? Eh ?—what? I'm going to get at the
facts, you may depend upon it. I shall put straight
questions and insist upon having straight answers.”
He insisted upon nothing, poor man. Nicholas
Alder, standing with his back to the fire in his study
and receiving his visitors with a certain grim sug-
gestion of readiness to pick up any figuratively


SIR AUGUSTUS IS VERY BRAVE 199
cast-down glove, did not look a promising subject
for bullying, and at other methods of attack Sir
Augustus was no adept. He did, to be sure, ask-
civilly and timidly enough—a few questions; but
he did not cavil at Mr. Alder's replies, curt and dry
though they were, nor did he venture to insinuate
that he was being trifled with. Mr. Alder, after a
minute or two, rather irritably disclaimed the pos-
session of any information other than that which
Sir Augustus had obtained.
“I'm completely in the dark, Gresham. I agree
that these kidnappers ought to be brought to
justice; but who they are, or what they want, or
how they are to be arrested, I don't pretend to
say."
“Well, but,” expostulated Sir Augustus, “some-
thing must be done about it, you know—something
must be done! Your son, I presume, could throw
a little light upon the matter, if he chose.”
“Not much, I'm afraid. He was blindfolded
in a cab, as I understand, and taken to a house,
where he was detained for some time by a couple
of masked men. Naturally, they blindfolded him
again when they conducted him away from the
premises."
“Bless me!” ejaculated Sir Augustus. “Blind-
folded him, did they? Bless me! But what did
they do to him ? What did they say to him ?
How does he account for Dorothy's release ?”
Perhaps Nicholas Alder, who never had a super-
fluity of patience, was tired of being interrogated,
or it may be that he did not feel entitled to mention


200
TROUBLED TRANTON
the terms on which Miss Rowe had been released,
since his questioner did not seem to be acquainted
with them. His laconic reply was :
“You had better apply to Geoffrey himself.
You will find him in the smoking-room, I believe."
Sir Augustus covered up his retreat by a self-
assertive pomposity which delighted the amused
Rector. “Very well, Alder, very well. As I was
telling Cotton just now, I'm determined to probe
this thing to the bottom. You may say, if you
please, that other outrages which have been com-
mitted hereabouts don't concern me; but nobody
can say that the abduction of my niece doesn't
concern me. No, I'll be hanged if anybody can
say that !”
Off he marched, making the windows tremble
with his ponderous steps, and as soon as he was
out of the room Mr. Alder said:
“Now, Cotton, I'll be a little more communica-
tive with you than I could be with that windy
jackass. There are some things which baffle me,
but with regard to this abduction business I have
a theory which I offer you for what it may be
worth. Keep it to yourself, though, or we shall
never get a chance of verifying it.”
Sir Augustus, meanwhile, was finding Geoffrey
neither communicative nor theoretical. Nobody
was by nature less disposed towards sulkiness than
Geoffrey; but allowances may be made for him if
on that particular morning he was rather like a bear
with a sore head. It was reasonable enough that
Sir Augustus should wish to hear exactly what had


SIR AUGUSTUS IS VERY BRAVE 201
befallen him, and of this he gave a succinct narra-
tive, only he did not see why he should be pestered ·
with reiterated queries which it was obviously
out of his power to answer.
“ You seem to think that I am trying to screen
these confounded mountebanks !” he ended by
exclaiming. “I assure you I don't love them, and
if I could help the police to pounce upon them, I
shouldn't need any urging. I haven't a scrap of
evidence, though, except that scar on the man's
hand of which I've told you and which Harry
Marsh says may be useful.”
“It should be," observed Sir Augustus, nodding
his head; “it should be distinctly useful. But
what I want to get at is why you were sent for at
all. You haven't given me any reason yet for
your having been dragged in.”
Geoffrey reddened a little. “I suppose,” said
he, “Miss Rowe has told you that they imposed a
certain oath upon me as the condition of her being
set free.”
“Oh, she told me about that ridiculous promise;
yes. Said she couldn't understand your raising
any objection to it, nor can I. Nothing to do with
the case !-nothing to do with the case ! The
truth of the matter was that they were getting
frightened. They knew they couldn't detain her
indefinitely; they knew I should be on them soon;
so they trumped up a pretext to get rid of her.
Come now, Geoffrey, you can't ask me to believe in
that as an explanation—what ?”.
If Sir Augustus had spoken all that was in his


202
TROUBLED TRANTON
mind, he would have owned that he had grave
doubts as to the whole of Geoffrey's story. The
woman who was said to have met him at Charing
Cross, the darkened spectacles which he appeared
to have assumed without demur, the masked
desperadoes and all—hang it! to believe in such
things required a good deal of faith. That an
otherwise honourable young man should have con-
sented for once to lend himself to knavish tricks in
order to get his unscrupulous father out of a hole
was decidedly more credible. Sir Augustus was
not quite daring enough to say this; but he did
summon up courage to intimate that in giving evi-
dence it is a bad mistake to make reservations.
Because the truth is bound to come out in the long
run, and then, if you have put yourself in the
position of an accomplice, where are you, you
know?
Where Sir Augustus found himself, as the im-
mediate result of the above apposite inquiry, was
in the hall, taking his leave and protesting warmly
that no offence had been meant. “No offence
whatever, my dear boy, I give you my word !”.
Geoffrey could not remember what he had said
to occasion so hurried a surrender and exit; but
perhaps he had not looked very amiable. He cer-
tainly did not feel so, and what had annoyed him
more than the slur (which he had but partially
understood) upon his veracity had been that con-
temptuous allusion to a “ridiculous promise ”
which had had nothing to do with the case. It
had, Geoffrey was convinced, had everything to do
WOW


SIR AUGUSTUS IS VERY BRAVE 203
with the case, although the fact of its happening to
be ridiculous, in the sense of being unnecessary,
might not have been known to the conspirators.
He was returning to the smoking-room when he ran
against the Rector, who emerged at that moment
from his father's study.
“Well, Mr. Cotton," said he,“ have you and
the governor been discussing the situation ?”.
“We have,” answered the Rector with a retro-
spective smile. “ Your father has got a notion,
about which I am forbidden to talk. Not that
there's much in it. In fact, I would lay long odds
against there being anything in it. Still it's as
clear to me as it is to him that the sole object of
carrying off Miss Rowe was to make her marriage
with you impossible.”
“I should think that must be pretty clear to
everybody, except old Gresham. The absurd part
of it is that she never had the remotest intention of
marrying me."
“So I understand. Ought I to say I'm sorry ?
I hope not; because really, Geoffrey, I can't. What
I am most sincerely sorry for is that you don't see
your way to marrying one of the nicest girls I've
ever met in my life, and so putting an end to all
manner of troubles. Don't scowl at me, my dear
fellow; I'm not offering advice or urging anything
upon you. I'm not such a fool. All I say is that
it's a sad pity.”
Perhaps it was. If there had been a time when
Geoffrey might have loved Sylvia, it had passed
away for good and all; yet he might be, and indeed


CHAPTER XVIII
DISILLUSION
Not long after Sir Augustus—bound for Scotland
Yard once more, and hot on the scent of the man
with the scarred hand-had quitted Hill Place
there came from Saltwood a note, addressed to Mr.
Geoffrey Alder and conveying a request which,
under the circumstances, could excite no surprise.
“Do come to tea with me and Aunt Isabella,”
Dorothy wrote, “and tell us all about it. I can't
tell much, because I am sworn to secrecy, but
perhaps you weren't cornered as I was. Let us,
at any rate, compare notes so far as we can and
may. I don't know when in my life I have felt so
enraged or so absurdly helpless !”
“If it comes to feeling helpless and absurd,”
muttered Geoffrey, “I might run you to a head;
but I'm sure you would say I've no business to be
enraged.”
Enraged he was not, only he was rather sore,
and he did not think that he wanted to be cate-
chised by Miss Rowe, to whom he had so little of
interest to impart. Neither did he want, though,
to appear childishly resentful, and, as Harry Marsh
had gone off somewhere or other, leaving him to
his own devices, he supposed he had better obey
205


208 TROUBLED TRANTON
Who is work of time though they ,
“Francesca !” remarked Dorothy. “That ac-
counts for her having left me such a long time
alone. I had to put on those spectacles, too, when
they led me away. Were you in the same house
as I was, I wonder ?”
“It isn't impossible, though they made out that
it was a work of time to communicate with you.
Who is Francesca ?”
“You keep forgetting that you aren't to ask me
questions. Well ?”
“Well, then I was taken a long way to some
place or other, and I wasn't allowed to use my
eyes until I was shut up in a room, lighted by gas,
with two masked men in black dominos standing
over me."
“Spider and fly," was Lady Gresham's terse
comment.
“How could I help it ?” asked Geoffrey.
“I should have thought that at any moment
while you were in the taxi you might have knocked
your spectacles off, collared that woman and held
on to her until you could give her in charge.”
“But I had to consider Miss Rowe, you see.”
“Thank you,” said Dorothy. “I'm awfully
grateful, you know, though you did brush just a
little of the bloom off my gratitude by making me
sit up and beg. Go on; it's tremendously interesting.
I like those fearsome figures in masks and dominos.”
“I didn't,” returned Geoffrey, who might have
added that the young lady's flippancy was not
much to his liking either.
He condensed his tale, making no mention of his


DISILLUSION
209
abortive struggle with his captors, and merely
saying, with reference to the oath imposed upon
him, that he would of course have taken it at once
if he had been sure that Miss Rowe would wish
him to do so. He had thought, however, that in
a case of that kind he ought to have her authority.
At this Dorothy seemed to be vastly diverted.
“You are punctilious !” she exclaimed. “Sorry
as I was to compromise your dignity by requesting
you to give in, I must confess that I should have
been much more sorry to be left in the hands of
people who, for anything that I knew, might con-
template scragging me. Besides, the point was
of no earthly consequence."
Geoffrey coldly assented. From her point of
view it was doubtless of no consequence, and if
she regarded his point of view as negligible, that
was perhaps only what might have been expected
of her. He perceived, in a word, that he had lost
his heart to a girl who had not herself much of a
heart to lose. Had the man in the black domino
unintentionally done him a good turn? He tried to
think so-almost succeeded in thinking so.
Where neither he nor the two ladies met with
success was in arriving at any plausible explanation
of the black dominos and their not very black deeds.
Dorothy, naturally incensed at having been dragged
into and made to suffer for a feud with which she
was in no way concerned, showed some disposition
to blame Geoffrey for the meagreness of the infor-
mation that he was able to contribute. Lady
Gresham, though she did not agree with her hus-


DISILLUSION
211
letters, their black dominos, their explosives and
other paraphernalia. Reflecting thus, as he walked
away from Saltwood, with the sound of Dorothy's
parting provoked laugh-there had been nothing
to laugh at and nothing to provoke her—still in
his ears, Geoffrey was fain to wonder whether it
is a sine quâ non that a man should be in love with
his wife. Precious fow fellows are if the truth
were known. Most of them may be so before
marriage and for a short time after it; but then the
glamour fades, and they are neither more nor less
happy than they would have been if there had
been no question of love at starting. Sylvia, it
was true, was as little in love with him as he was
with her; nevertheless, they had been excellent
friends from the outset, and the incident of matri-
mony might tend rather to strengthen than to
diminish their friendship.
At the same time, as it chanced, Sylvia was
reasoning with herself in something very like that
same strain. Sylvia, whose prevision had warned
her of what was imminent, and who was fresh from
a perturbing talk with her mother, did not, to be
sure, hold the view that love is not essential to
happiness in marriage—on the contrary, she was
strongly inclined to the belief that it is only there
are cases in which one's personal views must needs
go to the wall.
“I don't see how I can refuse him if he asks
me !" was the far from cheerful conclusion at which
she arrived.


CHAPTER XIX
“ VICINUS ENIPEUS ”
IF Sylvia had had more than one perturbing talk
with her mother after the reception of tidings
which should have calmed Mrs. Lynden's perturba-
tion, it was not because a word that was other than
kind and affectionate had been uttered in the
course of them. Persuasive representations and
allusions there had been, but these were no novelty.
What was new and quite unlike her mother was
a despondent lassitude which caused the speaker
to leave sentences unfinished and which found
verbal expression when she said quietly at last
that she sometimes thought she was not long for
this world. It was the putting into plain language
of a horrid fear which had been for some days past
existent, though unformulated, in her daughter's
mind. Of course, from the moment that it was
formulated Sylvia laughed it to scorn, would not
listen to another syllable of such rubbish and set
to work at once to exorcise blue devils, with some
degree of success. Nevertheless, if Mrs. Lynden
had then and there declared her recovery to be
contingent upon the fulfilment of a certain wished-
for project, it would have been extremely difficult,
if not impossible, to help yielding to her. How-
ever, she was not so unfeeling; only she did, after
212


“VICINUS ENIPEUS”
213
a time, falteringly broach another project as an
apparent alternative.
“Sylvia, dear, would you think it monstrous of
me if I were to leave this place to Geoffrey Alder
instead of you ?”
“I should think it monstrous of you,” Sylvia
replied, “ to leave me at all, and you aren't going
to do any such thing for ages and ages. As for
Tranton, I can lay my hand on my heart and say
that I'd much rather he had it than I.”
"It might come to the same thing,” Mrs. Lyn-
den pleaded. “But even if not all the more if
not-I should have done what I could to right a
wrong. Nicholas Alder would have to admit that
after my death, though I suppose he will never
make any admissions while I live.”
Sylvia did not care a row of pins what Mr. Alder
might or might not be pleased to admit; but she
cared a very great deal for her mother's life, and
she was far from being as confident as she pre-
tended to be that this was in no danger. It was
a little as though Mrs. Lynden had said to her:
“Geoffrey must absolutely come into his own!
If you won't let it be by your marriage, then it
will have to be by my death.”
Dr. Munday, making one of his periodical in-
spections, had nothing comforting to say when
he came downstairs from visiting his patient. He
remarked that Mrs. Lynden's case was in some
respects a perplexing one and that she was in a
very low condition.
“No, no; not serious. I certainly shouldn't be


214
TROUBLED TRANTON
justified in calling it that, except in so far as it's
always serious to be thoroughly out of health.
Change of scene might be the best thing, only she
tells me that it would be most inconvenient to her
to leave home just now.”
“I don't know why it should be,” said Sylvia,
who, for her part, would gladly have left home
just then.
“Well, that's what she says. Anyhow, she
doesn't want to go, and it's useless to make people
in her state do things that they dislike doing. I
was wondering whether you and she would mind
having a second opinion.” .
“Of course not,” answered Sylvia; “it's the
very suggestion I wanted to make, but ..."
“You were afraid of wounding my feelings ?”
asked Dr. Munday, smiling. “Thank you, but
there was no fear of that. In a general way and
up to a certain point I know what is the matter;
but of course I haven't had anything like Palliser's
experience, and I should be very glad to consult
with him. You have heard of Palliser, I dare-
say.”
Sylvia excused her ignorance of all medical
celebrities on the plea that she had never been ill
in her life, that her mother had until lately enjoyed
fair health and that they had lived out of Eng-
land. Dr. Palliser, it appeared, had earned a great
reputation as a specialist in nervous disorders.
"Perhaps you won't like him; I'm afraid Mrs.
Lynden won't. Still, one never knows. He has
a naturally abrupt manner, which I believe he


“VICINUS ENIPEUS” : 215
has cultivated for reasons of his own. Some of his
patients take to him and swear by him, others call
him a brute; but I think they all allow that he
has been successful with them.”
"Let him only be successful,” said Sylvia,
“ and his brutality may know no bounds. Not
that he will be brutal with mother; nobody
could be.”
Dr. Munday laughed. “It wouldn't be easy,”
he agreed. “I've tried it myself, but it was a
failugreed. Say laughed.
Mrs. Lynden had no objection to raise against
the calling in of further advice, nor much hope of
deriving benefit from it. She observed, with a
smile, that she knew Dr. Munday suspected her
of malingering, though he was too polite to
say so.
“This other man will say so, no doubt, if he
goes in for the bullying style of treatment; but
I'm afraid that won't advance matters. What
would really do me good—what I should love-
would be for us to find ourselves back at dear old
Albano. But that's past praying for.”
Was it? Sylvia, at all events, would have been
ready to make it the theme of heartfelt prayer as
a substitute for what appeared to be the sole re-
maining curative measure. At one time she had
felt rather strongly that she and her mother ought
not to let themselves be driven out of Tranton by
anything or anybody; but the conditions were so
changed that flight no longer struck her as an
ignoble issue. Or rather she no longer cared


216
TROUBLED TRANTON
whether it was ignoble or not. There would not,
however, be any question of such an issue. She
realised that as distinctly as she realised the ap-
proach of another generally accepted issue, and
she wondered a little why it should have become
so exceedingly repugnant to her. She was asking
herself this question, while roaming about the
park under the low sky of the grey afternoon, when
she descried Harry Marsh walking towards her,
like an embodied answer.
.... At tibi
Ne vicinus Enipeus
Plus justo placeat cave!
That Horatian warning might well have been
addressed to her when she had first begun to talk
Geoffrey over with Geoffrey's friend; there is
always an element of risk in talking husbands,
lovers or suitors over with their friends. The
fact was that Geoffrey's friend had pleased Sylvia
more than she knew, more than was prudent, and
it may have been some sudden recognition of him
under a new aspect that caused her to accost
him with slightly greater formality than was
her wont.
“How do you do, Mr. Marsh ?” said she. “I'm
afraid we're not at home. Mother hasn't been
well enough to come downstairs today.”
Harry said he was very sorry, but did not
manage to look profoundly afflicted.
“I called some days ago and was turned away
from the door,” he confessed; “ so I've been moon-
ing about since on the off chance of your coming


218 TROUBLED TRANTON
I'm aware of myself? The one hope that I have
-or had, because it's evaporating—is his finding
it impossible to do with me.”
“So you are prepared,” said Harry sternly,
“ to consent out of sheer weakness to what you not
only hate, but recognise to be wrong.”
Sylvia did not flinch under this "rebuke. “Not
at all," she answered. “I am prepared to consent
to what I don't very much like because I recognise
it to be right. Of course, you won't believe that
I may save mother's life by consenting, but you
can't deny that I shall save her from endless
troubles—that in all probability I shall appease
Mr. Alder, which is the thing she seems to be most
set upon and that I shall put a stop to these
persecutions which are making Tranton intolerable
to her.”
“That remains to be seen; we don't know who
her persecutors are yet. But admitting—though
I don't—the truth of every word you say, I still
maintain that what you propose to do is absolutely
wrong.”
“Yet you thought it absolutely right not so long
ago.”
“No; I won't say that I thought it right.
Desirable, if you like. Superficially it continues
to be desirable, but in reality it isn't even that
now.”
“I can't see why you should have changed your
mind about it.”
“Oh, if you can't see that, I'll tell you. How
was I to go on wishing you to marry somebody


“ VICINUS ENIPEUS ”
219
else after I had found out that I loved you my-
self ?”
“Oh, don't !” exclaimed Sylvia quickly.
But, having said so much, he was not very likely
to let himself be silenced; nor could she, as a
truthful mortal, avoid answering direct, peremp-
tory questions. Her replies, somewhat faltering
and incoherent, were rendered additionally so by
the prompt and bold proceedings of her questioner.
She neither resisted nor resented those proceedings,
only after a time she remarked sadly:
“It's quite out of the question, you know."
“It is indeed,” assented Harry, laughing.
“But perhaps you don't mean what I mean.”
“I mean,” said Sylvia decisively," that I can't
break mother's heart.”
“And what about mine, please ?”.
“Oh, yours—and mine!... But that's only
a way of talking. We shall both get over it and
live to be as old as the hills, I expect."
“And this after accepting me!"
“I never accepted you.”
“Then all I can say is that you have been be-
having in a most immodest manner. Sylvia, dear,
if you think I'm going to give you up in order to
please your mother or anybody else, you little
know your future husband !”
She could obtain no more from him than a
promise that, for the present at least, he would not
breathe a word to anybody of their provisional-
altogether provisional-engagement. He wanted
her to promise in return that she would refuse


220
TROUBLED TRANTON
Geoffrey should he propose to her, but she de-
murred.
“I don't think I dare go so far," said she; “but
if Geoffrey asks me, it will be only fair to tell him
that I love you and always shall. Will that do ?”
Upon the whole, Harry thought that that would
probably do.


CHAPTER XX
THE EXPERT
NICHOLAS ALDER was of the opinion that when you
are down in the dumps, the very best thing you
can do, should the season of the year permit, is to
go out hunting. For himself, he had never known
the remedy fail, and he would have recommended
it to his visibly depressed son on the day following
that of which some incidents have just been related
if it had not been a fixed principle with him to
refrain from unsolicited advice. In the abstract
Geoffrey would doubtless have agreed with him;
but in the particular instance there was the high
probability of encountering Dorothy Rowe to be
taken into consideration; so Mr. Alder trotted off
to the meet alone, leaving the two young men
to wonder how they were going to employ
themselves.
“I think I'll just stroll over to Tranton and ask
how Mrs. Lynden is,” Geoffrey announced. “I've
been neglecting them shamefully of late, though it
hasn't been my fault.”
“Going to begin cultivating them again now ?"
Harry inquired.
“Well, I suppose you think that's what I ought
to do.”
“ You're a bit behind time, aren't you? How-
221


THE EXPERT
223
neither of them could by any means be induced to
do would be to annoy mother.”
Geoffrey hoped that nobody would do that any
more. While he was saying how sorry he had been
to hear of Mrs. Lynden's illness, and while he was
trying, not over-successfully, to revert to his old
relations of good comradeship with Sylvia, he was
telling himself that he had been what Harry had
pronounced him to be at the outset-an ass.
Sylvia was charming. Not supremely beautiful,
like somebody else who had little beyond that skin-
deep charm to kindle love; still quite pretty, as
well as bright, kindly and honest. A man who
demanded more of his wife would be exacting
indeed.
It is not unlikely that Sylvia read his thoughts
(his thoughts were seldom illegible); but she bore
herself bravely and gaily, returning silent thanks
for the protecting presence of Harry Marsh and
thankful also that Dr. Munday and his London
colleague were due to arrive from one moment to
another.
The announcement of the two doctors compelled,
of course, the two laymen to withdraw. As they
walked away, Geoffrey remarked gravely:
“There's no doubt about it; I've allowed a
great chance to slip. All my own fault, you'll
say."
“Quite sure you ever had one ?” asked Harry.
“Oh, not a bit,” answered the other, with be-
coming humility. “In fact, she gave me to under-
stand some time ago that I hadn't the ghost of a


224
TROUBLED TRANTON
chance. All the same, I'm not sure . .. It
mightn't be too late, eh ?”
“Altogether too late," was Harry's brisk de-
cision. “ You seem to think that Miss Lynden
isn't proud. As for the other girl, I could have
told you, only you wouldn't have listened, that
she was no good.”
“ What do you mean by no good ?" demanded
Geoffrey, suddenly and rather inconsequently firing
up. “ If you think I want to hear her run down
because she considers herself too good for me
which she certainly is—you're much mistaken."
“I apologise. In my humble opinion, she isn't
to be named in the same day with Miss Lynden,
that's all.”
“Oh, all right; opinion is free. According to
mine, you don't know what you're talking about."
“H'm! The time seems to have come,” ob-
served Harry, “ to effect a judicious change of
subject.”
Sylvia, meanwhile, was being politely but firmly
snubbed by Dr. Palliser, a rotund, middle-aged
person, with gold-rimmed spectacles and a clean-
shaven face. Sylvia wanted to say various things
to him, but he intimated that he did not want to
hear them, Dr. Munday having given him all the
information that he required. He had the name
of being bearish, though he had in truth several
manners at command. As he was a very busy
man, he was obliged to economise time, and his
conviction was that if you once allow women to
begin talking, you will not be able to stop them for


THE EXPERT
225
a quarter of an hour at least. Therefore he never
let them begin, unless he wished them to talk about
themselves, in which case he could be surprisingly
patient.
He exhibited no sign of impatience with Mrs.
Lynden, whom he found lying on a sofa in her
spacious, prettily furnished bedroom. She herself,
wearing a white wrapper or tea-gown adorned with
pale blue ribbons, and having a satin quilt of the
same colour over her knees, looked extremely
pretty, if rather piteously small and brittle. Dr.
Palliser's spectacled eyes took a rapid survey of
her and her surroundings, while his mouth broad-
ened out into a friendly smile. Sitting down beside
her, he said he was going to bother her as little as
possible, but he must just listen to her heart and
lungs. This he did, making no comment after he
had concluded his brief investigation, and then
remarked:
“ You have been having a good deal of mental
worry and anxiety, I am sorry to hear. I suppose
you were pretty well when you came here ?"
“Perfectly well. I never was robust; but it is
only of late that, owing to all this worry, my health
has gone to pieces. And now—you'll contradict
me, I'm sure, but I myself know it is so—I'm
simply dying."
“I don't think we'll admit that yet,” said Dr.
Palliser. “ After all, one doesn't die unless one
Palliser. ling to die of;"O » Mrs. Lyn
“ But I have something,” Mrs. Lynden declared,
laying her slim, white fingers over her heart.
15


226
TROUBLED TRANTON
u
.
She spoke of alarming attacks which she had not
mentioned as yet to anybody else—“ because I
don't wish my daughter to be frightened before it
is necessary”—and he heard her out, saying very
little, but contriving by some means to make her
feel that she had all his sympathy and comprehen-
sion. If she took a liking to the man, it was per-
haps because she had been suffering a little from
lack of comprehension. Of sympathy, affection,
and kindness she had abundance; only Sylvia and
everybody else had seemed to think that her ail-
ments were largely imaginary, while the best way
of treating her trials was not to talk about them.
And she wanted to talk about them. So she was
quite glad when Dr. Palliser said:
“ It might help me if I knew just how you have
been affected by recent events and what your idea
is as to the meaning of them. But don't tell me
if you had rather not.”
She not only told him about recent events but,
upon some slight, subtle encouragement, went on
to relate the whole history of her life-related it
with a simplicity, an earnestness and an occasional
touch of pathos which seemed to interest him and
probably did. She told him what she had never
confided even to Sylvia, the old, old story of her
frustrated betrothal to Nicholas Alder, saying that,
although of course that episode belonged to the
dead past, the memory of it counted with her to
some extent as enhancing her great desire to be
friends with him and—should such a thing be
practicable to give him back his own. Her


THE EXPERT
227
scheme for rendering it practicable by a marriage
between Geoffrey and Sylvia was also divulged,
together with a reference to the vexatious compli-
cations by which it had been hindered. All this
she poured forth with the artlessness of a child
and with a child's confidence in the longanimity of
her hearer; but as to her assailants she had not
much to say. Oh yes, they had shaken her nerves,
no doubt; but who they might be she neither
guessed nor greatly cared. What they wanted
was, in point of fact, what she herself wanted, and
if only they could be made to understand that,
most likely they would desist from their rather
cruel and needless operations.
“I see,” said Dr. Palliser, nodding—“I see.
Well, as you very truly say, those who only want
what you want can't be implacable enemies. Try
to forget them. Now, Mrs. Lynden, I must have
a few words with Dr. Munday, and I'll see you again
soon; but there's one thing I should like to say
before I go. I want you, when I come back, to
tell me the exact truth.”
“But haven't I ?" returned Mrs. Lynden, open-
ing her eyes and looking a trifle offended; for in-
deed it was hard to see how she could have been
more communicative to a total stranger.
He laughed. He had a comfortable, kindly sort
of laugh. “Never mind," said he; “ very few
people tell the exact truth; it's the rarest thing !
A while ago you described to me symptoms which
you cannot possibly have had. I only mention it
as an instance; I'm quite accustomed to such state-


228
TROUBLED TRANTON
ments. So much so that I always know whether
people are speaking the truth or not. But I can't
be of real use to them while they keep anything
back from me, and that's why I want you, in your
own interest, to promise that you will reply truth-
fully to any questions that I may put to you
when I return. I won't plague you any more
today.”
To his waiting colleague, a few minutes later, he
delivered the terse verdict of “ Hysteria."
“ Nothing more?" asked Dr. Munday.
“ You didn't think there was anything more, did
you? I daresay we shall find that it's enough.
Of course, like all hysterical women, she fibs and
simulates. Thinks, or says she thinks, she is dying
of heart disease. She isn't. Heart's as sound as
a bell. Just the functional irregularities you spoke
of, produced by her own unconscious will. How
far her condition is the result of these queer doings
one can't say. Who is at the bottom of them ?
What do you take to be the meaning of them ?
You must have formed some opinion.”
Dr. Munday smiled dubiously. “ It isn't always
prudent or safe to state one's opinion,” he re-
marked.
“My dear fellow, it stands to reason that if I ask
you such a question, it isn't in order to give you
away. We are consulting together professionally,
and you may regard me as a deaf-mute.”
“Then I'll say plainly that I think Mr. Alder
must be the prime mover. As far as I can ascer-
tain, he is absolutely the only person who has any


THE EXPERT
229
interest in driving Mrs. Lynden out of house and
home—which is these people's avowed object."
“ Just so. What kind of a man ?"
“A sour-tempered, obstinate man, with a fixed
idea that he has been done out of his rights."
“Ah! And Mrs. Lynden is a sweet-tempered,
neurotic woman, who entertains the same fixed
idea. Hence feuds and conspiracies which the
situation, upon the face of it, scarcely seems to call
for. What a funny state of things ! Unlikely to
last, though, as a riddle, one would imagine. The
answer can't be very far to seek.” .
“ The answer may be forthcoming soon. At all
events, Sir Augustus Gresham believes he has got
a clue to the people who carried off his niece, and
no doubt they are the same lot.”
Dr. Palliser nodded. “Well, I must be off.
Forgot to write a prescription for your patient; I
will if you think she'd like it. You won't, of course,
tell her that I said she was all right. Let her think
herself dying, if she finds the prospect an alluring
one. When she is really dying—which won't be
for a long time yet, let us hope—she'll sing a very
different song. Good-bye, Munday; see you again
next week.”


CHAPTER XXI
SARDONIC SOHO
The man with the scarred hand proved a disap-
pointment to Sir Augustus, inasmuch as the police
were unable to identify him upon that evidence.
They thought, however, that the gaunt Italian
woman, described by Geoffrey Alder and inciden-
tally recognised by Miss Rowe as “ Francesca,"
might very possibly be the wife of one Rocca, who
kept a restaurant in Soho and who was a notorious
Anarchist. Sir Augustus would fain have had
Signora Rocca arrested on suspicion forthwith; but,
this being impracticable, he decided, in accordance
with advice, to bring his niece up to London and
confront her with the suspected person. The vexa-
tious thing was that his niece, when applied to,
obstinately refused to give any incriminating testi-
mony. She said that was just what she had
sworn not to do and she must decline to perjure
herself.
“Never heard such rubbish in my life !” bawled
Sir Augustus. “I suppose these infernal rascals
are to get off scot-free then !”
“I trust not,” was Dorothy's rejoinder. “No-
body would be more pleased than I shall if they
are caught; only I can't, unfortunately, help you
to catch them.”
230


SARDONIC SOHO
231
So then Sir Augustus sent for Geoffrey, who at
any rate had not thus conspired to defeat the ends
of justice and who, on putting in a somewhat re-
luctant appearance, said that he would of course
make inspection of Signora Rocca, as desired. He
demurred, however, to the suggestion that he
should “try to get the truth out of Dorothy,"
and, as Sir Augustus insisted upon dragging him
into the library, where Miss Rowe was seated in
her riding-habit, he made haste to say that he was
not going to question her upon the subject of her
incarceration.
“ You wouldn't get any answer if you did," she
returned; “ but I'm sure you won't. You consider
an oath binding, I suppose, and I hope you mean
to keep yours both in the letter and the spirit.”
“I have never thought of breaking it in either,”
Geoffrey coldly assured her.
“ Very well, then; you and I are in the same
boat as far as that goes, and there's no more to be
said. I oughtn't to have let Francesca's name slip
out, and I'm very sorry I did; but not another
word do I breathe.”
She then wanted to know whether Geoffrey had
given up hunting and seemed to invite a renewal
of friendly intercourse; but, as he did not feel dis-
posed to meet her half-way, the colloquy soon ter-
minated. Of course she did not care; why should
she? Still, knowing, as she certainly did, how
very much he cared, she might have had one look
or hint of regret at his service, instead of smiling
almost derisively at him.


234
TROUBLED TRANTON
inquirers, he saluted their exit by a peal of sardonic
laughter in which the assembled clientèle joined.
Sir Augustus, to give himself a countenance,
turned upon his companion.
“You simply cut the ground from under my feet
-cut the ground from under my feet; what ?” he
remonstrated. “How the doose was I to go on
when my own witness left me in the lurch ? I
bring you here to spot a hard-featured hag whom
I should think anybody might pick out of a
hundred after having seen her once, and you can't
do it! Might as well have left you at home-
what ?"
Geoffrey could only repeat that he was sorry.
He thought it not improbable that Signora Rocca
and Francesca were one and the same person; but
Signor Rocca was certainly not the man who had
exacted a self-denying oath from him, and if there
was anybody whom he desired to see in custody it
was that bland individual. The pledge, as it hap-
pened, had been entirely superfluous and innoc-
uous; still the memory of having been constrained
to bind himself in such a manner rankled. He
caught an early train back (having got rid of Sir
Augustus, who had bustled off to Scotland Yard
once more), and, walking homewards from the
station, overtook Harry Marsh, to whom he re-
ported the failure of his errand.
“I don't know what else you and Sir Augustus
can have expected,” was Harry's comment. “You
couldn't, in the nature of things, have made sure
of the woman, and she appears to have been only


SARDONIC SOHO
235
an instrument, anyhow. By the way, I want to
tell you something. I've just been at Tranton,
and-_"
“It seems to me that you pretty well live at
Tranton nowadays," interrupted Geoffrey.
“You may live there altogether one of these
days. Isn't that the idea that's beginning to
crystallise in your mind ?”
“I'm sure I don't know; I suppose it ought. It
has been diligently enough rubbed in.”
“Not by me-come !"
“ You were one of the first to suggest it.”
“Was I ? Well, now I should be the last to
countenance it. I think there are several objec-
tions, my dear chap, to your marrying Miss
Lynden; but what strikes me personally as the
strongest one is that I'm going to marry her
myself.”
Geoffrey stood still and whistled. Then, catch-
ing his friend by the shoulders and shaking him,
“You little villain !” he cried, with a roar of
laughter.
“I thought you wouldn't be deeply disgusted,"
observed Harry, laughing also.
“Disgusted! I'm overjoyed! At least I should
be if I weren't so beastly miserable on other
accounts. But we won't talk about that. To
think of you and Sylvia . .. what a funny
thing! Providential, though; nothing short of it.
Bless you both! And what does Mrs. Lynden
say ?”
Ah, that was the reverse side of the medal. Mrs.


236 TROUBLED TRANTON
.
m
e d, “and I adore things dark.»
Lynden had not said anything, because she had
as yet been told nothing. She was, however, going
to be told and was very likely being told at that
moment.
“Sylvia was for keeping things dark,” Harry
explained, “and I admit that, considering her
mother's shaky state of health, there was something
to be said in favour of that plan; but I had a long
talk with her this afternoon and she came round
to my view that when a thing has got to be done,
the sooner it's done the better. It took me a little
time to convince her that it had got to be done, that
was all."
“Mrs. Lynden,” observed Geoffrey musingly,“ is
awfully nice and kind, but--"
“Oh, I know. A timorous little woman with a
strongish will. I'm humbly ready to back my own
against it, though.”
“How about Sylvia's ?”
“Sylvia's is developing, I think. I seemed to
see some signs of it today. Meanwhile, I've
promised not to show my face at Tranton again
till I'm sent for."
Geoffrey pursed up his lips. “Then you've done
a more imprudent thing than I should have ex-
pected of you, old man," he remarked. “Suppose
you're never sent for ?”
“In that case," answered Harry composedly,
“I might not feel bound to a strictly pedantic
construction of my promise; but I shall be sent
for, right enough. At all events, I haven't taken
a horrid oath, like you."


SARDONIC SOHO
237
“Oh, that be hanged !” returned Geoffrey.
“It was cheek asking me for it, but it hasn't cost
me anything and I'd take it again for sixpence.
Come along and play billiards. It's a rotten world
this; still it's a bit better than it was a few minutes
ago."


CHAPTER XXII
SWEET REASONABLENESS
On the next day Geoffrey and his father went out
hunting together, although the meet was to be at
Saltwood Park, a locality which one of them had
reasons of his own for desiring to shun and which
the other (a little unfairly, it must be confessed)
always declared to be denuded of foxes. It
chanced, however, that no alternative pack was
within the elder man's reach on that particular
date, while the younger wanted a gallop because he
could not help feeling relatively cheerful. All very
well for him to have averred, as he had done, that
he had let a great chance slip. So, in a way, he had;
but none the less did he rejoice with all his heart
that the pen had been run through Sylvia Lynden's
name, and he only wished that he could tell his
father about it. This being forbidden, as Harry
had imposed provisional silence upon him, he con-
tented himself with the general observation that
perhaps, when all’s said and done, marriage is a
rather overrated form of blessedness.
“It has its drawbacks,” Mr. Alder assented.
“Are you beginning to appreciate the shelter of
your self-denying oath ?”
“I didn't need any shelter," answered Geoffrey,
“and if I was denied anything, it wasn't by myself.
238


SWEET REASONABLENESS
239
What I was thinking was that, as I can't marry
the only girl I shall ever want to marry, I may
as well recognise that there are points about
celibacy.”
This leading remark drawing no rejoinder,
Geoffrey went on:“Supposing I hadn't taken that
oath, and supposing Dorothy hadn't disdained
me ?”
“Then, my dear boy, you would have had a
remarkably pretty wife-which may be a desirable
possession or not, according to circumstances.
Broadly speaking, and with all the exceptions and
qualifications you like, women are the douce. With
a dog you always know where you are, with a horse
pretty nearly always and with a man more often
than not; but with a woman never! I can't con-
dole with you and I can't congratulate you,
because there's no telling whether you have had a
sad loss or a lucky escape."
“ But would you have been against my marrying
Miss Rowe ?"
“Should I have been consulted ? You know
my views on such subjects. I hold that a man
of your age is as much entitled to choose his wife
as he is to choose his tailor. I'm not against your
marriage with anybody-nor very much for it
either, except on obvious grounds. One feels—at
least, I should in your place—that it's a duty to
perpetuate one's family, even when one has been
robbed of the family estates."
He did not say that it might be a duty to espouse
the heiress of the forfeited estates, and Geoffrey,


240
TROUBLED TRANTON
wondering whether he thought so, hazarded the
announcement of:
“Well, I'm not going to marry Sylvia Lynden,
much as I like her.”
“So you told me the other day,” returned his
father, without moving a muscle. “That will be
rather a disappointment for Mrs. Lynden, won't it?
She must have been prepared for a disappointment,
though. Now we ought to be trotting on.”
Nicholas Alder invariably expected disappoint-
ment when he went to Saltwood for sport and
would perhaps have been secretly disappointed if
his expectations had been falsified. But on this
occasion, as it happened, a fox was speedily found,
and Sir Augustus could not fairly be blamed for the
circumstance that he was chopped in covert.
What, unfortunately, did cause Sir Augustus to
incur some blame, tacit and other, was that all the
remaining coverts on his property were drawn
blank. He was, or appeared to be, greatly vexed,
indignant and amazed. He said he couldn't
account for it at all, and it may be hoped that he
did not hear Nicholas Alder's mournful murmur of
“I can!” Probably he did not, for he was pur-
posely holding aloof from the squire of Hill Place,
whom he had saluted only with a nod and whom
he still firmly believed to be the author of the
indignities to which he had been subjected in his
niece's person and his own.
His niece, to all appearance, harboured no such
resentful feelings. Geoffrey might think that,
after what had taken place, they were best apart,


242
TROUBLED TRANTON
Not being disposed to tell her, he observed that
it had been a rotten day.
“A true sportsman,” returned Miss Rowe sen-
tentiously, “never sulks. Look at me—am I
sulky ?”
“Oh, I don't suppose that anything would ever
make you sulk.”
“Is that meant for a compliment or the reverse, I
wonder? Anyhow, it isn't true, as you would have
discovered if you had seen me in company which I
mustn't describe when I was told that you hadn't
made up your mind whether to let me out or not.
I was pretty sulky with you then, I can tell you !"
“Sorry," said Geoffrey. “You weren't kept
waiting long, though.”
“A great deal longer than was pleasant, and in
an agony of suspense all the time too! However,
you're forgiven."
“Perhaps,” Geoffrey could not help retorting,
“it's rather easier for you to forgive than it is
for me.”
Dorothy stared at him with some displeasure.
“Really,” said she, “I don't know what you have
to forgive. One would think I had done you some
deadly injury, instead of having merely asked you
to give a promise which I should have expected any
gentleman in the world to give in such a case with-
out hesitating about it.”
And as Geoffrey remained silent, she continued :
“ Oh well, if you want to make a grievance of it, of
course you can. But I think you're rather
ridiculous.”


SWEET REASONABLENESS
243
When this little breeze arose the couple were
jogging along a lane between two groups of return-
ing horsemen. Dorothy at once fell back to join
those behind her, while Geoffrey pushed on alone.
At first he was angry enough to feel glad that he
had made her angry; but afterwards he doubted
whether she had really been angry at all, though
it was only too likely that she had been justified
in calling him ridiculous.
Most of us would prefer to be anything rather
than ridiculous, yet that is what most of us often
are-as may be inferred from an intelligent study
of our neighbours, who, it may be presumed,
resemble us. It is true that, as a general rule, we
are mercifully preserved from seeing what is patent
to others, and that, no doubt, was why Harry
Marsh would not allow that he had acted like a fool
in binding himself to remain away from Tranton
until sent for. Geoffrey, who was sure that he had,
did not scruple to tell him so, and when three days
passed without a sign from Sylvia he himself began
to feel misgivings. It seemed evident at least that
the mistress of Tranton was not anxious for his
company. Nevertheless, it was from that lady
that the fourth morning brought him a friendly
note and an invitation to dinner. “Nobody but
qurselves and the Cottons, which doesn't sound
alluring, I am afraid; but that will only make it the
more kind of you to come and enliven our col-
lective stodginess.”
Harry Marsh was well enough versed in feminine
tactics to know that, whatever these soft words
might portend, they did not indicate surrender.


244
TROUBLED TRANTON
Surrender, he thought, would have been accom-
panied by tears, not smiles, and it was with the
kindliest of smiles that Mrs. Lynden greeted him
that evening. Sylvia had a very slight pressure
of the hand for him, which was reassuring, though
not illuminating, while Mr. Cotton was, as usual,
brisk and genial, inquiring:
“Why haven't you brought Geoffrey with you ?”
“Well, partly because he wasn't invited,”
answered Harry, laughing.
“No, not an oversight," said Mrs. Lynden, in
response to the Rector's interrogative glance.
“I'm sure Geoffrey knows that he can come here
as often as he likes without the formality of an
invitation; but I didn't beckon to him this time
because Mr. Marsh and I are going to have a little
private talk by-and-by.”
Her tone certainly did not imply that the forth-
coming interview was likely to be a hostile one;
but it would be rash, Harry thought, to build too
much upon appearances. As far as appearances
went, Mrs. Lynden was in good spirits; it could
not be said that she looked in good health. When
Harry moved towards the dining-room, with Mrs.
Cotton leaning heavily on his arm, that excellent
woman whispered:
“ Aren't you shocked at the change in our dear
friend? Wasted away to a shadow of what she
was !”
Well, Mrs. Lynden had never been very sub-
stantial. She had perhaps grown thinner, but it
was not so much her emaciation as the unnatural


SWEET REASONABLENESS
245
edged that Giuser
lancholy-
brightness of her eyes and colour that might have
given rise to uneasiness—was, in fact, making her
daughter uneasy, as Harry noticed during dinner.
He also noticed that she only made a pretence of
eating and drinking and that once or twice she
pressed her hand upon her heart, as if in pain.
Was he going to bring fresh distress upon this
poor, brave, harassed little mortal ? He was
afraid so, and was fain to tell himself that he really
couldn't help it if he was.
Another thing which attracted his notice and
interest was the presence of a tall, black-bearded
butler, who was obviously Giuseppe Ricci. It had
to be acknowledged that this dignified and rather
melancholy-looking personage bore small resem-
blance to a criminal conspirator. He seemed to
understand his business well, seldom moving from
behind his mistress's chair and directing his
English subordinates by scarcely perceptible ges-
tures. He stood over Mrs. Lynden like a patient,
faithful watch-dog, with the air of protecting,
certainly not of menacing, her. All the same,
Harry promised himself a look at the man's hand
when he poured out the wine, and it was a little
annoying to find that, after the foreign fashion,
he was wearing white thread gloves.
Five is never a comfortable number for con-
versational purposes, nor were the four persons
whom Mrs. Lynden had assembled at a round table
so circumstanced as to be able to converse freely.
Two of them, that is to say, were embarrassed by
consciousness of a common secret, while the re-


246
TROUBLED TRANTON
maining couple had been privately cautioned by
Sylvia against alluding to matters which every-
body in the neighbourhood was discussing. This
being so, the most had to be made of the sharp
frost which had again set in, the disgraceful con-
dition of the roads, the spread of influenza and
Mrs. Cotton's approaching sale of work. By way
of compensation, the food and wine were alike
excellent; so the Rector, who despised neither of
these things, did not feel, when the ladies rose,
that his evening was being misspent. He pro-
ceeded to improve it by crossing his legs and saying
confidentially to his neighbour:
"I do wish that you, who are a friend of Geof-
frey's, could persuade the lad to do the wisest
thing he can by returning to his old love."
“If you mean Miss Lynden,” said Harry, “I
don't think that's quite a correct description of
her."
“It isn't far astray; they looked as much like
lovers as anybody could wish until there came the
other attraction that we know of. Well, we're
all liable to these passing aberrations when we're
young, and I understand that the extinguisher has
been put upon his now; so why shouldn't he come
back to his right mind ?"
“Aren't you making rather sure of Miss Lyn-
den ?”
“To tell you the truth, I am sure of her. Her
mother has only to say, “Do so-and-so or I shall
die,' and she'll do what she's asked, whether it's
marrying Geoffrey Alder or jumping off the roof


SWEET REASONABLENESS
247
of the house. That girl's devotion to her mother
is one of the most extraordinary and beautiful
things I've ever seen in my life.”
Extraordinary it might be; as to the beauty of
it there was room, Harry thought, for difference
of opinion. He observed that the question was
not, after all, one of life or death.
“Mrs. Lynden, I fancy, would tell you that it
is. She may not be as ill as she thinks herself;
still she has been badly shaken by all that she
has gone through, and she has taken it firmly into
her head that she will be allowed no peace until
this place has been restored, directly or indirectly,
to the Alders.”
“I daresay,” answered Harry, "she won't
get much peace as long as these evasive enemies
of hers remain at large; but ..."
The entrance of the servants with coffee caused
him to break off. Was it imagination on his part,
or did the melancholy Giuseppe fix a penetrating
gaze upon him, as though aware of what he had
been talking about ? Either way, he was deter-
mined to get a sight of Giuseppe's hand before
leaving the house, so he had recourse to a strate-
gem which might possibly, with luck, serve the
required purpose. While helping himself to coffee,
he flicked the ash from his cigarette in an upward
direction, and had great apparent difficulty in
removing a portion of it from his eye.
“Permit me, sir,” murmured Giuseppe, antici-
pating an appeal which was upon the point of
being addressed to him, and forthwith the corner


SWEET REASONABLENESS
249
Good, obtuse Mrs. Cotton remained immovable
for a long time; but at last she decided to weigh
anchor, and when she and her husband had been
escorted out of the room by Sylvia, who did not
return, Mrs. Lynden motioned to Harry to sit
down beside her.
“Now, dear Mr. Marsh,” she began, with no
inflection of animosity in her voice, “I'm going
to be quite candid with you. That sounds like
saying that I'm going to be disagreeable, doesn't
it? But I don't want to be disagreeable. Dis-
appointed—well, perhaps. I daresay you can
understand that.”
“I absolutely understand it,” Harry assured
her; “I feel that I have been a traitor to you.”
Mrs. Lynden sighed. “Oh no, you're not a
traitor; you weren't pledged to me in any way.
I don't suppose you went and lost your heart to
Sylvia in order to distress mine; I don't suppose
you meant to lose your heart to her at all. These
things happen because they have to happen and
because nobody can prevent them from happen-
ing."
“That's just it,” said Harry.
“So there's really no reason to be as penitent
as perhaps you are and as poor dear Sylvia is. I
told her she had nothing to be penitent about.
There may be something to be sorry for, don't you
think so ?—something, at any rate, that I may
be allowed to be sorry for.”
“Of course there is," assented Harry, both sur-
prised and touched by the reasonableness of her


252
TROUBLED TRANTON
“That is as may be. I am worse than you
think and worse than Dr. Palliser thinks; although
another reason for my begging for delay is that I
want to hear what he has up his sleeve. There's
something that he wouldn't say when he was here
the other day.”
“Something about the people who have been
attacking you, do you mean ?”.
“Oh no; what should he know about them ?
Still, they stand for a third reason, if you want a
third. They have granted me a truce of late, as
you know. That, I am sure, is because they sup-
pose that I am working for the same end as they
are. When they discover that there is to be no
marriage between Geoffrey and Sylvia, won't they
fall upon me with greater fury than ever ?”!
Harry exhorted Mrs. Lynden to banish such
notions. He reminded her of the courage which
she had hitherto shown and stated his personal
conviction that her ordeal was unlikely to be
renewed. He could not refrain from winding up
with; “I'm going to collar those gentry for you."
“I don't think you are,” she returned, with a
faint smile; “I don't think anybody ever will.
You would call me absurd, no doubt, if I were to
confess that I have sometimes fancied there might
be a supernatural element in it all."
“I certainly should," answered Harry uncom-
promisingly. “Explosives are compounds of
natural substances, and beings who can pinion
Geoffrey Alder are human, even if they do rig
themselves up in masks and dominos. For the


SWEET REASONABLENESS
253
rest, I have a very firm disbelief in the occurrence
of any supernatural phenomena on the surface of
this planet."
“You leave a good many things unexplained,
at that rate,” observed Mrs. Lynden.
“It doesn't follow that they are inexplicable,”
he rejoined.
But it was too late, and Mrs. Lynden was ob-
viously too tired, for abstract discussion. She
bade him good-night almost affectionately, thanked
him for yielding to her wishes, was thanked in
her turn (as, indeed, Harry felt that she deserved
to be), and hoped that she had said nothing to
imply that her future son-in-law was otherwise
than personally acceptable to her. So the inter-
view came to an end. All things considered, the
young man was warranted in telling himself that
he emerged from it with colours flying.


CHAPTER XXIII
GIUSEPPE THE INSCRUTABLE
“Oh, on our ten toes,” said the Rector cheerily, in
reply to Sylvia’s question of how he and Mrs.
Cotton proposed to return home. “We aren't half
as likely to come to grief as a horse would be in this
weather, and it's no distance.”
It was no great distance to the Rectory, but the
sky, which had been clear and starry, had become
overclouded, and the front-door was opened upon
such pitchy darkness that Sylvia exclaimed:
“You'll never be able to find your way! Do
let Giuseppe see you home with a lantern." She
added, laughing: “ Giuseppe is always ready to do
anything at a moment's notice and always does
it better than anybody else could.”
The departing guests protested a little, for form's
sake, but were in truth not sorry to have their
footsteps guided along a dangerously slippery road;
80, after a few minutes' delay, the procession
started, Giuseppe stepping lightly ahead, with his
lantern held just above the ground. At first there
was no conversation, owing to the necessity of
keeping a sharp look-out for frozen puddles; but
the eye soon adjusts itself to semi-darkness, and the
Rector was not a man who could keep silence for
long.
254


GIUSEPPE THE INSCRUTABLE
255
“You were some years in Mrs. Lynden's service,
weren't you ?” he inquired of his leader.
“ Yes, sir,” answered the man, “and I should
still be in the Signora's service if she desired it.”
He spoke English easily and in a gentle, subdued
voice. Further leading observations drew from
him the statement that he had come to this country
chiefly because he had thought it possible that his
former mistress might have need of him. He did
not like this country, he confessed, and he did not
think that the Signora was as happy here as she
had been in Italy; but he understood that she was
obliged to reside on her estate. For himself, he
counted it a privilege to serve her, wherever she
might be.
“Well, you would do her and all of us a real
service,” remarked the Rector, “ if you could get
on the scent of those compatriots of yours who
have been molesting her ever since she came here."
“My compatriots have been molesting the Sig-
nora, sir ?" repeated Giuseppe incredulously. “Oh
no, I do not think there are any Italians who would
do that."
“ There are, though," the Rector affirmed.
“ The one thing we know for certain about them
is that they are Italians. You have heard, of
course, of their outrages."
Yes, Giuseppe had heard of threatening letters
and of an infamous employment of explosives; but
he was very sure that these things had not been
the work of Italians. Often it will happen that
with a change of ownership there is discontent


256
TROUBLED TRANTON
amongst the peasantry. Of the abduction of Miss
Rowe and young Mr. Alder he had not heard, nor
did he understand how such proceedings could be
designed to injure Mrs. Lynden.
“Probably they were not meant to injure her,”
said the Rector; “ but the object of these people
... hold up, Jane ! you were very nearly down that
time, my dear ... the avowed object of these people
is to restore Tranton to the Alders, to whom, in
their view, the place rightfully belongs. Appar-
ently their original idea was to scare Mrs. Lynden
out of the house. That plan not coming off, they
thought the next best thing to do would be to
marry young Mr. Alder to Miss Lynden.”
“ Could they make the Signorina marry the
young gentleman, sir ?”' Giuseppe inquired.
“Of course not; but they could prevent him
from marrying another lady whom they thought
he wanted to marry. I must say for them that
their plot wasn't badly conceived. First they
manage to entrap Miss Rowe; then they get hold
of Geoffrey and tell him that she will be murdered,
or tortured or something, if he doesn't swear not
to marry her. Thereupon he swears—and indeed
I don't know what else the poor fellow could have
done.”
Giuseppe's only comment upon this was that if
the young gentleman was now going to marry the
Signorina he was not much to be pitied.
The Rector laughed. “Oh, I don't mind saying
that I'm with you there. Still, good ends shouldn't
be reached by foul means. Besides, we don't know


258
TROUBLED TRANTON
“ It is possible, sir,” Giuseppe assented.
“Well, couldn't you find out something about
them ? You must have opportunities.”
Giuseppe, while mildly disclaiming any con-
nection with secret societies, did not think it likely
that they would lend themselves to the purposes
described. What he had just heard about young
Mr. Alder and Miss Rowe surprised him; but it
would surprise him even more to learn that they
had been imprisoned by Italian Anarchists. For
the rest, if the Signora wished him to make
inquiries, he would make inquiries. His tone
implied respectful and indifferent scepticism.
“In point of fact, you don't very much believe
in what I have been telling you," said the Rector,
somewhat nettled.
It was at this juncture that Mrs. Cotton sat down
abruptly and forcibly in the middle of the road.
“My dear Jane,” remonstrated her husband,
“ do be careful !"
“The worst of your admonitions, Joe,” an-
swered the poor lady, scrambling on to her knees,
“is that they so often come too late. No, I'm not
broken anywhere, thanks, only shaken to my
foundations. Help me up, and now let us concen-
trate upon keeping our balance for the rest of the
way. The wonder is that you haven't lost yours
all this time while you have been holding forth
about nuts which neither you nor I can crack.”
The Rector would fain have continued to hold
forth, for he did not yet despair of utilising the lan-
tern-bearer as a nutcracker; but his spouse, holding


262
TROUBLED TRANTON
dignified, as well as probably futile, to do that, so
he accepted an unavoidable postponement and
said no more.
Like the Cottons, Harry had decided to return
home on foot, being unwilling to take his host’s
horses out and putting trust in a starlit night; but,
like them, he was more than a little inconvenienced
by the circumstances that the night had ceased to
be starlit. It was very dark, it was bitterly cold
and a thin coating of ice which had formed upon
the surface of the road made progress both slow
and difficult for a pedestrian who could not so
much as see where he was putting his feet. To
Harry, groping his way along, cutting involuntary
capers, colliding once or twice with trees and using
words appropriate to the occasion, there presently
appeared in the distance a bobbing light, which
soon resolved itself into a lantern, carried by
somebody who advanced with a brisk, assured
tread. This was Giuseppe, homeward bound
from the Rectory and in no fear of impending
denunciation.
“I wish you good-night, sir,” said he gravely.
“Thanks," answered Harry, “but I'm afraid
there isn't much chance of your wish coming off,
for a more beastly night I never was out in. All
very fine for you, with your lantern, but it seems
to me that if I get back to Hill Place without having
broken any of my bones, I shall be lucky.”
Giuseppe immediately made the offer which the
other had hoped that he might make. He had just
been escorting Mr. and Mrs. Cotton home, he men-


266
TROUBLED TRANTON
Giuseppe, for all reply, shrugged his shoulders
and spread out his hands.
“Come,” Harry resumed persuasively, “ you'll
only make matters worse for yourself by being ob-
stinate about it. You acted upon somebody's
orders, I suppose ?"
Giuseppe bowed gravely. “Upon orders," he
assented, adding in the same breath, “I am not
to tell you upon whose orders.”
And from that passively resistant attitude there
was no moving him. Yes, it was he who, to his
regret, but in fulfilment of an imperative obligation,
had done what he was accused of. Accomplices ?
Certainly he had accomplices, as had been seen.
But he could not name them, nor could he say why
he had received instructions which he had only to
obey. He was not, in fact, aware of the reason for
their issue.
“All very well,” said Geoffrey, “but you have
confessed enough already to justify us in detaining
you; and detained you will be until you choose to
speak out. Tit for tat; it's my turn now.”
“You will remain here all night, then, sir ?”
Giuseppe inquired, with another faint smile.
“No; but we shall lock you up somewhere all
night.”
“We're three to one, you'll observe," put in
Harry.
Giuseppe blandly intimated that he had taken
note of that circumstance. He now turned to Mr.
Alder, who had been a silent, but interested and
apparently amused spectator of the scene.


THE CAPTOR CAPTURED
267
“Eccellenza," said he, with much deference, “ is
it lawful for these gentlemen to lock me up in your
house ?”
“Possibly not,” answered Nicholas; “ but you're
a bit of a law-breaker yourself, you see. In any case,
upon the information that I have received, I could
not refuse a warrant for your arrest to morrow.
That means that you will be taken into custody by
the police and brought up before the magistrates.”
“For what offence, sir ?"
“Why, for the offence to which you have pleaded
guilty,” Geoffrey answered. “I don't know, and
I don't much care, about the strict legality of our
locking you up, but it was certainly illegal for you
to treat me as you did.”
“I have told you, sir, that I had orders."
“Just so,” said Harry, “ and perhaps if you will
now tell us from whom your orders came. ..."
“Impossible, sir !".
“ All right; I daresay you won't be so obdurate
when you're in the dock. One thing, at any rate,
is very sure: the truth must come out now.”
Giuseppe's solemn eyes roved from the speaker to
Geoffrey, then to Mr. Alder and back. “It is not
always,” said he,“ that the truth comes out in a
court of justice, and sometimes when it does, it may
happen that everybody is sorry. I think, gentle-
men, that if you do not permit me to return to my
duties, you will perhaps be sorry. I shall not run
away. I shall be found at Tranton tomorrow and
the next day—possibly for many days yet.”
“No, thank you,” returned Harry decisively.


268
TROUBLED TRANTON
“The confidence trick won't work when there isn't
any confidence, and we have to think of Mrs. and
Miss Lynden. What security have we against your
cutting their throats tonight ?”.
On the instant the hitherto imperturbable Giu-
seppe broke out into volcanic fury. His eyes
blazed, his features became distorted and he
poured forth in his own language a flood of maledic-
tions which, judging by his gestures, would have
translated themselves into assault and battery in
another minute, had not Nicholas Alder laid a re-
straining hand upon his shoulder, with-
“Now, my man, keep your temper. It was a
foolish thing to say, but Mr. Marsh didn't mean you
to take it literally.”
Giuseppe, drawing long breaths, controlled him-
self with difficulty. No doubt he wished that he
and Mr. Marsh were in Sicily, but remembered that
he was less conveniently situated.
“It is an infamy !” he gasped. “To say that I
would kill the Signora !—I, who owe everything to
her and would kill myself rather than harm her !"
“ Yes, yes,” said the unrepentant Harry; "but
you must bear in mind that certain persons have
been doing all they knew to harm Mrs. Lynden for
some time past and that, to the best of our belief,
you are in their employ.”
Mr. Alder arrested a further imminent outbreak
by observing soothingly: “You're under suspicion,
you see, and it's a good deal your own fault, because
you refuse to speak. Personally, I am convinced
that Mrs. Lynden has nothing to fear from you,


THE CAPTOR CAPTURED 269
and I see no objection to your being allowed to go
back to her.”
The two young men, however, objected vehe-
mently. They, for their part, were far from being
convinced either that Mrs. Lynden was safe or
that their prisoner, if released, would be found at
Tranton on the morrow. The upshot of a short
discussion in which Mr. Alder took no share was
that Giuseppe, once more calm, mute and unresist-
ing; was marched off between them to the wine-
cellar, from which improvised dungeon escape was
impracticable. Having thus secured their captive,
they collected a mattress, a pillow, a supply of
rugs, candles and other necessaries, which they
carried down to him, regretting that they had no
alternative but to leave him in such undesirable
quarters. Giuseppe only opened his lips to say
gravely:
“I repeat, gentlemen, that you will be sorry for
this. But that is your affair.”
“What does he mean, do you think ?” Geoffrey
asked of his friend, on the way back to the study.
“I was wondering,” Harry confessed.
What Harry was in truth wondering was whether
Mr. Alder could have been behind the persons who
had given orders to Giuseppe Ricci and whether
Giuseppe know it. In such a case the fat would
indeed be in the fire ! But Nicholas Alder ap-
peared to be free from alarm, and when his opinion
as to Giuseppe's meaning was solicited, he replied,
with a smile:
“We shall see. I don't know that it greatly


CHAPTER XXV
DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE
SOME cynics are bold enough to affirm that it is
better to be feared than to be loved. Without
going quite so far as that, it may be admitted that
those whose whole household is in awe of them
enjoy the direct advantages which always attend
an established state of discipline and which are
apt to be denied to the mildly amiable. Thus,
although the augmentation of Nicholas Alder's
household by a captured unit could not be con-
cealed from the servants, not one of them would
have ventured to make any remark upon this, and
when Geoffrey briefly announced at breakfast the
next morning that he wanted some food for a man
who had had to be shut up in the wine-cellar, the
butler merely replied, “Very good, sir,” as though
60 queer a circumstance required no further elucida-
tion.
Mrs. Lynden, however, as Nicholas did not fail
to remind his son, would assuredly demand elucida-
tion, and it was at first proposed that Geoffrey and
Harry Marsh should forthwith present themselves
to her with tidings of the measures which it had
been deemed expedient to adopt for her safety.
But ultimately Harry cried off.
“Between ourselves,” he candidly owned to
271


272
TROUBLED TRANTON
Geoffrey, after Mr. Alder had left the room, “I
doubt whether Mrs. Lynden is going to be pleased.
It will take a little time to persuade her that the
fellow is a rogue, and she may not like my having
inveigled him in here when he was doing me a
service. I forgot to tell you last night that she
and I parted on the friendliest terms."
He then narrated the tale of Mrs. Lynden's
capitulation and of the condition attached thereto,
which latter he did not consider that he was vio-
lating in the case of one who already possessed his
confidence. “So,” he wound up by saying, “I'd
rather you broke the news to her without me, if
you don't mind.”
Geoffrey, both glad and surprised to hear how
smoothly matters had gone, declared that he didn't
mind a bit. As he marched briskly forth under a
low, leaden sky, from which snowflakes were begin-
ning to flutter down, he admitted to himself that
he did mind a little; because his errand, even upon
the most favourable view of it, did not promise to
be a very agreeable one. Still, if he asked for
Sylvia, he would at least have to deal with a sen-
sible person and one who would soon understand
that what had been done could not prudently have
been left undone. But Sylvia, when she met him
in the library, looked rather less under the sway
of common sense than was her wont.
“Oh, Geoffrey,” she began, before he could
speak, “such a horrid thing has happened! Giu-
seppe has disappeared! He went out last night to
see Mr. and Mrs. Cotton home, and it seems that he


DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE 273
never came back. I can't help being afraid that
he has fallen into the hands of those abominable
people. I simply haven't dared to tell mother yet.”
“Quite right,” answered Geoffrey cheerfully.
“ Giuseppe is quite all right too. That is, he's as
right as a man can be who is locked up in our cellar.
Not what you could call luxury, of course; but it's
always kept at an even temperature, and we've
given him rugs and things.”
“What are you talking about ?" ejaculated
Sylvia.
As concisely as possible he told her, with the
result that her astonishment and displeasure were
equalled only by her total incredulity.
“I never heard of such behaviour !" she ex-
claimed. “You must be perfectly crazy, all of
you. As for Giuseppe's joining in any conspiracy
against us, I would as soon believe that the Arch-
bishop of Canterbury had been caught robbing a
church. Sooner, indeed; for I don't know the
Archbishop, whereas I do know Giuseppe."
“Well, but so do I if it comes to that,” returned
Geoffrey. “I knew him the moment I heard his
voice and before I saw the scar on his hand, which
I could swear to. Besides, he didn't deny_he
couldn't—that he was my friend of the black
domino. How do you get over that ?”
“For the moment,” Sylvia made frank admis-
sion, “I can't get over it, though there must be
some explanation. Surely you don't tell me that
he confessed to having had anything to do with the
attacks on mother or the threatening letters ?”
18


DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE 275
attractiveness, remarked: “I say, I'm awfully glad
about you and Harry."
“ Thanks,” answered Sylvia, and added, with a
laugh, “I'm glad you're glad—though there's no
doubt that you ought to be. But he shouldn't
have told you; he promised not to breathe a word
to anybody.”
“Oh, well, I'm nobody, and I'll be as dumb as a
stockfish until I'm given leave to speak, which I
hope will be soon. Now that it's all right, I don't
mind telling you that I fully expected him to have
trouble with your mother.”
Sylvia shook her head and sighed. “ Dear
mother never gives trouble; her one wish always
is to spare other people trouble, if she can,
and to make them happy. That's why I feel so
guilty."
“To be honest, I feel a bit guilty myself. Not
that we could have helped it, either of us."
“Really and truly, I don't think we could.
Things come to pass. One doesn't create them or
invite them."
“Nor quarrel with them either.”
“No. At least, I can't. I only wish your luck
had been as good as mine!”
“Ah, that's spilt milk.”
“Are you quite sure it is ?”
“Of course it must be; I'm not thinking any
more about it. I was pretty hard hit, as you know,
and idiotically hopeful; but I might have seen from
the first that I hadn't a dog's chance. I shan't
die of it.”


276
TROUBLED TRANTON
“I should rather like to have a talk with Dorothy
Rowe,” said Sylvia musingly.
“What would be the use ? No; the incident is
closed, as they say in foreign Parliaments when
they don't want to have a row. Tell me about
Mrs. Lynden. Do you think she is getting any
better ?”
Sylvia was afraid not. She was afraid or
rather she was sure—that she was not taking the
right way to make her mother better. “Every-
thing seems to have gone against her from the
moment that we came to this place. She doesn't
blame me or you or anybody; only the fact remains
that we have knocked her Spanish castle about
her ears. Then, though she doesn't say so, poor
dear, I know she must be in dread of persecutions
beginning again.”
This perforce took them back to the mystery of
Giuseppe's conduct, which they debated as dis-
passionately as might be until Dr. Palliser returned
and said briskly:
"Miss Lynden, I think your mother would like
to see you. You must be prepared to find her a
little agitated; but that will pass. I will make my
professional report to Dr. Munday on my way
back to the station.”
With the air of one accustomed to be obeyed,
he opened the door, through which Sylvia made a
silent exit. Then, approaching Geoffrey, he said:
.“I am glad to be able to have a few words with
you, Mr. Alder, for I believe you can be of material
assistance to us, and I am sure you will do anything


DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE 277
in your power to help this poor lady, who is really
to be pitied, though you may think that you have
some reason for feeling annoyed with her.”
Not the very smallest, Geoffrey declared. Far
from it, Mrs. Lynden had been kindness itself to
him, and he asked for nothing better than to be
of service to her. “I hope,” he added, “ you don't
think her seriously ill ?”
The doctor smiled. “If you were to ask her,
she would tell you she is at death's door. That
isn't so; still, I should like you to keep in mind,
please, that she is genuinely ill. To save time, let
me begin by saying that I am acquainted with all
the circumstances of her case. When I was here
last she volunteered to give me the history of her
life, and I had heard from Munday of the disturb-
ing episodes which were supposed to have brought
about her illness. Now in medical diagnosis it
sometimes happens that effects are mistakes for
causes, and so it has been in this instance. It
occurred to me at once that the episodes might
have been the result of her illness, not the origin
of it, and it turns out that my guess was
correct."
“How do you mean ?" asked Geoffrey.
“I mean, to put it shortly, that she herself was
the writer of the anonymous letters and the in-
ventor of the various commotions which have been
puzzling your neighbourhood of late. I charged
her rather suddenly with it—or, to speak more
accurately, I told her that I knew it for a fact-
just now, and she owned up almost at once. You


278 TROUBLED TRANTON
appear to hit to attract pathy, som
look astonished. You wouldn't be if you heard
half the stories that I do every day of my life.
It's the commonest thing for hysterical women to
post defamatory letters to themselves. Sometimes
they hope to gain sympathy, sometimes they
merely want to attract notice, sometimes they
appear to have no incentive at all.”
“Astonished !” gasped out Geoffrey; “I'm more
than astonished, I'm ... Excuse me, but really
I don't think I can quite believe this. The letters
-well, if she admits having written them, I sup-
pose she wrote them; but what about the two
men who attacked her ? What about their trying
to burn the house down ? What about the ex-
plosive which might have blinded her and did un-
doubtedly singe her hair, for I saw that with my
own eyes ? You don't assert that she posted
explosives to herself, do you ?”
Dr. Palliser, who had seated himself by the fire-
side, rubbed his hands and smiled placidly. “I
don't think it probable that an explosive was
employed,” he answered. “Singeing the front
hair is a safe and easy operation. As easy as
rolling in the mud or setting fire to a summerhouse
and taking care to have it promptly extinguished.
If there's one thing to which these neurotic ladies
are more addicted than writing anonymous letters,
it is stating—perhaps even believing—that they
have been the victims of some savage assault.”
“Did she actually own to that, too ?”
The doctor nodded. “Not at first; but somebody
-is it Montaigne ?-says that liars ought to have


DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE 279
good memories, and Mrs. Lynden's played her
false in a few particulars. What she said today
didn't altogether tally with what she said the last
time I saw her; so I hadn't much trouble in putting
her to confusion and drawing a full acknowledg-
ment from her. Besides, from the moment that
she admitted the authorship of the letters the rest
followed as a matter of course. Now I daresay
you won't be much surprised to hear that it was
she who, with the help of her Italian servants,
contrived to subject you and Miss Rowe to a
rather unpleasant experience. It appears that
she has two blindly devoted slaves in those Italian
servants of hers; she has only to tell them that
she wants a thing done and they'll manage it for
her. She says that the woman-Lucia, I think
she called her—suggested this scheme, and she
professes to be ignorant—very likely she is—of
how they carried it out. One may conjecture that
they have friends amongst the lawless Italian
colony in London who would be able and willing
to oblige them. Anyhow, the scheme was carried
out successfully, as you are aware.”
“It was a dirty trick !” Geoffrey could not help
exclaiming. “Sorry to have to say so; but there's
no other name for it.”
And, as Dr. Palliser's sole rejoinder was a depre-
cating grimace, he got up and began to walk about
the room, trying to put some order into his ideas,
which had not been clarified by the terse and
apparently unconcerned manner in which the above
revelations had been imparted to him.


280 TROUBLED TRANTON
“You're a bit bewildering,” he complained.
“To you, I suppose, Mrs. Lynden is merely a
patient like half a hundred others; to me she's the
most staggering riddle I've ever come across.
Hang it, you know, she doesn't look like that sort
of woman! And, after all, what can have been
her motive for playing such extraordinary pranks?”
“Ah,” returned the doctor, “there you lay your
finger on the crux of the whole matter. One always
has to look for the dominant motive. I don't say
that one always finds it, because sometimes it
doesn't exist; but when it does it's an immense
help, and in this case, fortunately, it's as clear as
daylight. Indeed, she makes no secret of it.
From first to last she has been obsessed, as the
phrase is, by an intense longing to make her peace
with your father. Whether she is mistaken or not
in believing that he considers himself to have been
deliberately defrauded by her you know better
than I do; but I am convinced that if he can be
said to have been defrauded at all, it has been
against her wish, and ..."
“Oh, I know," broke in Geoffrey. “There has
been a misunderstanding, and nobody would have
been better pleased than I should to put an end
to it; but I must say I don't see any connection
between that and her cock-and-bull stories !”
. “The connection is plain enough. They were a
bid for pity, an appeal for pardon. These self-
centred ladies are all the same; they have no sense
of proportion or perspective. Their eyes being
perpetually turned inwards, they must needs view


DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE 281
external objects with a squint. To themselves
they are of such supreme importance that they
can't believe in the indifference of their neighbours.
A woman like Mrs. Lynden would find it almost
inconceivable that somebody whose attention she
was straining every nerve to attract might be look-
ing at her the whole time and yet not care whether
she was cutting capers or not. It's difficult to all
of us to realise how little we count for, and these
poor ladies are only a grotesque exaggeration of
ourselves. What I presume Mrs. Lynden did
realise in the long run was that she was contending
against a person of invincible obstinacy. Then she
formed the project of a marriage between you and
her daughter, and, having formed it, she didn't
stick at a trifle in her exertions to bring it off.”
“She didn't indeed !"
“However, she failed, and she recognised the
failure as final. So final, in fact, that she is left
with only one card to play. Your father, she is
persuaded, would consent to come and see her if
he was told that she is dying.”
“But she isn't dying, is she ?"
“Oh no; still you may truthfully tell him that
she thinks she is. And I'll go so far as to add on
my own score that a reconciliation with him is
needed to restore her to health.”
“Of course I can give him that message if you
tell me I ought,” said Geoffrey hesitatingly. “I'm
afraid he won't think it comes with a very good
grace from a lady who has made such fools of us
all. I hope she’s ashamed of herself.”


282
TROUBLED TRANTON
“To be honest with you,” answered Dr. Palliser
laughing, “I doubt it. A little ashamed of having
been found out, yes; but she doesn't see she has
done any particular harm to anybody. What
chiefly distresses her is that she hasn't done herself
any good. Remember, though, that she is to a
very great extent irresponsible. If I might be
allowed to offer a word of advice, I should say that
the wisest course for all parties concerned would be
to pass the sponge over bygones.”
“More easily said than done. You would under-
stand that if you knew my father.”
“Without knowing him, my dear sir, I quite
understand that we are asking him to be mag-
nanimous. You seem to think that he will decline.
Well, if so, we shall have to do what we can with a
troublesome case; but really he must be asked, and
you are the proper person to ask him.”
It was evident that Dr. Palliser, who now hast-
ened away to confer with his country colleague, was
only interested in a troublesome case from a pro-
fessional point of view. Considered from Geoffrey's
point of view, it showed every indication of remain-
ing troublesome. But as he was a fundamentally
good-natured mortal, he supposed he must try his
hand at whitewashing Mrs. Lynden. Sylvia, he
thought, would hardly, under the changed circum-
stances, wish to accompany him to Hill Place, so
he let himself out, without leave-taking, and
marched off homewards through the snow, which
had now begun to fall in earnest.
As chance would have it, he had not traversed


DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE 283
two-thirds of the distance when he came upon his
father, who never stayed indoors, be the weather
what it might, and who was examining an old elm
which had been marked for felling. Well, one
never knows how people will take things! Geoffrey,
embarking forthwith upon a summary of what he
had heard from Dr. Palliser, was ready for anything
except the shout of laughter which greeted its
conclusion.
“I knew it !" cried Nicholas, slapping his leg.
“I would have laid two to one at any time that the
woman was engineering the whole fabulous business
herself. Ask Cotton whether I didn't tell him so.
If you come to think of it, there was no other
possible explanation.”
“I daresay I'm dull-witted,” Geoffrey humbly
owned," but it's the last explanation I should have
hit upon. I don't believe Harry Marsh, who is
as sharp as you please, ever thought of it."
“It will be rather amusing to see Harry's face,”
chuckled Mr. Alder. “The sight of Gresham’s face
also should be worth a visit to Saltwood.”
“If he's to be told. But will that be necessary ?”
“I should imagine so, after all the fuss that he
has made and is making. Not that I personally
care. If you think the affair can be hushed up and
kept dark, so be it. I'm willing to acquiesce.”
But he was by no means willing to acquiesce in
the suggestion which Geoffrey now deemed it oppor-
tune to put forward.
“Certainly not,” he replied, with a complete
change of tone; “I have told you all along that I


284
TROUBLED TRANTON
would have nothing to do with the woman.
Rubbish about her dying! She is no more dying
than she was chucked into a ditch or partially
blown up. Not another word upon that subject,
please !”
So if Mr. Alder had begun by falsifying expecta-
tion, he ended by fulfilling it. Harry Marsh, for
his part, was quite as dumbfounded and crestfallen,
when informed of the latest intelligence from
Tranton, as could have been expected.
“It's like all puzzles," he ruefully remarked,
“simple enough as soon as you're told the answer.
But it isn't a nice answer, and I rather wish we
hadn't got it. What's to be done now I'm sure I
don't know.”
“I should say,” observed Mr. Alder," that the
first thing to be done is to let our Italian friend out
of the cellar. Of course, he can still be taken into
custody if you insist.”
Harry was perfectly clear that he did not wish to
insist upon anything of that sort. “Come along,
Geoffrey,” said he; "we may as well make our
apologies to the gentleman."
Giuseppe received them and their apologies with
unruffled composure, merely remarking: “I warned
you, gentlemen, that you would be sorry.”
He himself began to be sorry and uneasy when
it was intimated to him that both he and his mis-
tress might yet be called upon to answer for their
joint unlawful deeds. He then vehemently de-
clared that he alone was answerable for what had
happened. It must not be inferred from his having


DR. PALLISER DISPOSES OF THE CASE 285
endeavoured to serve the Signora that he had acted
with her sanction or knowledge.
"I thought you told us that you had acted under
orders,” said Harry. “Never mind; you needn't
tell us anything more. We don't want to hear.
You're free to go now, and I won't impress upon
you that you had better keep your mouth shut,
because I know you will."
“The question,” Geoffrey sagely remarked, after
the man had departed, “is whether we shall be
allowed to keep our mouths shut.”.
“That,” agreed Harry, “is undoubtedly the
question, and a deuced disagreeable one it is too !
I hope to Heaven we may, but I don't for a moment
believe we shall.”


THE MELTING OF THE SNOWS
287
some step, they could not for the moment take it.
It was, for example, impossible—or it might
reasonably be pronounced so—to communicate
with Saltwood Park. Geoffrey and Harry, there-
fore, played desultory billiards, stared out of the
windows at vacancy and found it soothing to
remind one another from time to time that they
would not see a human being, save such as were in
the house, for the next twenty-four hours at least,
Nevertheless, shortly after midday there hove in
sight a strange black form, advancing with a gait
suggestive of the early stages of intoxication,
across the hollows and hillocks of the park. This,
on nearer inspection, became recognisable as the
Rector of the parish, shod in a pair of Canadian
snowshoes, which, as subsequently appeared, he had
discovered in his lumber-room, and had valiantly
resolved to utilise. He did not seem to be making
particularly good weather of it; but, on the other
hand, he was keeping himself nice and warm, as his
rubicund visage testified when he arrived at the
front-door in safety and was greeted with loud
cheers.
“There !” he said, “I told Jane I'd do it, and
I've done it. Easy enough, once you grasp the
idea. All the same, I'm glad I don't live in Canada,
and if one of you young fellows will help me off
with these ridiculous things, I shall be obliged.
I've come to lunch, I may tell you."
Geoffrey politely said that that was good news,
and added, as the most probable explanation of a
visit accomplished in the face of difficulties: “I


290
TROUBLED TRANTON
is not hard to acquire, and Harry showed himself
so apt a pupil that at the end of ten minutes
shouted instructions to keep his toes turned in
and swing one leg well over the other became
superfluous.
“I'm going to try a rather longer run now," he
called out, and, increasing his pace, was soon lost
to sight.
“Stupid fellow !” grumbled the Rector, when a
quarter of an hour had elapsed without further
sign of him. “ Taken a toss into a drift, I'll be
bound. Comes of wanting to run before you can
walk. A nice job we shall have to follow him and
dig him out !”
“I expect he's all right," answered Geoffrey,
who had been laughing under his breath for some
time; “I expect he's at Tranton or near it by
now."
The Rector rolled indignant eyes. “Oho !-at
Tranton, is he? And sneaked my snow-shoes,
too, the young villain ! How am I to get home,
pray ?"
“I'm afraid you can't,” said Geoffrey; “I'm
afraid you'll have to stay where you are until he
comes back. You see, Mr. Cotton, there's a rather
powerful attraction for him at Tranton."
On learning the nature of the attraction—though
Geoffrey did not feel at liberty to speak of an actual
engagement—the good Rector became somewhat
mollified. He had had a notion, he observed, that
something of the sort might be in the wind, and he
was glad-yes, upon the whole, he might say he


292 TROUBLED TRANTON
“I fancy it has; but she's much too loyal to say
80. And there's the excuse of broken health and
shattered nerves, for which she holds your father
entirely to blame.”
“ That's pretty cool of her. What extraordinary
creatures women are !"
“Yes, if you compare them with men; but,
judged by feminine standards, they're extra-
ordinarily ordinary. I believe ninety-nine women
out of a hundred in Sylvia's place would take up
Sylvia's line.”
“ The line of pretending that Mrs. Lynden is an
injured innocent ?"
“Not so much that as the line of waving every-
thing else aside as more or less irrelevant, in view
of the fact—she calls it a fact—that her mother
will die unless a very modest request is granted to
her. Naturally, I had to promise that I would use
my utmost endeavours.”
As to the modesty of Mrs. Lynden’s request
opinions might differ; but nobody who knew
Nicholas Alder could have expected him to be
moved by Harry Marsh's utmost endeavours. He
was not even moved to anger by them. He merely
pointed out that, since he was appealed to on the
specific ground of Mrs. Lynden's being in a mori-
bund condition, and since there was no medical
evidence of Mrs. Lynden’s being in such a con-
dition, the appeal necessarily failed. After Harry's
discomfiture, Geoffrey had another try at him,
only to find him adamant.
“I suppose you mean well, but surely you must


THE MELTING OF THE SNOWS
293
be aware that you are wasting time and breath,”
he said.
Nevertheless, the melting of the snow, which, as
soon as it began, was a rapid process, was to syn-
chronise with the melting of far more stubborn
material. It was not that Sylvia Lynden, who
tramped bravely through the slush to demand an
audience of the master of Hill Place, was any better
equipped with arguments than her defeated pre-
decessors, but that Nicholas Alder was at a distinct
disadvantage with her sex. He did not very much
like women; for years he had held little or no com-
merce with them; he was even a little afraid of
them, in the sense that he regarded them as im-
pervious to reason—and what is a reasonable man
to do against an unreasoning being ? History and
experience attest that he only too often gives way
to her in sheer despair. Some such half-conscious
dread may, indeed, have been at the root of Mr.
Alder's obstinate refusal to meet Mrs. Lynden.
Discourtesy, however, must have limits, and he
did not see how he could refuse to receive her in-
trusive daughter. Sylvia, therefore, was ushered
into his presence and was greeted with a cold,
forbidding bow which did not daunt her in the
least.
“Mr. Alder,” she began, starting her business
with commendable promptitude, “I want you to
walk back to Tranton with me, please, and see my
mother, who is very ill. Of course I know that
you would rather not, but I can't help that. I
don't ask this as a favour; you are not the sort


294
TROUBLED TRANTON
of person to grant favours, and certainly, after
the way in which you have treated us, you are
the last person of whom I should care to beg
one. ..."
“One moment !” broke in Nicholas. “You
imply, Miss Lynden, that I have given you and
your mother cause to complain, although I should
have thought that, all things considered, complaint
might come more properly from me than from you;
but let that pass. I am sorry to appear disobliging,
but, as I cannot believe that any good purpose
would be served by a meeting between Mrs. Lynden
and myself, I must absolutely decline to do as you
wish.”
“I was saying when you interrupted me,” re-
sumed Sylvia inexorably, “ that I don't ask this
as a favour; I require it of you as a human duty
which only a man who didn't mind being a delib-
erate murderer would try to shirk. It isn't a ques-
tion of what you call good purposes; it's a question
of life or death.”
Thereupon she produced a statement, written
and signed by Dr. Munday, to the effect that, in
his judgment, the thwarting of so ardent a desire
as Mrs. Lynden had evinced would be highly preju-
dicial to the patient's health and might be attended
by grave consequences.
If Nicholas Alder had given utterance to what
was in his mind, he would have said, “I don't
believe a word of it!" But who could say such a
thing to a girl whose troubled and anxious grey
eyes used a language very different from that em-


THE MELTING OF THE SNOWS 295
ployed by her somewhat sharp tongue ? She, at
all events, believed it. So, it had to be assumed,
did Munday; and so, perhaps, did Mrs. Lynden.
“You hold a pistol to my head,” he remarked.
“ It may or may not be loaded; but I won't call
you a murderess, and I suppose I had better
not give you any pretext for calling me &
murderer.”
give you an and I supposeut I won't call


CHAPTER XXVII
TERMS OF PEACE
NICHOLAS ALDER had a great gift of silence; yet
even he could not walk all the way to Tranton
under the slippery, muddy conditions without
speaking a word to the young woman who strove
so valiantly to keep step with him. Probably he
did not know that he was striding along at an in-
considerately swift pace; but he did recognise that
it was atrocious weather for any lady to be out in,
and he was forced to some reluctant appreciation
of the pluck which had faced an enterprise
more formidable than the elements. True, he
had not shown himself formidable, but that was
largely because she had shown herself so plucky.
Conversation, therefore, if spasmodic, was not
inimical, and as, by a tacit mutual understanding,
contentious topics were barred, it naturally turned
from the state of the atmosphere and the ground
to fox-hunting, which was a passion with one of
the pair, while it had become a matter of more or
less intelligent interest to the other. To discover
that Miss Lynden really enjoyed seeing hounds
working was to acknowledge perforce that she had
claims upon the esteem of an old-fashioned sports-
man. Thus it came to pass that both he and she
were in better humour with one another when they
296


TERMS OF PEACE
297
arrived at their destination than they had been on
setting out.
That is not to say that Mr. Alder was at all
reconciled to the ordeal which awaited him. An
ordeal it must needs prove; for, whatever might be
Miss Lynden's redeeming qualities, there could be
no manner of doubt as to what her mother was, nor
could there be any possibility of neighbourly inter-
course with such a woman. It would be necessary
to shake hands with her; it would be necessary,
though difficult and scarcely honest, to announce
that he bore no malice; but these proceedings need
not and should not take long.
Giuseppe, who opened the door, had a gaze for
his recent custodian which was oddly compounded
of deference and defiance. There was a moment
of waiting while Sylvia ran upstairs to prepare her
mother, and he profited by it to say:
“The Signora is very ill, sir.”
“So I am sorry to hear," answered Mr. Alder.
“I daresay she will be better soon, though."
“I think that will depend upon you, sir,” re-
joined Giuseppe, and added, in a lowered voice:
“I am only a servant, but it will not be wise for
any man to harm the Signora while I live.”
His lips still twitching with the smile evoked by
this grave monition, Nicholas was conducted into
the bedroom where Mrs. Lynden reclined in a low
chair by the fireside and held out her thin, trans-
parent fingers to the blaze. She gave him in return
a smile so bright, so gentle and so pathetic that he
winced from it as from a blow. The truth was that


298
TROUBLED TRANTON
he was not only shocked by her emaciated aspect
but that something about her—a subtle and de-
signed combination of colours, perhaps, or could
it be that approach of the end which sometimes
restores to the dying a semblance of their long-dead
selves ?—seemed to confront him, not with the
thrusting, mincing Mrs. Lynden who had accosted
him in the churchyard on a vexatious occasion
but with the poor little Margaret Crawford of pre-
historic times.
“Well, you have come at last,” said she. “It
is very good of you.”
He quite thought that it was, and he likewise
thought that this was no time for indulging in
sentimental reminiscences. He dismissed them
with little difficulty and replied:
“I came because your daughter was so insistent
about it; but ..."
“Oh, and because you knew it was the last con-
cession I should ever implore of you,” she inter-
rupted. “Don't grudge me the small comfort of
believing that you couldn't hold out against that,
implacable though you are."
She spoke almost laughingly, yet with an eager
tremor in her voice which did not fail to touch him,
in spite of himself.
“Sit down," she went on, “and listen for a very
few minutes. You can't escape this time, and you'll
believe perhaps that a dying woman is speaking the
truth. It is the simple truth that I never expected
or wished to inherit so much as a five-pound note
from Uncle Sidney. I was horrified when I heard


TERMS OF PEACE
299
how you had been treated, and my first impulse
was to make way for you. Of course that was
stupid of me; I might have known that you would
take my offer as an insincere impertinence. But
it wasn't insincere, and I thought, if I could only
see you, I should at least be able to convince you
that I was not a willing supplanter. Well, you
wouldn't see me. Then I began to wonder whether
wrongs mightn't be righted by a marriage between
our children. That wasn't so very unnatural, was
it ?”
“Possibly not. Still, your notion of righting
wrongs seems to involve the use of some curiously
wrong means. I say nothing about the imaginary
letters and the fictitious assaults and all the rest
of that tomfoolery. I don't know what you ex-
pected it to do for you; but, when all's said, nobody
except yourself has suffered much from it. Laying
violent hands upon unoffending persons and ex-
torting pledges from them is another matter,
though.”
“Oh, well,” said Mrs. Lynden, smiling, “that
was wrong, I suppose. It was Lucia's idea, not
mine. I never should have been clever enough to
hatch such a plot, and how it was worked Giuseppe
says he isn't at liberty to tell me. However, as
you say, nobody is any the worse.”
“I didn't say so, and I should think Geoffrey,
who has been made to swear that he won't marry
Miss Rowe, might be inclined to differ.”
“Ah, poor Geoffrey! Not that the girl would
have taken him; so it doesn't really make any dif-


302
TROUBLED TRANTON
“Margaret,” said Mr. Alder, getting up, “I trust
that you will live for a long time yet, and—and I
look forward to seeing you often; but let us not talk
any more about the past when we meet. There
are incidents connected with it, both recent and
remote, which are best ignored.”
Upon that he made good his retreat, hoping that
he had not been ungracious, flattering himself that
he had at least not been ungenerous. To Giuseppe,
who was stationed at the foot of the staircase, he
remarked in passing:
“Well, you needn't begin to sharpen your
stiletto; Mrs. Lynden is not dissatisfied with me,
you'll find.”


306
TROUBLED TRANTON
who brought him into line at length by repre-
senting that the prospect of getting a conviction
would be dubious.
“ You can't put me in the witness-box,” she ob-
served, “ because I'm sworn to tell nothing, and
you won't do much good by calling Mr. Geoffrey
Alder, who will be too angry with you for your
officiousness to give you any help. The end of it
will be that nine people out of ten will think you
have had your leg pulled. If I were you, Uncle
Augustus, I should leave well or ill—whichever
you like to call it—alone."
“ So should I,” said the Rector. “You'll get
no thanks from anybody if you bring the charge
home, and you'll look pretty foolish if you don't.”
Sir Augustus hesitated. Hating to look foolish,
and conscious that his unfounded suspicions of
Nicholas Alder had already made him look so in
some degree, he applied, as in moments of in-
decision he occasionally deigned to do, to his wife.
“What do you say, Isabella, what do you say ?"
“Better drop it,” was her ladyship’s concise
counsel.
So, with a great sigh, he agreed to drop it. Not,
he was careful to add, on account of the absurd
considerations put forward by his niece—“Neither
you nor Geoffrey Alder would have refused to give
evidence, my dear, I can tell you !”—but because
he felt, with Cotton, that they had to face a choice
of evils, the lesser of which, perhaps, was to leave
an impudent malefactor unchastised.
“For all that, I don't recommend the fellow to


DOROTHY BREAKS THE RULES 307
come within reach of my fist or my foot,” con-
cluded Sir Augustus, with a final trumpet-blast
for the benefit of his audience and the vindication
of his self-respect.
“It would be rather a joke," Lady Gresham
unfeelingly remarked, when she was alone with
her niece shortly afterwards,“ if this Giuseppe man
were to walk over here and invite Augustus to
kick him. Seems to me that the Giuseppe man is
the only person who marches out of the affair
with his chin up.”
“I don't know why I should hang my head,”
said Dorothy.
“I don't know why you should toss it. You
were uncommonly easily gulled to begin with, and
you didn't, as far as I can make out, attempt to
show fight after you were nabbed. Simply caved
in. You haven't behaved well to the man either.”
“ To Giuseppe ?"
“ To young Alder, who is worth a dozen of you,
saving your presence. Flies to your rescue, and
is sent to the right-about for his pains. Your old
game, of course. Mind you don't play it once too
often, that's all.”
“ Aunt Isabella, you know that I never lose my
temper with you, because you're such an old dear,
in spite of your rudeness and injustice; but I must
say that it takes a temper as sweet as mine to put
up with you sometimes. Nobody could have been.
nicer than I have been to Mr. Alder from first to
last, and if he isn't pleased with me, really I can't
help it. I did thank him for rescuing me; although,


308
TROUBLED TRANTON
as a matter of fact, he made a most unnecessary
fuss before he would give the promise that had to
be given.”
“This is the first I've heard about a promise.
Why had it to be given ?”
“ Because I wasn't allowed to go until he gave
it, and it was reasonable enough under the circum-
stances. He must have known that they would
insist upon something of the kind. He has no
right to sulk; but because he does you blame me,
and I think it's rather unfair of you. You've
always been so much more like a man than a woman
yourself, Aunt Isabella, that you look at these
matters in a man's unfair way. It isn't our fault
that, whenever we try to be kind and pleasant to
men, they invariably take it for granted that we
must adore them and are furious if it turns out
that we don't."
“Perhaps,” said Lady Gresham drily, “ Geoffrey
Alder isn't furious; perhaps he's only disgusted.
It doesn't much signify what he is, for he's off to
rejoin his regiment in a day or two. I had a line
from him this morning, with apologies for not
calling to say good-bye.”
Dorothy flushed a little. “Rather bad manners,"
she remarked.
“Shall I let him know that you think so ? I'll
say for the young man that his manners as a rule
are good, and very likely he would respond to a
hint. Would you like me to send him one ?”
“Certainly not,” Dorothy replied, getting up
and preparing to leave the room. “His manners
;


DOROTHY BREAKS THE RULES 309
are his affair, and I don't want you to give him
hints of any kind, thanks. It will be absolutely
the same thing to me if I never set eyes on him
again.”
Lady Gresham, chuckling to herself over a pro-
hibition which she appraised at what she took to
be its inherent worth, sat down forthwith and,
upon the strength of it, scrawled the following lines
in her large, untidy handwriting:
“ DEAR GEOFFREY,
“ Thanks for your note. All the same, you
could spare time to take leave of me if you chose.
Dorothy calls you bad-mannered, but says she
doesn't care if she never sets eyes on you again;
so you needn't trouble to apologise, you see. We
shall be at home at about five o'clock tomorrow.
“Yours sincerely,
“ ISABELLA GRESHAM.”
This condensed, but pregnant communication
was delivered in due course to the person ad-
dressed, who showed it, to Harry Marsh and in-
quired what he thought of it.
“I think you'll have to go,” was Harry's reply.
“Oh, I suppose I shall have to go, whether I
like it or not. But what is the old girl driving at ?
What does she want with me?"
“That's hardly the point, is it? You mean,
what does the young girl want with you ? Per-
haps she'll tell you if you ask her. By the way,
do you consider that that oath of yours still holds
good ?”


310
TROUBLED TRANTON
“Of course I do.”
“Because I doubt whether she does. She came
over to Tranton yesterday afternoon to see Sylvia,
and, from what Sylvia said afterwards, I fancy
that you were the principal subject of conver-
sation.”
“I shouldn't wonder. Well, I'm afraid I shall
have to disappoint Miss Rowe. I don't see the
force of perjuring myself for the sake of adding
one more trophy to her bag and being politely
informed of what I knew already."
“ Apparently your opinion of the young woman
isn't quite what it was.”
“One speaks as one finds. I must admit that
you gave me fair warning.”
“Did I ? I'm sorry if I said anything of a
nature to create prejudice, because I really don't
think she's a bad sort of a girl, as girls go. One
doesn't expect them to be all Sylvias. She looked
so depressed yesterday that I was almost exhorting
her to buck up and bend her mind to the problem
of how to evade a solemn oath. She'll manage it,
I expect. Women, with a few scarce exceptions,
are always equal to such emergencies.”
This patronising tone was, for some reason or
other, so much more objectionable to Geoffrey
than any censure upon Dorothy would have been
that he hastened to effect a diversion by inquiring
how Mrs. Lynden was getting on.
“Firstrate," answered Harry. “Your father
has worked a miracle of healing, and even Sylvia,
who isn't exactly fond of him, allows that he de-


DOROTHY BREAKS THE RULES 311
serves her eternal gratitude. It's a good job that
old Cotton has prevailed upon Sir Augustus
Gresham to keep his mouth shut.”
“ Yes. Not that the governor would have
allowed him to open it. The governor never does
things by halves, and now that he has forgiven
Mrs. Lynden, he isn't far from thinking her more
sinned against than sinning. He'd certainly choke
old Augustus before he'd have her held, up to
public obloquy. The fact is that he didn't believe
she was ill at all, and the sight of her gave him
rather a nasty jar. He told me last night that he
doubted whether she would live much longer."
“She'll live to be ninety; but I don't think we'll
say so to him just at present. What a comedy it
has all been, to be sure ! Not without possibilities
of a tragedy in it, though, at one moment and
another.”
“ It has worked out all right for you, anyhow,”
observed Geoffrey, sighing. “You needn't com-
father a nadat all, and it is that ha
plain.”
“I don't, dear boy, and I sincerely hope that it's
going to work out all right for you too. Upon my
word, I don't see any reason why it shouldn't-
given a little ingenuity and good-will."
The worst of happy people (who are otherwise
agreeable to contemplate) is that they are seldom
sympathetic. The world being, for the moment,
so pleasant a place to them, they will have it that
the pleasantness is universal, lest their own beatific
vision should be marred by discordant features.
Geoffrey, better situated than his friend for the


312
TROUBLED TRANTON
recognition of grey realities, could easily believe
that Dorothy might enjoy the triumph of inducing
him to forswear himself, but was under no illusion
as to her sentiments. It was not that she cared
for him, or ever had; it was only that her vanity
was wounded by his leaving the neighbourhood
without bidding her farewell. Well, if that was
all, she should find that he was not only willing
to bid her farewell, but that he could do it as
cheerfully as she pleased.
With a mien so resolutely smiling, therefore, as
to proclaim its artificiality aloud he marched up
to Lady Gresham's tea-table at the appointed hour
and told her how sorry he was that she should
have thought him wanting in civility.
“One always gets a bit rushed towards the end
of one's leave, and, as you may suppose, we have
been having a fairly lively time of it at home these
last few days."
“You too ?” asked Lady Gresham. “I thought,
from what I heard, that you had been rather left
out of the liveliness. No matter. Sit down, and
let me have your version of the Tranton saga.
Up to now we have only had Mr. Cotton's, which
Augustus kept interrupting every minute; so it's
still more or less of a jig-saw puzzle to me.”
Geoffrey obligingly pieced it together for her.
She had one or two pertinent queries to address
to him; but Dorothy, at whom he carefully avoided
looking, had none, nor did she offer a single com-
ment upon his narrative. When at last he could
not help stealing a side-glance at her, it struck him
ng a fairly as you made towards the


DOROTHY BREAKS THE RULES 313
that she was unusually subdued and serious in
aspect; he even fancied that he could detect a
suspicion of reproach in her violet eyes. But he
steeled himself against any such insidious appeals.
Well he knew what she wanted, and quite deter-
mined he was that she should not get it. Luckily,
in her aunt's protecting presence, she could not.
But on a sudden, and without any formality of
pretext, Lady Gresham was pleased to withdraw
that protection from him. She simply got up and
stumped out of the room, leaving two persons who
had hitherto ignored one another to fight or make
friends, as they might feel disposed. Geoffrey, for
his part, did not feel disposed to do either. He
therefore steered a safe middle course by remark-
ing that if the beastly weather would only behave
itself, Miss Rowe would soon be out with the
hounds again—to which statement of an obvious
fact no reply was vouchsafed. However, he got
a direct and unexpected one when he went on to
regret that he had had his last day's hunting for
the season in that part of the world.
“Well," answered Dorothy, “I'm afraid I can't
pretend to be inconsolable. You began in such a
promising way, and you end so unsatisfactorily !
I'm speaking of you in the character of a com-
panion to jog home with, you understand.”
“I perfectly understand,” returned Geoffrey,
“ that you have never spoken or thought of me in
any other character. I daresay I haven't im-
proved. The last time that we tried jogging home
together you called me quarrelsome, I remember.”


314
TROUBLED TRANTON
“So you were. You look as if you would dearly
love to pick a quarrel with me now. Might one
make so bold as to ask why ?”
“I haven't the slightest wish to quarrel,”
Geoffrey declared, thus driven to bay, “and I
don't see why you should wish to make me disgrace
myself, either. What's the pleasure of it? You
know the truth just as well as if I were to tell it
to you."
Dorothy made a gesture of dissent. “I should
rather like to be told the truth, if you don't mind.
Perhaps, when I have heard it, you'll explain
where the disgrace comes in."
“Oh, you might not call it disgraceful to break
an oath,” said Geoffrey, sighing impatiently;
“according to Harry Marsh and Giuseppe Ricci,
women haven't the same standard as men in these
matters. What does it signify, after all ? At any
rate, I'm not forbidden to tell you what's no news
to you—that I love you. I didn't intend to say
so; but, since you insist upon having the truth,
there you are !"
Never, surely, was an avowal of passion less pas-
sionately or more ungraciously enunciated. Yet
Dorothy did not take exception to it. Her only
remark, accompanied by a low laugh, was:
“Well, you needn't look so savage about it. I
don't object to being loved; on the contrary, I
quite like it. One can't help one's feelings, can
one ?”
“No,” he rejoined bitterly, “one can't even
when one would give a lot to be able to help them.


DOROTHY BREAKS THE RULES 315
One doesn't particularly want to talk about them,
though; so I'll say good-bye now.”
He extended his hand, which she took and held,
without rising, while she continued to laugh under
her breath.
“ You won't allow anybody else to get a word
in,” she complained, "and there are still several
things to be talked about. I was just going to say,
to begin with, that I can't help my feelings,
either.”
Now, that speech was, of course, open to two
interpretations; but when he looked her in the face,
and when she looked steadily back at him, one of
them became in an instant as irresistible as it was
incredible.
“Dorothy," he stammered, dropping on his
knees beside her, forgetting all about his oath,
forgetting everything except the dawn of an ec-
static hope, "you don't mean - oh, you can't
mean!..."
But it appeared that she could and did. It
appeared that-without being in the least aware
of it-she had really loved him almost from the
very beginning. From the very beginning, at all
events, she had had a feeling about him that she
had never had about anybody in the world before.
Asked what sort of a feeling, she replied:
“The sort of feeling that one gets when one's
clothes fit absolutely. It's a rich and rare sensa-
tion; but you wouldn't understand, I suppose.”
He understood well enough to be wildly exultant
and, for a minute or two, as eloquent as a restricted
hat sort of anybody in the him that she


316
TROUBLED TRANTON
command of language would allow him to be.
Then, like an abrupt shower of ice-cold water,
there descended upon him the dread recollection
that he was tampering with forbidden fruit. He
fell back, squatting forlornly and ludicrously upon
his heels, while the agonised cry broke from
him:
“Oh, how could you let me take that accursed
oath! How could you order me and force me to
take it !”
“I didn't,” she replied; "all I asked you to do
was to swear that you wouldn't put any questions
to me about my experiences in that horrid place.
I was told that that was all you were required to
do, and naturally I couldn't understand why you
should hesitate. It wasn't until I saw Sylvia
yesterday that I heard how we had both been
tricked.”
Geoffrey sprang up, grinding his teeth. “I'll
kill that devil Giuseppe !” he said. “The one
thing he knew or cared about was that I was to
be made to swear I would never ask you to marry
me, and when, as a matter of course, I refused,
the only way of getting me to do it was to bring
me written instructions from you, which he was
clever enough to extort on false pretences.”
“I see,” murmured Dorothy, drawing in her
breath. “I don't know whether he deserves to
be killed, but I do think he deserves a sound
thrashing."
“He shall have it. You wouldn't have written
that note, then, if you had known what it meant ?''
I know whothy, d
thrashired, but









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