A C O I N O F
E D W A R D VII.
A DETECTIVE STORY
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
“THE MystERY of A HANsom cAB’”; “THE PAGAN's cup”;
“cLAUDE DuvAL of 95”; “THE RAINBow FEATHER,” Etc.
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G. W. DILLINGHAM eoMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK


|MAY 1.
A Coin of Edward VII.
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1926
CopyRIGHT, 1903, By
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
Issued February, 1903.
º


i
CHAP.
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
xxi.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CHRISTMAS Tºrº............................ 7
AN ANONYMoUs LETTER.......................... I6
A Mysterious Visitor........................... 26
THE CHURCHYARD. ............................... 37
AFTERWARDs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .............. 46
THE CASE AGAINST ANNE......................... 55
OLIVER MoRLEY................................... 65
THE IRONY of FATE.............................. 74
A STRANGE DISCOVERY............................ 84
ON A FRESH TRAIL............................... 96
PRINCESS KARACSAY.............................. IO6
MRS. PARRY's TEA............................... I 18
MRS. BENKER REAPPEARs......................... I 29
TREASURE TROVE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I39
AN Awkward INTERVIEw......................... 148
THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENs....................... I 59
PART OF THE TRUTH. ............................. 169
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT. .......................... 18O
THE CLUE LEADS to LoNDON...................... I90
MANY A SLIP 'Twixt CUP AND LIP............... 2OI
A STORY OF THE PAST............................ 2 I 2
OLGA's Evidence. . . . . . . . . . . . ..................... 223
MARK DANE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
A RAT IN A CoRNER.............................. 245
A CATASTROPHE,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259
THE END OF THE TROUBLE........................ 272





ACOIN OF EDWARD VII.
CHAPTER I
THE CHRISTMAS TREE
WO old ladies sat in the corner of the drawing-room.
The younger—a colonial cousin of the elder—was
listening eagerly to gossip which dealt with English so-
ciety in general, and Rickwell society in particular. They
presumably assisted in the entertainment of the children
already gathered tumultuously round the Christmas tree,
... provided by Mr. Morley; but Mrs. Parry's budget of
scandal was too interesting to permit the relaxing of Mrs.
McKail’s attention.
“Ah yes,” said Mrs. Parry, a hatchet-faced dame with a
venomous tongue and a retentive memory, “Morley's fond
of children, although he has none of his own.”
“But those three pretty little girls?” said Mrs. McKail,
who was fat, fair, and considerably over forty.
“Triplets,” replied the other, sinking her voice. “The
only case of triplets I have met with, but not his children.
No, Mrs. Morley was a widow with triplets and money.
Morley married her for the last, and had to take the first
as part of the bargain. I don't deny but what he does his
duty by the three.”


8 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Mrs. McKail's keen grey eyes wander to the fat, rosy
little man who laughingly struggled amidst a bevy of
children, the triplets included. “He seems fond of them,”
said she, nodding.
“Seems l’’ emphasised Mrs. Parry shrewdly. “Ha! I
don’t trust the man. If he were all he seems, would his
wife's face wear that expression? No, don't tell me.”
Mrs. Morley was a tall, lean, serious woman, dressed
in sober grey. She certainly looked careworn, and ap-
peared to participate in the festivities more as a duty than
for the sake of amusement. “He is said to be a good hus-
band,” observed Mrs. McKail doubtfully. “Are you
sure?”
“I’m sure of nothing where men are concerned. I
wouldn’t trust one of them. Morley is attentive enough
to his wife, and he adores the triplets—so he says; but I
go by his eye. Orgy is written in that eye. It can pick
out a pretty woman, my dear. Oh, his wife doesn't look
sick with anxiety for nothing!”
“At any rate, he doesn't seem attentive to that pretty
girl over there—the one in black with the young man.”
“Girl! She's twenty-five if she's an hour. I believe she
paints and puts belladonna in her eyes. I wouldn't have
her for my governess. No, she's too artful, though I can't
agree with you about her prettiness.”
“Is she the governess?”
Mrs. Parry nodded, and the ribbons on her cap curled
like Medusa's snakes. “For six months Mrs. Morley has
put up with her. She teaches the Tricolor goodness
knows what.”
“The Tricolor?”
“So we call the triplets. Don't you see one is dressed in
red, another in white, and the third in blue? Morley's
idea, I believe. As though a man had any right to interest


THE CHRISTMAS TREE 9
himself in such things. We call them collectively the Tri-
color, and Anne Denham is the governess. Pretty? No.
Artful? Yes. See how she is trying to fascinate Ware!”
“That handsome young man with the fair moustache
and —”
“The same,” interrupted Mrs. Parry, too eager to black-
en character to give her friend a chance of concluding her
sentence. “Giles Ware, of Kingshart—the head of one of
our oldest Essex families. He came into the estates two
years ago, and has settled down into a country squire
after a wild life. But the old Adam is in him, my dear.
Look at his smile—and she doesn’t seem to mind. Brazen
creature!” And Mrs. Parry shuddered virtuously.
The other lady thought that Ware had a most fascinat-
ing smile, and was a remarkably handsome young man
of the fair Saxon type. He certainly appeared to be much
interested in the conversation of Miss Denham. But what
young man could resist so beautiful a woman? For in
spite of Mrs. Parry's disparagement Anne was a splendid-
ly handsome brunette—“with a temper,” added Mrs. Mc-
Kail mentally, as she eyed the well-suited couple.
Mrs. Parry's tongue still raged like a prairie fire. “And
she know's he's engaged,” she snorted. “Look at poor
Daisy Kent out in the cold, while that woman monopolizes
Ware! Ught"
“Is Miss Kent engaged to Mr. Ware?”
“For three years they have been engaged—a family ar-
rangement, I understand. The late Kent and the late
Ware,” explained Mrs. Parry, who always spoke thus po-
litely of men, “were the greatest of friends, which I can
well understand, as each was an idiot. However, Ware
died first and left his estate to Giles. A few months later
Kent died and made Morley the guardian of his daughter
Daisy, already contracted to be married to Giles.”


THE CHRISTMAS TREE. II
spend Daisy Kent's money when he got it. “If it ever
does come to her,” finished this amiable person.
“Did her father leave her money?” asked Mrs. McKail.
“Hel” snapped the other; “my dear, he was as poor as
a church mouse, and left Daisy only a hundred a year to
live on. That is the one decent thing about Morley. He
did take Daisy in, and he does treat her well, though to
be sure she is a pretty girl, and, as I say, he has an eye.”
“Then where does the fortune come from ?”
“Kent was a half-brother who went out to America,
and it is rumored that he made a fortune, which he in-
tends to leave to his niece—that's Daisy. But I don't
know all the details of this,” added Mrs. Parry, rubbing
her beaky nose angrily; “I must find out somehow. But
here, my dear, those children are stripping the tree. Let
us assist. We must give pleasure to the little ones. I
have had six of my own, all married,” ended the good
lady irrelevantly.
She might have added that her four sons and two
daughters kept at a safe distance from their respected
parent. On occasions she did pay a visit to one or the
other, and usually created a disturbance. Yet this spite-
ful, mischief-making woman read her Bible, thought her-
self a Christian, and judged others as harshly as she
judged herself leniently. Mrs. McKail was stopping with
her, therefore could not tell her what she thought of her
behavior; but she privately determined to cut short her
visit and get away from this disagreeable old creature.
In the meantime Mrs. Parry, smiling like the wicked fairy
godmother with many teeth, advanced to meddle with the
Christmas tree and set the children by the ears. She was
a perfect Até.
Giles said as much to Miss Denham, and she nervously
agreed with him as though fearful lest her assent should


I2 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
reach the ears of Mrs. Parry. “She has no love for me,”
whispered Anne. “I think you had better talk to Daisy,
Mr. Ware.”
“I prefer to talk to you,” said Giles coolly. “Daisy is
like her name—a sweet little English meadow flower—and
I love her very dearly. But she has never been out of
England, and sometimes we are at a loss what to talk
about. Now you?”
“I am a gipsy,” interrupted Anne, lest he should say
something too complimentary; “a she-Ulysses, who has
travelled far and wide. In spite of your preference for
my conversation, I wish I were Daisy.”
“Do you?” asked Ware eagerly? “Why?”
Anne flushed and threw back her head proudly. She
could not altogether misunderstand his meaning or the
expression of his eyes, but she strove to turn the conversa-
tion with a laugh. “You ask too many questions, Mr.
Ware,” she said coldly. “I think Daisy is one of the
sweetest of girls, and I envy her. To have a happy home,
a kind guardian as Mr. Morley is, and a-’” She was
about to mention Giles, but prudently suppressed the re-
mark.
“Go on,” he said quietly, folding his arms. -
She shook her head and bit her lip. “You keep me
from my work. I must attend to my duties. A poor gov-
erness, you know.” With a laugh she joined the band of
children, who were besieging Morley.
Giles remained where he was, his eyes fixed moodily
on the ground. For more than five months he had fought
against an ever-growing passion for the governess. He
knew that he was in honor bound to marry Daisy, and
that she loved him dearly, yet his heart was with Anne
Denham. Her beauty, her brilliant conversation, her
charm of manner, all appealed to him strongly. And he


THE CHRISTMAS TREE I3
had a shrewd suspicion that she was not altogether indif-
ferent to him, although she loyally strove to hide her true
feelings. Whenever he became tender, she ruthlessly
laughed at him: she talked constantly of Daisy and of her
many charms, and on every occasion strove to throw her
into the company of Giles. She managed to do so on
this occasion, for Giles heard a rather pettish voice at his
elbow, and looked down to behold a flushed face. Daisy
was angry, and looked the prettier for her anger.
“You have scarcely spoken to me all night,” she said,
taking his arm; “I do think you are unkind.”
“My dear, you have been so busy with the children.
And, indeed,” he added, with a grave smile, “you are
sparcely more than a child yourself, Daisy.”
“I am woman enough to feel neglect.”
“I apologize—on my knees, dearest.”
“Oh, it's easy saying so,” pouted Daisy, “but you know
Anne—” -
“What about Miss Denham?” asked Giles, outwardly
calm.
“You like her.”
“She is a very charming woman, but you are to be my
wife. Jealous little girl, can I not be ordinarily civil to
Miss Denham without you getting angry?”
“You need not be so very civil.”
“I won't speak to her at all if you like,” replied Ware,
with a fine assumption of carelessness.
“Oh, if you only wouldn't,” Daisy stopped—then con-
tinued passionately, “I wish she would go away. I don't
like her.”
“She is fond of you, Daisy.”
“Yes. And a cat is fond of a mouse. Mrs. Parry
says 35
“Don’t quote that odious woman, child,” interrupted
Ware sharply. “She has a bad word for everyone.”


I4 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Well, she doesn’t like Anne.”
“Does she like anyone?” asked Giles coolly. “Come,
Daisy, don't wrinkle your face, and I'll take you out for a
drive in my motor-car in a few days.”
“To-morrow ! to-morrow !” cried Daisy, her face
wreathed in smiles.
“No. I daren't do that on Christmas Day. What would
the rector say? As the lord of the manor I must set an
example. On Boxing Day if you like.”
“We will go alone?”
“Certainly. Who do you expect me to ask other than
you?”
“Anne,” said Daisy spitefully, and before he could re-
ply she also moved away to join the children. Giles
winced. He felt that he was in the wrong and had given
his little sweetheart some occasion for jealousy. He re-
solved to mend his ways and shun the too fascinating so-
ciety of the enchantress. Shaking off his moody feeling,
he came forward to assist Morley. The host was a little
man, and could not reach the gifts that hung on the top-
most boughs of the tree. Giles being tall and having a
long reach of arm, came to his aid.
“That's right, that's right,” gasped Morley, his round
face red and shining with his exertions, “the best gifts
are up here.”
“As the best gifts of man are from heaven,” put in
Mrs. Parry, with her usual tact.
Morley laughed. “Quite so, quite so,” he said, careful
as was everyone else not to offend the lady, “but on this
occasion we can obtain the best gifts. I and Ware and
Mrs. Morley have contributed to the tree. The children
have their presents, now for the presents of the grown-
ups.”
By this time the children were gorged with food and


THE CHRISTMAS TREE I5
distracted by many presents. They were seated every-
where, many on the floor, and the room was a chaos of
dolls, trumpets, toy-horses, and drums. The chatter of
the children and the noise of the instruments was fearful.
But Morley seemed to enjoy the riot, and even his wife's
grave face relaxed when she saw her three precious jew-
els rosy with pleasure. She drew Anne's attention to
them, and the governess smiled sympathetically. Miss
Denham was popular with everyone save Daisy in that
happy home.
Meantime Giles handed down the presents. Mrs. Mor-
ley received a chain purse from her affectionate husband;
Mrs. Parry a silver cream-jug, which she immediately
priced as cheap; Mrs. McKail laughed delightedly over
a cigarette-case, which she admitted revealed her favorite
vice; and the rector was made happy with a motor-bicycle.
“It has been taken to your house this evening,” ex-
plained Morley. “We couldn't put that on the tree. Ha!
hal”
“A muff-chain for Daisy,” said Giles, presenting her
with the packet, “and I hope you will like it, dear.”
“Did you buy it?” she asked, sparkling and palpitating.
“Of course. I bought presents both for you and Miss
Denham. Here is yours,” he added, turning to the gov-
erness, who grew rosy, “a very simple bangle. I wish it
were more worthy of your acceptance,” and he handed it
with a bow.
Daisy, her heart filled with jealousy, glided away.
Giles saw her face, guessed her feeling, and followed. In
a corner he caught her, and placed something on her fin-
ger. “Our engagement ring,” he whispered, and Daisy
once more smiled. Her lover smiled also. But his heart
was heavy.


CHAPTER II
AN ANONYMOUS LETTER
FTER the riot of the evening came the silence of the
night. The children departed amidst the stormy
laughter of Morley, and it was Anne's task to see that
the triplets were put comfortably to bed. She sat in the
nursery, and watched the washing and undressing and
hair-curling, and listened to their joyous chatter about the
wonderful presents and the wonderful pleasures of that
day. Afterwards, when they were safely tucked away,
she went down to supper and received the compliments of
Morley on her capability in entertaining children. Mrs.
Morley also, and in a more genuine way, added her quota
of praise.
“You are my right hand, Miss Denham,” she said, with
a smile in her weary blue eyes. “I don't know what I
shall do without you.”
“Oh, Miss Denham is not going,” said the master of the
house.
“Who knows?” smiled Anne. “I have always been a
wanderer, and it may be that I shall be called away sud-
denly.”
It was on the tip of Morley's tongue to ask by whom,
but the hardening of Anne's face and the flash of her dark
eyes made him change his mind. All the same he con-
cluded that there was someone by whom she might be
summoned and guessed also that the obeying of the call


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 17
would come as an unwilling duty. Mrs. Morley saw no-
thing of this. She had not much brain power, and what
she had was devoted to considerations dealing with the
passing hour. At the present moment she could only think
that it was time for supper, and that all present were hun-
gry and tired.
Hungry Anne certainly was not, but she confessed to
feeling weary. Making some excuse she retired to her
room, but not to sleep. When the door was locked she
put on her dressing-gown, shook down her long black
hair, and sat by the fire.
Her thoughts were not pleasant. Filled with shame at
the knowledge of his treachery towards the woman he
was engaged to marry, Giles had kept close to Daisy's side
during supper and afterwards. He strove to interest him-
self in her somewhat childish chatter, and made her so
happy by his mere presence that her face was shining with
smiles. Transfigured by love and by gratified vanity,
Daisy looked really pretty, and in her heart was scornful
of poor Anne thus left out in the cold. She concluded that
Giles loved her best after all, and did not see how he
every now and then stealthily glanced at the governess
wearily striving to interest herself in the breezy conversa-
tion of Morley or the domestic chatter of his wife. In
her heart Anne had felt a pang at this desertion, although
she knew that it was perfectly justifiable, and unable to
bear the sight of Daisy's brilliant face, she retired thus
early.
She loved Giles. It was no use blinking the fact. She
loved him with every fibre of her nature, and with a pas-
sion far stronger than could be felt for him by the golden-
haired doll with the shallow eyes. For Giles she would
have lost the world, but she would not have him lose his
for her. And, after all, she had no right to creep like a


I8 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
serpent into the Eden of silly, prattling Daisy. In her
own puny way the child—for she was little else—adored
Giles, and as he was her affianced lover it would be base
to come between her and her god. But Anne knew in
her heart that Giles loved her best. If she did but lift
her hand he would leave all and follow her to the world's
end. But lift her hand she would not. It would be too
cruel to break the butterfly Daisy on such a painful wheel.
Anne loved sufficiently to be large and generous in her
nature, and therefore broke her own heart to spare the
breaking of another woman's. Certainly Giles was as un-
happy as she was; that was patent in his looks and bear-
ing. But he had forged his own chains, and could not
break them without dishonor. And come what may,
Giles would always love her best.
Anne's meditations were disturbed by a knock at the
door. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was close on mid-
night, and wondering who wished to see her at so late
an hour, she opened the door. Daisy, in a blue dressing-
gown, with her golden hair loose and her face flushed,
entered the room. She skipped towards Anne with a
happy laugh, and threw her arms round her neck.
“I could not sleep without telling you how happy I am,”
she said, and with a look of triumph displayed the ring.
Anne's heart beat violently at this visible sign of the
barrier between her and Giles. However, she was too
clever a woman to betray her emotion, and examined the
ring with a forced smile.
“Diamonds for your eyes, rubies for your lips,” she
said softly. “A very pretty fancy.”
Daisy was annoyed. She would rather that Anne had
betrayed herself by some rude speech, or at least by a dis-
composed manner. To make her heart ache Daisy had
come, and from all she could see she had not accomplished


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER I9
her aim. However, she still tried to wring some sign of
emotion from the expression or lips of the calm governess.
“Giles promised me a ring over and over again,” she
said, her eyes fixed on Anne. “We have been engaged
for over six months. He asked me just before you came,
although it was always an understood thing. His father
and mine arranged the engagement, you know. I didn't
like the idea at first, as I wanted to make my own choice.
Every girl should, I think. Don't you?”
“Certainly,” Anne forced herself to say, “but you love
Mr. Ware.”
Daisy nodded. “Very, very much,” she assented em-
phatically. “I must have loved him without knowing it,
but I was only certain when he asked me to marry him.
How lucky it is he has to make me his wife!” she sighed.
“If he were not bound ” Here she stopped suddenly,
and looked into the other woman's eyes.
“What nonsense!” said Anne good-humoredly, and
more composed than ever. “Mr. Ware loves you dearly.
You are the one woman he would choose for his wife.
There is no compulsion about his choice, my dear.”
“Do you really think so?” demanded the girl fever-
ishly. “I thought—it was the ring, you know.”
“What do you mean, Daisy’’
“He never would give me the ring, although I said it
was ridiculous for a girl to be engaged without one. He
always made some excuse, and only to-night But I
have him safe now,” she added, with a fierce abruptness,
“and I’ll keep him.”
“Nobody wants to take him from you, dear.”
“Do you really think so?” said Miss Kent again. “Then
why did he delay giving me the ring?”
Anne knew well enough. After her first three meet-
ings with Giles she had seen the love light in his eyes, and


2O A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
his reluctance to bind himself irrevocably with the ring
was due to a hope that something might happen to per-
mit his choosing for himself. But nothing had hap-
pened, the age of miracles being past, and the vow to
his dead father bound him. Therefore on this very night
he had locked his shackles and had thrown away the key.
Anne had made it plain to him that she could not, nor
would she, help him to play a dishonorable part. He
had accepted his destiny, and now Daisy asked why he
had not accepted it before. Anne made a feeble excuse,
the best she could think of.
“Perhaps he did not see a ring pretty enough,” she
said.
“It might be that,” replied Daisy reflectively. “Giles
has such good taste. You did not show me what he gave
you to-night.”
Miss Denham would rather not have shown it, but she
had no excuse to refuse a sight of the gift. Without a
word she slipped the bangle from her wrist—Daisy's jeal-
ous eyes noted that she had kept it on till now—and hand-
ed it to the girl.
“Oh, how sweet and pretty l’” she cried, with artificial
cordiality. “Just a ring of gold with a coin attached.
May I look?” And without waiting for permission she
ran to the lamp.
The coin was a half-sovereign of Edward VII., with
three stones—a diamond, an amethyst, and a pearl—set
in a triangle. A thin ring of gold attached it to the
bangle. Daisy was not ill pleased that the gift was so
simple. Her engagement ring was much more costly.
“It’s a cheap thing,” she said contemptuously. “The
coin is quite common.”
“It will be rare some day,” said Anne, slipping the
bangle on her wrist. “The name of the King is spelt on


22 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“I have not; I swear I have not,” said Anne, beginning
to lose her composure.
“You have, and you love him; I see it in your face.
Who are you to come into my life and spoil it?”
“I am a governess. That is all you need to know.”
“You look like a governess,” said Daisy, insultingly.
“I believe you are a bad woman, and came here to steal
Giles from me.”
“Daisy ſ”—Anne rose to her feet and walked towards
the door—“I have had quite enough of your hysterical
nonsense. If you came here to insult me in this way, it is
time you went. Mr. Ware and I were complete stran-
gers to one another when I came here.”
“Strangers! And what are you now?”
“Friends—nothing more, nothing less.”
“So you say; and I daresay Giles would say the same
thing did I ask him.”
Anne's face grew white and set. She seized the fool-
ish, hysterical little creature by the wrist and shook her.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” she said softly, and her threat was
the more terrible for the softness, “I have black blood in
my veins, for I was born at Martinique, and if you talk
to Giles about me, I'll—I’ll—kill you. Go and pray to
God that you may be rid of this foolishness.”
Daisy, wide-eyed, pallid, and thoroughly frightened,
fled whimpering, and sought refuge in her own room.
Anne closed the door, and locked it so as to prevent a
repetition of this unpleasant visit. Then she went to open
the window, for the air of the room seemed tainted by the
presence of Daisy. Flinging wide the casement, Anne
leaned out into the bitter air and looked at the wonderful
white snow-world glittering in the thin, chill moonlight.
She drew several long breaths, and became more com-
posed. Sufficient, indeed, to wonder why she had be-


24 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
l
been wrong in suspecting he loved the governess. She
made no further referénce to Anne, but when Miss Den-
ham was present narrowly watched her attitude and that
of Ware. Needless to say she saw nothing to awaken
her suspicions, for both Giles and Anne were most careful
to hide their real feelings. So far the situation was en-
durable, but it could not continue indefinitely. Anne
made up her mind to leave.
On the day before New Year she was wondering what
excuse she could make to get away when an incident hap-
pened which set her duty plainly before her and did
away with all necessity for an excuse. It occurred at
breakfast.
The little man was fond of his meals, and enjoyed his
breakfast more than any other. He had the most won-
derful arrangement for keeping the dishes hot—a rather
needless proceeding, as he was invariably punctual. So
were Mrs. Morley and Anne, for breakfast being at nine
o'clock they had no excuse for being late. Nevertheless,
Daisy rarely contrived to be in time, and Morley was much
vexed by her persistent unpunctuality. On this occasion
she arrived late as usual, but more cheerful. She ever
greeted Anne with a certain amount of politeness.
“There's a letter for you,” said Morley, “but if you will
take my advice you will leave it until breakfast is over.
I never read mine until after a meal. Bad news is so
apt to spoil one's appetite.”
“How do you know the news will be bad?” asked
Daisy.
“Most news is,” replied Morley, with a shade on his
usually merry face. “Debts, duns, and difficulties ſ” and
he looked ruefully at the pile of letters by his plate. “I
haven't examined my correspondence yet.”
Anne said nothing, as she was thinking of what ar-


AN ANONYMOUS LETTER. 25
rangement she could make to get away. Suddenly she
and the others were startled by a cry from Daisy. The
girl had opened the letter and was staring at it with a pale
face. Anne half rose from her seat, but Mrs. Morley
anticipated her, and ran round to put her hand on the
girl's shoulder. “Daisy, what is the matter?”
“The-the–letter!” gasped Daisy, with chattering
teeth. Then she cast a look full of terror at the aston-
ished Anne. “She will kill me,” cried the girl, and fell,
off the chair in a faint.
Morley hastily snatched up the letter. It was unsigned,
and apparently written in an uneducated hand on common
paper. He read it out hurriedly, while Anne and Mrs.
Morley stood amazed to hear its contents.
“‘Honored Miss,’” read Morley slowly, “‘this is from
a well-wisher to say that you must not trust the gov-
erness, who will kill you, because of G. W. and the Scar-
let Cross.’”
Anne uttered a cry and sank back into her chair white
as the snow out of doors. “The Scarlet Cross,” she mur-
mured, “again the Scarlet Cross.”
4 & &


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 27.
ished oak, with here and there a brilliantly colored Persian
praying-mat. The furniture was also of oak, and cush-
ioned in red Morocco leather. Altogether the library
gave evidence of a refined taste, and was a cross between
a monkish cell and a sybarite's bower.
“Well, Miss Denham,” said Morley, his merry face
more than a trifle serious, “what have you to say?”
“There is nothing I can say,” replied Anne, with com-
posure, “the letter has nothing to do with me.”
“My dear,” put in Mrs. Morley, much distressed, “you
cannot take up this attitude. You know I am your friend,
that I have always done my best for you, and for my
sake, if not for Daisy’s, you must explain.”
“She won't—she won't,” said Daisy, with an hysterical
laugh.
“I would if I could,” replied Anne, talking firmly, “but
the accusation is ridiculous. Why should I threaten
Daisy”
“Because you love Giles,” burst out the girl furiously.
“I do not love Mr. Ware. I said so the other night.”
“And you said more than that. You said that you
would kill me.”
“Miss Denham,” cried Morley, greatly shocked, “what
is this?”
“A foolish word spoken in a foolish moment,” said
Anne, realizing that her position was becoming danger-
Otis.
“I think so too,” said Mrs. Morley, defending her.
“It so happened, Miss Denham, that I overheard you
make the speech to Daisy, and I told my husband about
it the next morning. We decided to say nothing, think-
ing—as you say now—that it was simply a foolish speech.
But this letter”—she hesitated, then continued quickly,
“you must explain this letter.”


28 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Anne thought for a moment. “I can't explain it.
Some enemy has written it. You know all about me,
Mrs. Morley. You read my credentials—you inquired
as to my former situations at the Governess Institute
where you engaged me. I have nothing to conceal in
my life, and certainly I have no idea of harming Daisy.
She came to my room and talked nonsense, which made
me lose my temper. I said a foolish thing, I admit, but
surely knowing me as you do you will acquit me of mean-
ing anything by a few wild words uttered in a hurry and
without thought.”
“Why did you make use of such an expression?” asked
Morley.
“Because I was carried out of myself. I have a strain
of negro blood in me, and at times say more than I mean.”
“And your negro blood will make you kill me,” cried
Daisy, with an expression of terror. “I am doomed—
doomed !”
“Don’t be a fool, child,” said Morley roughly.
“She is a trifle hysterical,” explained Mrs. Morley,
comforting the girl, who was sobbing violently.
“Mr. Morley,” said Anne, rising, “I don't know who
wrote that letter, or why it should have been written. Mr.
Ware and I are friends, nothing more. I am not in love
with him, nor is he in love with me. He has paid me no
more attention than you have yourself.”
“No, that is true enough,” replied Morley, “and as
Giles is engaged to Daisy I don’t think he is the man to
pay marked attention to another woman.”
“Ah! Giles is all right,” cried Daisy angrily, “but she
has tempted him.”
“I deny that.”
“You can deny what you like. It is true, you know it
is true.”


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 29
“Daisy Daisy ſ” said Morley persuasively, whereupon
she turned on him like a little fury.
“Don’t you defend her. You hate me as much as she
does. You are a-’’
“Stop!” said Mrs. Morley, very pale. “Hold your
tongue, Daisy. My husband has treated you in the kind-
est manner. When your father died you were left penni-
less. He took you in, and both he and I have treated
you like our own child. Ungrateful girl, how can you
speak so of those who have befriended you?”
“I do. I shall. You all hate me!” cried Daisy pas-
sionately. “I never wanted your help. Giles would have
married me long ago but for Mr. Morley. I had no need
to live on your charity. I have a hundred a year of my
own. You brought that horrid woman down to steal
Giles from me, and »
“Take her away, Elizabeth,” said Morley sharply.
“I’ll go of my own accord,” cried Daisy, retreating
from Mrs. Morley; “and I'll ask Giles to marry me at
once, and take me from this horrid house. You are a
cruel and a wicked man, Mr. Morley, and I hate you—
I hate you! As for you”—she turned in a vixenish man-
ner on Anne—“I hope you will be put in gaol some day.
If I die you will be hanged—hanged " And with a stamp
of her foot she dashed out of the room, banging the door.
“Hysteria,” said Morley, wiping his face, “we must
have a doctor to see her.”
“Miss Denham,” said the wife, who was weeping at
the cruel words of the girl, “I ask you if Daisy has ever
been treated harshly in my house?”
“No, dear Mrs. Morley, she has always received the
greatest kindness both from you and your husband. She
is not herself to-day—that cruel letter has upset her. In
a short time she will repent of her behavior.”


3O A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“If she speaks like this to Mrs. Parry, what will hap-
pen?” moaned the poor woman, wringing her hands.
“I’ll have Mrs. Parry in court for libel if she says any-
thing against us,” said Morley fiercely. “The girl is an
hysterical idiot. To accuse her best friends of pshaw
it's not worth taking notice of. But this letter, Miss
Denham P”
“I know nothing about it, Mr. Morley.”
“Humph! I wonder if Daisy wrote it herself.”
“Oliver!” cried Mrs. Morley in amazement.
“Why not? Hysterical girls do queer things at times.
I don't suppose Mrs. Parry wrote it, old scandal-monger
as she is. It is a strange letter. That Scarlet Cross, for
instance.” He fixed an inquiring eye on Anne.
“That is the one thing that makes me think Daisy did
not write the letter. I fancied myself she might have
done it in a moment of hysteria and out of hatred of me,
but she could not know anything of the Scarlet Cross.
No one in Rickwell could know of that.”
“The letter was posted in London—in the General Post
Office.”
“But why should any one write such a letter about me,”
said Anne, raising her hands to her forehead, “and the
Scarlet Cross? It is very strange.”
“What is the Scarlet Cross?” asked Mrs. Morley seri-
ously.
“I know no more than you do,” replied Anne earnestly,
“save that my father sometimes received letters marked
with a red cross and on his watch-chain wore a gold cross
enamelled with scarlet.”
“Did your father know what the cross meant?” asked
Mrs. Morley.
“He must have known, but he never explained the mat-
ter to me.”


A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 33
in honor of the New Year, and Anne determined to go.
She wanted all the spiritual help possible in her present
state of perplexity. The unhappy love that existed be-
tween her and Giles, the enmity of Daisy, the anxiety of
the anonymous letter—these things worried her not a
little. She received permission from Mrs. Morley to go
to the midnight service.
“But be careful Daisy does not see you,” said she anx-
iously.
“Is Daisy going also?”
“Yes. Giles is coming to take her in his motoricar.”
“I hope she will say nothing to him about the letter.”
“I’ll see to that. She is much quieter and recognizes
how foolish she has been. It will be all right.”
Morley was much upset by the state of affairs. But a
few days before and life had been all plain sailing, now
there was little else but trouble and confusion. His ruddy
face was pale, and he had a careworn expression. For
the most part of the day he remained in his library and
saw no one. Towards the evening he asked his wife not
to bring the triplets to the library as usual, as he had to
see some one on business. Who it was he refused to
say, and Mrs. Morley, having no curiosity, did not press
the question.
After dinner the visitor arrived—a tall man muffled in
a great-coat against the cold, and wearing a thick white
scarf round his throat. He was shown into the library
and remained with Mr. Morley till after nine. About
that time Anne found occasion to go into the library in
search of a book. She had not heard the prohibition of
Morley, and did not hesitate to enter without knocking,
supposing that no one was within.
Meantime Daisy dressed herself very carefully in ex-
pectation of Ware's arrival. He was to take her for a


34 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
ride in his motor before Church, and then they were to
go to the service together. There was plenty of snow
on the ground, but the nights were always bright with
moonlight. Daisy had a fancy for a moonlight ride, and
Giles was willing to humor her. She expected him about
ten, and descended shortly after nine to watch for him
from the drawing-room window.
Outside it was almost as light as day, and the white
sheet of snow threw back a reflection of the moonlight.
Daisy gazed eagerly down the avenue, where the leafless
trees rocked in the cutting wind. Unexpectedly she saw
a tall man come round the corner of the house and walk
swiftly down the avenue. She knew from Mrs. Morley
that there was a visitor in the library, and wondered why
he had elected to leave by the window, as he must have
done to come round the house in this way. Being curi-
ous, she thought she would tell Mr. Morley of what she
had seen, and went in search of him.
At the door of the library she had just laid her hand
on the handle when it suddenly opened, and Anne came
out. Her face was white and drawn, her eyes were filled
with fear, and she passed the astonished girl in a blind
and stumbling fashion as though she did not see her.
Daisy saw her feebly ascend the stairs, clutching the ban-
isters. Wondering at this, Miss Kent entered the room.
Morley was standing by the window—the middle win-
dow—looking out. It was open. He started and turned
when Daisy entered, and she saw that he was perturbed
also.
“What is the matter?” she asked, coming forward.
“Nothing. What should be the matter?”
Morley spoke shortly and not in a pleasant tone. “I
thought that Anne, that Miss Denham, looked ill,” said
Daisy.


36 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
of herself. “But you must admit that the letter was
strange.”
“So strange that you had better say nothing about it.
Don’t mention it to Giles.”
“Why not?”
“Because I will find occasion to tell him myself. I at
least will be able to explain without showing jealousy
of poor Miss Denham.”
“I won't say anything,” replied Daisy, with a toss of
her head, “but you are all mad about Anne Denham. I
don't believe she is a good woman. What is the matter
with her now P She seems ill.”
“For Heaven's sake don't ask me any further ques-
tions,” said Morley irritably. “What with your conduct
of this morning and other things with which you have no
concern I am worried out of my life.”
Daisy took the hint and walked away. When she got
outside the library she came to the conclusion that Mor-
ley's visitor was a bailiff, and that was why he had been
shown out by the window. Decidedly her guardian was
in a bad way financially speaking.
“I shall marry Giles and get away from them all,” said
the grateful Daisy. “They may be sold up, and my hun-
dred a year will not keep me. What a mercy that Giles
is so rich and loves me! No, he does not love me,” she
said vehemently to herself. “It is that woman. But he
is engaged to me, and I'll marry him if only to spite her.”


CHAPTER IV
THE CHURCHYARD
O Daisy that drive in the motor-car was like an ex-
quisite dream. Her frivolous, shallow soul was
awed by the vast white waste gleaming mysteriously in
the moonlight as the car sped like a bird along the silent
roads. There was not a cloud in a sky that shone like
tempered steel; and amidst the frosty glitter of innumer-
able stars the hard moon looked down on an enchanted
world With Giles' hand on the steering gear and Daisy
beside him wrapped in a buffalo rug, the machine flew
over the pearly whiteness with the skimming swiftness
of the magic horse. For the first time in her life Daisy
felt what flying was like, and was content to be silent.
Giles was well pleased that the Great Mother should still
her restless tongue for the moment. He was doing his
duty and the will of his dead father, but his heart ached
when he thought of the woman who should be by his side.
Oh that they two could undertake this magical journey to-
gether, silent and alone in a silent and lonely world. He
made no inquiries for Anne, and Daisy said nothing.
Only when the car was humming along the homeward
road to land them at the church did she open her mouth.
The awe had worn off, and she babbled as of old in the
very face of this white splendor.


THE CHURCHYARD 39
go through life doing his duty. And Anne—he put the
thought of her from him with a shudder.
“What is the matter, Giles? Are you cold?” asked
Daisy.
“No; I expect a white hare is loping over my grave.”
“Ugh ! Don't talk of graves,” said Daisy, with a ner-
vous expression.
“Not a cheerful subject, I confess,” said Giles, smiling,
“and here we are in the very thick of them,” he added,
as the motor slowed down before the lych-gate.
Daisy looked at the innumerable tombstones which
thrust themselves up through the snow and shivered.
“It's horrible, I think. Fancy being buried there!”
“A beautiful spot in summer. Do you remember what
Keats said about one being half in love with death to
be buried in so sweet a place?”
“Giles,” she cried half hysterically, “don’t talk like
that. I may be dead and buried before you know that a
tragedy has occurred. The cards say that I am to die
young.”
“Why, Daisy, what is the matter?”
She made no reply. A memory of the anonymous let-
ter and its threat came home vividly to her as she stepped
inside the churchyard. Who knew but what within a
few days she might be borne through that self-same gate
in her coffin P. However, she had promised to say noth-
ing about the letter, and fearful lest she should let slip
some remark to arouse the suspicions of Giles, she flew
up the path.
Already the village folk were thronging to the midnight
service. The bells were ringing with a musical chime,
and the painted windows of the church glittered with
rainbow hues. The organist was playing some Christ-
mas carol, and the waves of sound rolled out solemnly


40 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
on the still air. With salutation and curtsey the villagers
passed by the young squire. He waited to hand over his
car to his servant, who came up at the moment, breath-
less with haste. “Shall I wait for you, sir?”
“No, take the car to the inn, and make yourself com-
fortable. In an hour you can return.”
Nothing loth to get indoors and out of the bitter cold,
the man drove the machine, humming like a top, down the
road. The sky was now clouding over, and a wind was
getting up. As Giles walked into the church he thought
there was every promise of a storm, and wondered that
it should labor up so rapidly considering the previous
calm of the night. However, he did not think further
on the matter, but when within looked around for Daisy.
She was at the lower end of the church staring not at the
altar now glittering with candles, but at the figure of a
woman some distance away who was kneeling with her
face hidden in her hands. With a thrill Giles recognized
Anne, and fearful lest Daisy should be jealous did he re-
main in her vicinity, he made his way up to his own pew,
which was in the lady chapel near the altar. Here he
took his seat and strove to forget both the woman he
loved and the woman he did not love. But it was diffi-
cult for him to render his mind a blank on this subject.
The organ had been silent for some time, but it now
recommenced its low-breathed music. Then the choir
came slowly up the aisle singing lustily a Christmas hymn.
The vicar, severe and ascetic, followed, his eyes bent on
the ground. When the service commenced Giles tried to
pay attention, but found it almost impossible to prevent
his thoughts wandering towards the two women. He
tried to see them, but pillars intervened, and he could not
catch a glimpse of either. But his gaze fell on the tall
figure of a man who was standing at the lower end of


THE CHURCHYARD 4T
the church near the door. He was evidently a stranger,
for his eyes wandered inquisitively round the church. In
a heavy great-coat and with a white scarf round his throat,
he was well protected against the cold. Giles noted his
thin face, his short red beard, and his large black eyes.
His age was probably something over fifty, and he looked
ill, worried, and worn. Wondering who he was and what
brought him to such an out-of-the-way place as Rickwell
at such a time, Giles settled himself comfortably in his
seat to hear the sermon.
The vicar was not a particularly original preacher. He
discoursed platitudes about the coming year and the du-
ties it entailed on his congregation. Owing to the length
of the sermon and the lateness of the hour, the people
yawned and turned uneasily in their seats. But no one
ventured to leave the church, although the sermon lasted
close on an hour. It seemed as though the preacher
would never leave off insisting on the same things over
and over again. He repeated himself twice and thrice,
and interspersed his common-place English with the lord-
ly roll of biblical texts. But for his position, Giles would
have gone away. It was long over the hour, and he knew
that his servant would be waiting in the cold. When he
stood up for the concluding hymn he craned his head
round a pillar to see Daisy. She had vanished, and he
thought that like himself she had grown weary of the
sermon, but more fortunate than he, she had been able
to slip away. Anne's place he could not see and did not
know whether she was absent or present.
Giles wondered for one delicious moment if he could
see her before she left the church. Daisy, evidently
wearied by the sermon, had gone home, there was no one
to spy upon him, and he might be able to have Anne all
to himself for a time. He could then ask her why she


42 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
was going, and perhaps force her to confess that she
loved him. But even as he thought his conscience re-
buked him for his treachery to Daisy. He fortified him-
self with good resolutions, and resolved not to leave his
seat until the congregation had dispersed. Thus he would
not be tempted by the sight of Anne.
The benediction was given, the choir retired with a
last musical “Amen,” and the worshippers departed. But
Giles remained in his seat, kneeling and with his face
hidden. He was praying for a strength he sorely needed
to enable him to forget Anne and to remain faithful to the
woman whom his father had selected to be his wife. Not
until the music of the organ ceased and the verger came
to extinguish the altar candles did Giles venture to go.
But by this time he thought Anne would surely be well
on her homeward way. He would return to his own
place as fast as his motor could take him, and thus would
avoid temptation. At the present moment he could not
trust to his emotions.
Outside the expected storm had come on, and snow
was falling thickly from a black sky. The light at the
lych-gate twinkled feebly, and Giles groped his way down
the almost obliterated pathway quite alone, for every one
else had departed. He reached the gate quite expecting
to find his motor, but to his surprise it was not there. Not
a soul was in sight, and the snow was falling like meal.
Giles fancied that his servant had dropped asleep in
the inn or had forgotten the appointed hour. In his heart
he could not blame the man, for the weather was arctic
in its severity. However, he determined to wend his
way to the inn and reprove him for his negligence. Step-
ping out of the gate he began to walk against the driving
snow with bent head, when he ran into the arms of a man


THE CHURCHYARD 43
- car
who was running hard. In the light of the lamp over the
gate he recognized him as Trim, his servant.
“Beg pardon, sir, I could not get here any sooner. The
” The man stopped and stared round in amaze-
ment. “Why, sir, where's the machine?” he asked, with
astonishment.
“In your charge, I suppose,” replied Ware angrily.
“Why were you not here at the time I appointed?”
“I was, begging your pardon, sir,” said Trim hotly;
“but the lady told me you had gone to see Miss Kent
back to The Elms and that you wanted to see me. I left
the car here in charge of the lady and ran all the way to
The Elms; but they tell me there that Miss Daisy hasn't
arrived and that nothing has been seen of you, sir.”
Ware listened to this explanation with surprise. “I
sent no such message,” he said; “and this lady, who was
she P”
“Why, Miss Denham, sir. She said she would look
after the car till I came back, and knowing as she was a
friend of yours, sir, I thought it was all right.” Trim
stared all round him. “She’s taken the car away, I see,
sir.” -
The matter puzzled Giles. He could not understand
why Anne should have behaved in such a manner, and
still less could he understand why the car should have
disappeared. He knew well that she could drive a motor,
for he had taught her himself; but that she should thus
take possession of his property and get rid of his man
in so sly a way perplexed and annoyed him. He and
Trim stood amidst the falling snow staring at one an-
other, almost too surprised to speak.
Suddenly they heard a loud cry of fear, and a moment
afterward an urchin—one of the choir lads—came tearing
down the path as though pursued by a legion of fiends.


44 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Giles caught him by the collar as he ran panting and
white-faced past him.
“What's the matter?” he asked harshly. “Why did
you cry out like that? Where are you going?”
“To mother. Oh, let me go!” wailed the lad. “I see
her lying on the grave. I’m frightened. Mother!
mother!”
“Saw who lying on the grave?”
“I don't know. A lady. Her face is down in the snow,
and she is bleeding. I dropped the lantern mother gave
me and scudded, sir. Do let me go! I never did it!”
“Did what?” Giles in his nervous agitation shook the
boy.
“Killed her! I didn't! She's lying on Mr. Kent's
grave, and I don't know who she is.”
He gave another cry for his mother and tried to get
away, but Giles, followed by Trim, led him up the path.
“Take me to the grave,” he said in a low voice.
“I won't!” yelped the lad, and tearing his jacket in his
eagerness to escape, he scampered past Trim and out of
the gate like a frightened hare. Giles stopped for a mo-
ment to wipe his perspiring forehead and pass his tongue
over his dry lips, then he made a sign to Trim to follow,
and walked rapidly in the direction of Mr. Kent's grave.
He dreaded what he should find there, and his heart beat
like a sledge-hammer.
The grave was at the back of the church, and the choir
boy had evidently passed it when trying to take a short
cut to his mother's cottage over the hedge. The snow
was falling so thickly and the night was so dark that
Giles wondered how the lad could have seen any one on
the grave. Then he remembered that the lad had spoken
of a lantern. During a lull in the wind he lighted a
match, and by the blue glare he saw the lantern almost at


CHAPTER V
AFTERWARDS
EVER before had any event created such a sensation
in the village of Rickwell. From the choir boy
and his mother the news quickly spread. Also Giles had
to call in the aid of the rector to have the body of the
unfortunate girl carried to The Elms. In a short time
the churchyard was filled with wondering people, and
quite a cortege escorted the corpse. It was like the re-
hearsal of a funeral procession.
Mrs. Morley had gone to bed, thinking the two girls
might be reconciled in church and come home together.
Her husband, not so sanguine, had remained in the libra-
ry till after midnight, ready to play the part of peace-
maker should any fracas occur. He appeared in the hall
when poor dead Daisy was carried through the door, and
stared in surprise at the spectacle.
“Great heavens !” he cried, coming forward, his ruddy
face pale with sudden emotion. “What is all this?”
Giles took upon himself the office of spokesman, which
the rector, remembering that he had been engaged to
the deceased, tacitly delegated to him.
“It’s poor Daisy,” he said hoarsely. “She has been—”
“Murdered l No. Don't say murdered?”


AFTERWARDS - 47
“Yes, we found her lying on her father's grave, dead;
a knife-thrust under the left shoulder-blade. She must
have died almost instantaneously.”
“Dead!” muttered Morley, ghastly white. And he
approached to take the handkerchief from the dead face.
“Dead!” he repeated, replacing it. Then he looked at
the haggard face of Ware, at the silent group of men
and the startled women standing in the doorway, where
the rector was keeping them back.
“Where is her murderess?” he asked sharply.
“Murderess!” repeated Giles angrily. “What do you
mean?”
“Mean? Why, that Miss Denham has done this,
and—”
“You are mad to say such a thing.”
“I’ll tax her with it to her face. Where is she? Not
at home, for I have been waiting to see her,”
“She's run way on Mr. Ware's motor-car,” volunteered
Trim, only to be clutched violently by his master.
“Don’t say that, you fool. You can't be sure of that,
Mr. Morley,” he added, turning to the scared man.
“Make no remark about this until we can have a quiet
talk about it.”
“But I sa 3 y
“You can say it to the police officer in the morning.”
“She'll have escaped by that time,” whispered Trim to
his master.
Giles saw the danger of Anne—supposing her to be
guilty, as the groom thought her—and made up his mind
at once.
“Go home, Trim, and saddle a couple of horses. We'll
follow the track of the car, and when we find it >>
“You’ll never find it,” put in Morley, who had been
listening with all his ears. “The falling snow must have


48 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
obliterated any wheel-marks by this time. When did this
occur P”
“I don't know,” replied Giles coldly. “And instead of
chattering there, you had better have the-the–’” he stam-
mered, “the body taken into some room and attended to.
Poor Daisy,” he sighed, “what an end to your bright
young life!”
Here Mr. Drake, the rector, thought it necessary to
assert himself, and waved aside the throng.
“All you men and women, go to your homes,” he said.
“Nothing can be done to-night, and ->
“The car might be followed,” said a voice.
“And the car will be followed,” said Giles, pushing his
way to the door. “Come, Trim, we'll ride at once. Did
no one see the car pass out of the village?”
No one had seen it, as most of the villagers had been
inside the church and the rest in their homes.
There was some talk and suggestions, but Ware, with
a nod to Morley, took a hasty departure and disappeared
into the stormy night.
“He might track the car,” said the rector.
“He won't,” replied Morley bitterly; “he’ll lead Trim
on a wrong scent. He liked Miss Denham too well to
let her drop into the hands of the police.”
“Then you really think she did it?” asked Drake, hor-
rified.
“I am perfectly certain,” was the reply. “Come into
the library, and I’ll show you what evidence I have.”
Meantime the hall was cleared of the eager listeners,
and all present went to their homes less to sleep than to
argue as to the guilt or innocence of Anne. The body
of the girl was taken to her bedroom, and poor scared
Mrs. Morley; roused from her bed to face this tragedy,
did all that was needful, assisted by two old women, who


50 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
she were innocent—if she had not left the church until
the others did—she would have returned, and now been
in bed. But from what Trim says she fled on Ware's
motor-car.”
“Humph! She can't get far on that. Such a night,
too.”
And the rector walked to the window to watch the still
falling snow.
Morley shook his head. “Miss Denham knows the coun-
try for miles and miles, and Ware taught her how to drive
the motor. I shouldn't be surprised if she got away after
all, in spite of the weather.”
Drake looked uneasy, and placed himself before the fire
with a shiver. He rather admired Miss Denham, and
could not yet bring himself to believe that she was guilty.
Even if she were, he cherished a secret hope that she
might escape the police. It was terrible to think that one
woman should be dead, but it was more awful to look
forward to the trial, condemnation, and hanging of the
other.
“I blame Ware a good deal for this,” continued Morley
gloomily. “He openly admired Miss Denham, and en-
couraged her to flirt with him. A rash thing to do to one
who has negro blood in her veins. I expect passion car-
ried her beyond herself.”
“How do you know she has negro blood?”
“She said so herself.”
“Did you know that when you engaged her?”
“I never engaged her at all, Drake. My wife did. I
must say that Miss Denham's credentials were good. She
had been governess in an Italian family, and hal—"
He stopped suddenly, and started up. “In Italy she might
have procured a stiletto. From the nature of the wound


AFTERWARDS 51
—which is small and deep—I should think it was inflicted
with such a weapon.”
“How do you know that the wound is small and deep?”
“My wife told me when she came to the door that time.
You did not hear her. She says the wound is quite small.
In that case it must be deep, or the death would not have
occurred so suddenly.”
Drake shook his head. “We don't know that it did oc-
cur suddenly.”
Morley contradicted this angrily. “If Daisy had not
died at once she would have had time to shriek, and the
cry would have been heard in the church.”
“I doubt it. The people were deeply interested in my
sermon.”
The other man shrugged his shoulders. It was scarcely
worth while arguing this point with the rector. He re-
lapsed into a brown study, until roused to reply to a ques-
tion asked by his guest.
“Have you ever seen a stiletto?” asked Drake.
“I have one here,” replied Morley, running his eye along
the wall; “one that I got in Italy myself. It was said to
have belonged to Lucrezia Borgia. I wonder where it is.”
“Rather difficult to discover it amidst all these weapons,
Mr. Morley. Good heavens ! what is the matter?”
He might well ask. His host was clutching his arm in
a vice-like hold, and was pointing to a certain part of the
wall whereon hung a pair of ancient pistols, a crusader's
shield, and an old helmet.
“The stiletto was there. It is gone!” gasped Morley.
“Impossible. Who can have taken it?”
“Miss Denham | Miss Denham Oh, and you believe
her to be innocent!” cried the other. “She came into this
very room at nine o'clock, or a little after. I was outside
p:


52 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
on the terrace seeing a visitor off. She was alone in the
room for a time. She must have taken the weapon.”
“No, no; why should she have?”
“Because she intended to murder my poor Daisy. It
was all arranged in her black heart. Drake,” he added
solemnly, “I have done my best to believe that woman
innocent. I defended her against Daisy, and my wife de-
fended her also. We tried to believe that she had no ill
intention, and see—see what comes of it. She steals the
stiletto, and kills the child in the most brutal manner. I
swear to hunt her down. I swear !"
The rector caught down the uplifted hand which Mor-
ley was raising to the heavens. “Be yourself,” he said
sternly; “there is no need for a man to call upon God to
witness a blood-thirsty oath. If the woman is guilty, let
her be punished. But give her the benefit of the doubt.
Appearances are against her, I admit. All the same, she
may be able to prove her innocence.”
“You might as well talk to the wind as to me. She is a
murderess; I'll do my best to have her hanged.”
Morley spoke with such vehemence that Drake looked
closely at him. He wondered if the man had any grudge
against Anne Denham that he spoke of her with such bit-
terness. Certainly her crime was a terrible one, and she
deserved to be condemned. But it would only be fair that
she should be first tried. Morley, on the contrary, had
already judged her, without waiting to hear what she had
to say in her own favor.
“Well, Mr. Morley, there is nothing more to be said,”
he remarked coldly, for he disliked this melodrama; “we
must wait till the police come in the morning. Meanwhile
I shall go to my home and get some sleep.”
“I can't sleep with that in the house,” replied Morley,
abruptly rising; “I’ll go with you.”


AFTERWARDS. 53
“Where?”
“To the churchyard—to the grave. I intend to look
for the weapon. It may have been left there—tossed aside
by the assassin after the crime.”
“But the night is dark—the snow is falling. You will
not be able to do anything. Be advised, and ->
“No. I'll come with you now. If I find nothing, it is
all the better for her. If I do—” He shook his hand
again fiercely.
Drake argued no longer, seeing that the man's brain
was in such a state that it was best to humor him. They
went out together, but at the church-gate Drake excused
himself and retired to his home. He had no wish to see
Morley groping amongst the graves like a ghost. Pausing
until the little man disappeared into the gloom, the rector
went to his house, wondering at the sudden change in
Morley's character. He had been a light-hearted and
rather frivolous creature; fond of gaiety and overflowing
with the milk of human kindness. Now he was fierce and
savage enough for a Caliban. “He must have loved that
poor girl very dearly,” sighed Drake, “but I can't believe
that such a charming woman as Miss Denham committed
so cruel a crime. There is some mystery about this,” and
in this last speech he was right. There was a mystery
about the death, and a much deeper one than a shallow
man like the rector could fathom.
All through the long night Mrs. Morley watched by
the dead. She had placed candles on either side of the
bed, and laid a cross on the poor child's breast. Drake
was quite shocked when he saw this Papistical arrange-
ment. But it afterwards came out that Mrs. Morley had
been educated in a convent, and had imbibed certain no-
tions of the Romish ritual for the dead that, her memory
reviving, made her act thus, in spite of her openly con-


54 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
fessed belief in the communion of the English Church.
While she was thus sitting and weeping, Morley looked
in. He was wild and haggard, but in his eyes glared a
triumphant expression which terrified his wife. She did
not dare to move. He crossed the room, and looked at
the body. “You shall be avenged, my dear,” he said
solemnly, and before Mrs. Morley could recover from
her surprise and denounce this ill-chosen moment for a
visit, he wheeled round and disappeared.
He did not retire either, no more did the servants, who
were collected in the kitchen steadying their nerves with
tea. So it happened that when Giles, weary, wet, and
worn, rode up to the door in the morning on a jaded beast,
he was met by Morley.
“Have you caught her?” asked the man.
Giles dismounted and threw the reins to a groom. “No.
Trim went one way and I another. Where he is I don't
know, but my horse gave in, and I returned.” He entered
the house. “Where is the body?” he asked.
“Up in the room it occupied during life,” said Morley;
“but come into the library, I have something to show
you.” -
Ware followed and sank wearily into a chair. He
could scarcely keep his eyes open. Nevertheless he
started up wide awake when his host spoke. “Miss Den-
ham killed Daisy,” said Morley. “She took a stiletto from
the wall yonder, and here it is.” He produced it with
a dramatic wave.
“Where did you find it?”
“Beside the grave—on the spot of the murder.”


CHAPTER VI
THE CASE AGAINST ANNE
HE contradictory qualities of Mrs. Parry's nature
came out strongly in connection with the Rickweli
tragedy. When Miss Denham was prosperous the old
woman had nothing but bad to say of her, now that she
was a fugitive and generally credited with a crime, Mrs.
Parry stood up for her stoutly. She made herself ac-
quainted with all details, and delivered her verdict to Mrs.
Morley, on whom she called for the express purpose of
giving her opinion.
“I never liked the woman,” she said impressively, “she
was artful and frivolous; and to gain admiration behaved
in a brazen way of which I thoroughly disapproved. All
the same, I do not believe she killed the girl.”
“But the evidence is strongly against her,” expostu-
lated Mrs. Morley.
“And how many people have been hanged on evidence
which has afterwards been proved incorrect?” retorted
Mrs. Parry. “I don't care how certain they are of her
guilt. In my opinion she is an innocent woman. I am
glad she has escaped.”
“I am not sorry myself,” sighed the other. “I was


56 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
fond of Anne, for she had many good points. But Mr.
Steel says—”
“Who is Mr. Steel?”
“The detective who has charge of the case.”
“I thought the police from Chelmsford had it in hand.”
“Of course, Mr. Morley sent for the police the morn-
ing after poor Daisy's death. That is three days ago.
To-morrow the inquest is to be held. I suppose they
will bring a verdict against poor Miss Denham.”
“Hal” said Mrs. Parry, rubbing her nose, “and my
greengrocer is on the jury. Much he knows about the
matter. But this Steel creature. Where does he come
from ?”
“Mr. Morley sent to London for him. He has a pri-
vate inquiry office, I believe.”
“No such thing,” contradicted Mrs. Parry, “he is from
Scotland Yard. A genuine detective—none of your
makeshifts.”
“I thought you knew nothing about him?”
“Nor did I till this minute. But I now remember see-
ing his name in connection with the theft of Lady Sum-
mersdale's diamonds. He caught the thief in a very
clever way. Steel—Martin Steel, I remember now. So
he has the case in hand. Humph! He won't accuse
Anne Denham, you may be sure of that. He's too
clever.” -
“But he is convinced of her guilt,” said the other tri-
umphantly.
“Then the man's a fool. I’ll see him myself.”
Mrs. Parry did so the very next day after the inquest
had been held and the verdict given. She possessed a
small, neat cottage on the outskirts of Rickwell, standing
some distance back from the high road. Seated at her
drawing-room window, she could see all those who came


THE CASE AGAINST ANNE 57
or went, and thus kept a watch over the morals of the
village. This window was called “Mrs. Parry's eye,”
and everyone sneaked past it in constant dread of the ter-
rible old lady who looked through it. Beyond Mrs. Par-
ry's cottage were the houses of the gentry and the church;
therefore she knew that Steel would pass her house on
the way to The Elms, where he would doubtless go to
report himself to Morley. To be sure Morley was to be
at the inquest, but Mrs. Parry took no account of that.
He and the detective would certainly return to The Elms
to compare notes.
! Also there was another chance. Steel might go on to
see Ware at his place, which was a mile beyond the vil-
lage. Giles had caught a cold after his midnight ride
and search for the missing motor, and since then had
been confined to his bed. His deposition had been taken
down in writing, for the benefit of the jury, as he could
not be present himself. Since he was deeply interested
in the matter, Steel would probably go and tell him about
the inquest. Mrs. Parry therefore posted herself at the
window about twelve and waited for the detective.
At half-past twelve she saw him come along, having on
the previous day made herself acquainted with his per-
sonality. He was a dapper pert little man, neat in his
dress, and suave in his manners. Not at all like the de-
tective of fiction as known to Mrs. Parry. There was no
solemnity or hint of mystery about Mr. Steel. He would
pass unnoticed in a crowd, and no one would take him
for a bloodhound of the law. He did not even possess
the indispensable eagle eye, nor did he utter opinions with
the air of an oracle. In fact, when Mrs. Parry captured
him and lured him into her parlor, she was exceedingly
disappointed with his appearance. “No one would even


58 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
take you for a detective,” said she brusquely, whereat
Steel laughed cheerily.
“All the better for me, ma'am. Folk speak more freely
when they don't know my business. But you will excuse
me,” he added, glancing at his watch, “I am in a hurry.
You say you know something about this matter?”
It was on this pretence that Mrs. Parry had got him
into her house, else he would not have wasted his time on
her. She had therefore to make good her words, but
had not the slightest chance of doing so.
“I know that Anne Denham is innocent,” was all that
she could say, but said it with the air of one who settles
a difficult matter once and for all.
“On what grounds, ma'am?”
“On no grounds, save those of my own common sense.”
“You have no evidence to-?”
“I have the evidence of my own eyes. You haven't
seen the woman. I have. She is not the kind of person
who would act so.”
“The jury take a different view,” said Steel dryly.
“They have brought in a verdict of wilful murder against
her.”
“Fools! But what can you expect from a parcel of
tradesmen? I wish to hear on what grounds they made
such idiots of themselves.”
Steel was somewhat taken aback by this coolness.
“You must really excuse me,” said he, rising, “but I have
to see Mr. Ware.”
“All in good time, Steel,” said the old lady coolly.
“You might do worse than spend an hour with me.
There is precious little going on in this parish I don't
know of. I might be able to help you in your search.”
“After this woman?” Steel shook his head. “I don’t
think so. I expect she has escaped to foreign parts.”


THE CASE AGAINST ANNE 59
“Oh, I know all about that. I made Trim tell me. You
know Trim, of course. He was a groom once.”
“Isn't he a groom now?”
“Well”—Mrs. Parry rubbed her nose—“you might call
him an engineer. When Ware started a motor-car Trim
refused to let anyone else attend to his young master but
himself. He was the servant of old Ware, and thinks it is
his duty to look after the son—not but what it's needed,”
added Mrs. Parry spitefully; “but Trim learned how to
work the car, and so he is what you might call an engi- .
neer.”
“All very interesting ma'am, but I have an appoint-
ment.”
“It will keep,” replied Mrs. Parry suavely. “You had
better wait, Steel. I have something to show you.”
“In connection with the case?”
“In connection with Miss Denham.”
“What is it? Show it to me.”
“All in good time, Steel. I must first know what you
think of the matter.”
“I think that this woman is guilty.”
“Oh, you do, do you. Humph! And I thought you
clever. How easily one can be deceived However, you
can sit down and tell me your grounds for this prepos-
terous belief.”
Steel hesitated. In all his career—and it had been a
varied one—he had never met before with anyone like
this determined old dame. She took possession of him in
the calmest way, and was evidently bent upon pumping
him dry before he left the house. As a rule Steel was
not a man to be pumped, but after some reflection he con-
cluded that it was just as well to use a sprat to catch a
mackerel. In plain English, he determined, with reserva-
tions, to gratify Mrs. Parry's curiosity, so that he might


60 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
get a sight of what she had to show him. If he were
reticent, she would show him nothing; whereas if he told
her all about the evidence at the inquest—and that was
public property—she would certainly open her mind to
him. Moreover, Steel knew the value of having a gossip
like Mrs. Parry to aid him in gaining knowledge of the
neighborhood. Finally, he saw that she was a shrewd,
matter-of-fact old person, and for the sake of making his
work easy it would be as well to conciliate her. He
therefore sat down with a cheerful air, and prepared him-
self for an interesting conversation.
“I shall be perfectly candid with you,” said he, taking
out his notes. “These are the memoranda I made at the
inquest.”
“Humph! You have a bad memory I see. I,” said
Mrs. Parry, with emphasis, “I carry all I know in my
head. Go on.”
Steel detailed the facts of the case. He related the
threat of Anne against Daisy overheard by Mrs. Morley;
read out a copy of the anonymous letter; emphasized the
presence of Anne in the library for the few minutes Mor-
ley was absent, when she would have had time to secure
the stiletto; and explained how Morley had found the
very weapon near the scene of the crime. Then he con-
tinued to relate what took place in church during the
midnight service.
“Martha James,” said he, “was sitting not far from
Miss Kent. The corner was rather dark—”
“The whole church is badly lighted,” interrupted Mrs.
Parry. “I never could bear smelly kerosene lamps.”
“The corner was dark,” resumed Steel patiently, “and
Martha, as she says, having a headache, was rather in-
attentive to the sermon. She saw a man near the door—
a tall man, with a great-coat and a white scarf. She
-
-


THE CASE AGAINST ANNE 61.
couldn't see his face plainly. He slipped along the wall
during the sermon, when the attention of everyone was
fixed on the preacher, and—as Martha saw—slipped a
scrap of paper into the hand of Miss Kent. She started,
and bending towards a near lamp, read the paper.”
“Did anyone else see her read it?” -
“No. She placed the paper in her prayer-book, and sy
contrived to read it without exciting suspicion. Martha
saw the action, because she was well placed for observa-
tion.”
“And couldn't mind her own business. I know Mar-
tha James. Go on.”
“After a few minutes Miss Kent seemed to grow faint,
and slipped out of the church. Another witness—Samuel
Gibbs—says that as she brushed past him she murmured
that she felt unwell. However, she went out.”
“And the tall man also?”
“No. He remained for another ten minutes. Martha
James watched him, because she could not think why he
did not follow Miss Kent after giving her the paper.”
“Of course, Martha thought of something bad,” sniffed
Mrs. Parry; “no doubt she believed that the two had
arranged to meet. So the tall man went out ten minutes
afterwards. What about Anne?”
“She was a few pews behind, and apparently inattentive,
but a small girl called Cissy Jinks—”
“A most precocious child,” interpolated the lady.
“She is smart,” admitted Steel. “Well, she declares
that Miss Denham was watching the tall man all the time.
Whether she saw him give the paper to Miss Kent no
one seems to know; I think myself she must have done
so, if she was as watchful as Cissy Jinks declares. More-
over, she followed the tall man when he went out.”
“Immediately?”


CHAPTER VII
OLIVER MORLEY
| due time the body of Daisy Kent was buried. Her
remains were laid by those of her father in the very
churchyard about which she had complained to Giles a
short time before the tragedy of her death. Ware being
still ill, did not attend the funeral, but a large concourse
of people from all parts of the county followed the coffin
to the grave.
Morley was the chief mourner, and looked haggard, as
was natural. Poor Mrs. Morley remained at home and
wept. She did little else but weep in those days, poor
Soul!
When Mr. Drake had finished the service, and the
grave was filled up, the crowd dispersed. There was a
great deal of talk about the untimely death of the girl and
the chances of her murderess being caught. Everyone
believed that Anne was guilty; but as Steel had kept his
own counsel and Mrs. Parry held her tongue, no mention
was made of the tall man.
The chatter of Cissy Jinks and Martha Gibbs certainly
seemed to inculpate him in the matter, but only the vil-
lagers talked of this especial point. It never reached the
ears of the reporters, and did not get into the papers.


66 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
But the journals gave a good deal of space to the affair,
and hinted that it was what the French call “un crime
passional.” Still, no paper was daring enough to hint at
Giles and his presumed connection with the tragedy. It
was merely stated that he had been engaged to the de-
ceased girl, and felt her death so deeply, as was natural,
that he had taken to his bed. Of course, this was an em-
bellishment of facts, as Ware was simply laid up with an
attack of pneumonia. But for the benefit of the public the
journalists ascribed it to romantic and undying love.
Giles, who was a matter-of-fact young Englishman, did
not see these descriptions, or he would have been much
disgusted at the sickly sentimentality.
Meantime no news was heard of Anne. It was not
known that the tall stranger had been with her, for sev-
eral people had seen the car passing on its way to Tilbury.
It was a lucky thought that had made Trim take that par-
ticular direction, and merely by chance that he had stum-
bled on the motor overthrown in a hedge. Evidently an
accident had occurred, but no one was near at the time,
as it took place some little distance from Tilbury and in
a lonely part. But it was conjectured that the two occu-
pants had proceded on foot to Tilbury. A boatman was
found who related that he had taken a lady and gentle-
man across to Gravesend, and that the gentleman walked
a trifle lame. They landed on the Gravesend shore, and
here the boatman lost sight of them. It was the lady who
paid his fare, and he said that she appeared to be quite
calm. He did not see the face of the man, but described
that of Anne and her dress also. There was no doubt
but what she was the fugitive.
However, here the trail ended. Once in Gravesend,
and all trace of the pair was lost. Steel made inquiries
everywhere, but without success. The two might have


OLIVER MORLEY 67
got away in a ship, but this he could not learn. The night
was foggy and dark, and no ship had gone out of the
river, according to the boatmen. Steel could discover
nothing, and resolved to throw up the case. But at the
eleventh hour he stumbled on a clue, and followed it up.
The result of his inquiries made him return at once to
Rickwell, where he sought out Mr. Morley.
The little man had sent his wife and family away from
The Elms, as the atmosphere of the house was melancholy
in the extreme. Mrs. Morley, not averse to more cheerful
surroundings, elected to go to Brighton with the triplets,
and took two servants with her. Morley remained behind
with a reduced staff, and promised to join her later. He
desired to wait until he could see the detective. His wish
was speedily gratified, for three days after the departure
of his wife Steel made his appearance. Morley received
him in the library.
“How do you do, sir?” said the detective, as they shook
hands. “I am glad to see that you are looking better.”
“I am getting over the shock,” replied the other, “now
that the poor child is buried; there is no use mourning
further. I have sent my wife and family to Brighton and
propose to follow myself in a day or so.”
“I am lucky to have caught you, then?”
“What? Have you found any clue?”
“I think so. It is connected with the Scarlet Cross.”
Morley, who was warming his hands over the fire,
looked round eagerly, and his eyes flashed.
“I thought there was something in that reference. You
remember the letter, Steel?”
“Yes. And I showed it to Mrs. Parry.”
“To that meddlesome old woman. Why?”
“It’s too long a matter to go into. But it was just as
well I did. She gave me this little ornament.”


68 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Morley turned over the enamelled cross and examined
it carefully. “Humph! It is the kind of thing Miss Den-
ham said was worn by her dead father.”
“Exactly. Well, Mr. Morley, either the father is dead
as she told you and that cross was worn by a stranger, or
the man who called to see you here was the father.”
“How do you make that out? What do you mean?”
said Morley, and his face exhibited genuine amazement.
For answer Steel related what Mrs. Parry had told him
about the discovery of the cross, and how she had put
two and two together.
“And now, sir, you must see that in some way this
stranger is connected with the crime. He called to see
you. May I ask what you know of him?”
“Absolutely nothing,” replied the other emphatically.
“Wait! I must show you something.” He rose and went
to his desk. “Of course, I am telling you my private
business,” he added, opening a drawer, “so don't please
speak about it.”
“If it has nothing to do with the murder I won't; but
if-"
“Pshaw! that is all right, I know as much about these
things as you do. However, we can talk of that later.
Meantime cast your eye over that,” and he placed a docu-
ment on the table.
“A judgment summons for five hundred pounds,” said
Steel, with a whistle. “Did he serve this?”
“Yes,” replied Morley, returning to his seat with a
gloomy face. “You will see that it is dated three days
before he came to me. I have outrun the constable, and
have the greatest difficulty in keeping my head above wa-
ter. This man—I don't know his name—said that he
came from those solicitors 32
“‘Asher, Son, and Asher,’” read out the detective,


OLIVER MORLEY. 69
Morley nodded. “Of twenty-two, St. Audrey’s Inn. A
firm of sharpers I call them. The money has certainly
been owing a long time, but I offered to pay off the sum
by degrees. They refused, and insist upon immediate
payment. If they would only wait until the war is over,
my South African shares would go up and there would
be a chance of settling the matter. But they will not wait.
I expect a bankruptcy notice next.”
“I am very sorry for you, Mr. Morley, and of course, I
shall not betray the confidence you have placed in me;
but the point is, what is the name of the man who served
this P”
“I don’t know; I never asked him his name. He en-
tered by the front door and served this here. I sent him
out by the window, so that the servants should not see
him again. He had the look of a sheriff's officer, and one
can’t be too careful here. I believe Mrs. Parry pays my
servants to tell her what goes on in my house. I didn't
want her to learn about this summons.” -
“I can easily understand that,” replied the detective;
“and I see now why you let the man out by the window.
You left the room with him P” -
“Yes. I didn't say anything much at the inquest be-
yond that he was a visitor, and I was relieved when I
found that no questions were asked. But I walked with
him to the end of the terrace and saw him go down the
avenue. Then I returned to this room, and found Miss
Denham waiting by the desk. I asked her what she
wanted. She asked for her wages, as she was leaving the
next day. I had no ready money, and promised to see to
it before she departed. Then she went out, and shortly
afterwards Miss Kent came in to say she had seen the man
go down the avenue. She asked me who he was, and I


7o A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
was rather short with her, poor creature!” and Morley
sighed.
“I wonder why the man went to church.”
“I can't say that; but I can guess that when he knew
who Daisy was he wanted to speak to her.”
“What about?” asked Steel eagerly.
“About me and the summons. You see, Steel, there is
a half-uncle of Daisy Kent's who went to Australia. He
said that if he made his fortune he would leave the
money to her. Whether he is dead or alive I don't know,
but certainly she did not get any money left to her.
Powell's solicitors are Asher, Son, and Asher—”
“Powell? I thought the uncle would be called Kent,
unless, of course, he was uncle by the mother's side.”
“I said half-uncle,” said Morley dryly. “Powell is his
name—William Powell—and his solicitors are those who
issued that judgment summons. I expect the clerk wanted
to tell Daisy about my position and warn her against
lending me money. As though I should have asked the
girl for sixpence!”
“I don't see why this clerk should warn Miss Kent.”
“Well, you see, Daisy had a hundred a year, and they
pay it to her. As she might one day be an heiress, I sup-
pose they think it as well to keep an eye on her. This
man could not have known that Daisy was in church, and
may have just gone there to kill time. But when he
saw her and knew who she was, I daresay he wrote that
note asking her to come outside and be told all about me.”
“It might be so. Was the note found?”
“Not to my knowledge. But you should know, being
a detective.”
“I’m not omniscient,” replied Steel good-humoredly;
“it is only in novels that you get the perfect person who


OLIVER MORLEY. 71
never makes a mistake. Well, to resume. I don't see
why the clerk should have killed Miss Kent.”
“He did not kill her,” insisted Morley. “I was in the
room with him from the time he entered by the door to
the time he left by that middle window. He had no
chance of stealing the stiletto. Now Miss Denham had,
for she was in the room alone for a few moments.”
“But why should she have taken the clerk with her on
the car? If she killed the girl her object must have been
to escape herself?”
“I can't explain. Perhaps this clerk saw the crime and
hoped to make money out of it. Had he given the alarm
he wouldn't have gained any reward. So I suppose he
mounted the car with her, so that she should not escape
him.”
“A wild theory.”
“It's the only one I can think of,” responded Morley;
“but if you want to know more of this man go up to
Asher, Son, and Asher. I daresay they will be able to
give you his history.”
“And the Scarlet Cross?”
“I know nothing about that. I did not even notice if
the man had such a cross on his chain. In fact,” added
Morley frankly, “he was too shabby and poverty-stricken
to have a chain. I think Anne Denham killed Daisy; you
think this man did, and—”
“Pardon,” protested Steel. “I have not yet made up
my mind. But the two fled together, and there must be
some reason for that.”
“If so, it will be found in the past history of both, or
either. You know where to look for the man. I can
get from my wife the address of the Governesses’ Insti-
tute where she engaged Miss Denham. That is all I
can do, unless I take up the case myself.”


º
º
º
72 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Steel looked up with a laugh. He was copying the
address of the solicitors from the summons, but could
not help pausing to reply to this egotistical remark.
“Why, Mr. Morley, what do you know of such work?”
he asked, bantering.
“Much more than you would give me credit for. Did
you ever hear of by the way, this is another of my
secrets I am telling you, so please don't repeat it.”
“Are you going to say that you were in the profession?”
“I am. You may have heard of Joe Bart.”
“I should think so,” said Steel quickly. “He had a
splendid reputation, and was much thought of. But he re-
tired before I came to London. I was in the country
police for a long time. But”—he started up—“you don't
mean to say that—”
“That I am Joe Bart?” interrupted Morley, not ill-
pleased. “Yes, I do. I retired over ten years ago, more
fool I. You see, Steel, I grew wearied of thief-catching,
and as I had a chance of marrying a widow with money, I
took the offer and retired. But”—he looked at the sum-
mons—“the game wasn't worth the candle. I have had
nothing but trouble. Still, I am devoted to my wife and
her children.”
“And you have forgotten your former glory,” said Steel
enthusiastically; “surely not. That Hatton Garden jewel
robbery, the man with the red coat who committed the
Lichfield murder, and—”
“I remember them all,” said Morley, with gentle melan-
choly. “I have a full report of all the cases I was en-
gaged in yonder”—he nodded to a distant shelf. “Some-
times I take those volumes down and think what an ass
I was to retire.”
“But see here, Mr. Morley. You are hard up; you
want money. I am sure they would be glad to have you


OLIVER MORLEY. 73
back at the Yard. Why not recommence your detective
life with searching out this case?” -
Morley, late Joe Bart, shook his head. “There is no
difficulty about this case to tempt me,” he said. “Anne
Denham killed the girl. But I must say I should like to
find out about this clerk, and why he went off with her.
Still, it is useless for me to become a detective again. In
the first place my wife would not like it, and in the sec-
ond I have lost my keen scent. I am rusty—I am laid on
the shelf. No, no, Steel, you look after this matter your-
self. Any advice I can give you I shall, but don't tempt
the old dog out of his kennel.”
Steel looked admiringly at his host. Bart had been a
celebrated detective in his day, although not one of the
best. Still, he had made a reputation on two or three
cases, which entitled him to respect. “I should be proud
to work with you, Mr. Morley.”
“Well, well,” said Morley, rather pleased, “we’ll see.
At present I must put my wits to work to get money to
prevent my being made a bankrupt. Now don't give me
away, Steel.”
“I’ll say nothing. I suppose your wife knows that you
were—”
“Of course. But she made me promise to give it up.
Therefore you see I can't take up the life again. But my
advice to you—if you care to take it—is to look after the
governess, and leave the clerk alone. She is guilty; he
is not.”
“I’ll look after both,” said Steel firmly, “after both Mr.
—Bart.”
Morley laughed. “Report to me all you do,” he said,
and this Steel willingly promised.


CHAPTER VIII
THE IRONY OF FATE
ILES was slowly recovering from his illness, but as
yet was unable to leave his room. It was now
over a month since the death of Daisy, and during that
time all matters connected therewith had been reported
to the invalid. Thus he knew of the funeral, of the ver-
dict of the jury, and of the search that was being made
for Anne. Trim, who nursed his young master—and he
would not allow any one else to do so—day by day, re-
lated all that was taking place. The man himself quite
believed that Miss Denham was guilty, but he did not
offer this opinion to Ware, knowing how keenly Giles felt
the untoward tragedy. -
The young squire could not bring himself to believe that
Anne was guilty. Appearances were against her, and he
could not conceive what excuse she could make for her
flight with the lawyer's clerk. If she were innocent, she
had gone the best way to work up a feasible case against
her. But Giles was so deeply in love with her that the
blacker became her character in the mouths of the gen-
eral public, the more persistently he held to the belief
that it was whiter than snow. Had he been able he
would have followed her, in order to persuade her to


THE IRONY OF FATE 75
return and face the worst with a frank story of the events
of that terrible night. But he was chained to his bed,
and even had he been sufficiently well, he could not have
traced her whereabouts. Steel had called to explain his
doings, but not even he could guess where Anne was to
be found. And Giles rejoiced that this should be so.
“What's the news this morning, Trim?” he asked lan-
guidly.
“Mr. Morley has come to see you, sir. He is waiting
below.”
“I thought he had gone to Brighton with his wife and
family?”
“He did go some days back,” assented Trim, “but he
returned, sir—so he says—especially to see you.”
“How very good of him' Ask him to come up.”
“Are you strong enough, Master Giles?”
“Yes, you old tyrant. I hope to be up and about in a
week.”
Trim shook his grey head. He was rather a pessimist,
and did not believe in too sudden recoveries, insisting
that such did not last.
“You’ll have a relapse, sir, and be worse than ever.”
Ware laughed, knowing Trim’s ways, and motioned
him out of the room. When the old servant left, grum-
bling that his master should be disturbed, Giles began
to wonder what had brought Morley back from Brighton.
Perhaps he had come to speak of Daisy and her untimely
end; but he had already, on a previous occasion, said all
that was to be said about that matter. Ware sincerely
mourned Daisy, for in a way he had been fond of her.
Still, he could not but confess that a marriage between
them would have been a mistake, and that drastic as was
the cutting of the Gordian knot, it relieved him from an
impossible position. His love for Anne would always


76 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
have stood between himself and the unfortunate girl, and
her jealousy would have ruined both their lives. Certain-
ly he saw no chance of making Anne his wife, seeing that
she was a fugitive and accused of a terrible crime.
Nevertheless, since he had not to marry Daisy, the situa-
tion was less difficult. But Ware, his heart aching for
the woman he loved, found cold comfort in this reasoning.
Morley entered, looking ruddy and cheerful, quite his
old self, in fact. Evidently the sea air and the change
had assuaged his grief to a considerable extent, and Giles
could not help remarking cynically on his quick recovery.
“I thought you were fond of Daisy,” he said reproach-
fully.
“I was, and so was my wife,” answered Morley, taking
a seat beside the bed. “But what’s done can’t be undone,
and I have been trying to get over my sorrow. But in
spite of my looks, Ware, I have my bad moments. And
you?”
“I sincerely mourn for the poor girl. It is terrible that
she should be cut off so suddenly. But I am just as
sorry for Miss Denham, if not more sorry. It is those
who are left behind that suffer most, Morley.”
“Humph!” said the little man thoughtfully, “then you
did love Miss Denham P”
“Morley”—Giles started up on his elbow—“what do
you mean?”
“I am simply repeating what Daisy said.”
“She had a monomania on the subject,” said Ware un-
easily. “I never gave her any cause for jealousy.”
“Would you have married her had she lived?”
“Certainly,” said Ware coldly. “I promised my father
that the daughter of his old friend should be my wife.”
“I am sure you would have acted honorably,” said Mor-
ley gravely, “but it is just as well that you did not marry


THE IRONY OF FATE 77
the girl. I think she had some reason to be jealous of
Miss Denham.”
Ware groaned. “I tried my best to—” He broke
off with a frown. “This is my private business, Morley.
You have no right to pry into these things.”
Morley shrugged his shoulders. “As you please. I
shall say no more. But I don't expect you'll see Miss
Denham again.”
“I don't expect I shall. Please leave her name out of
this conversation.”
“For the moment I am agreeable to do so. But as I
believe her to be guilty, I must ask you a question or
two.”
“I shall answer no questions,” responded Giles vio-
lently. “Miss Denham is innocent.”
“Then why did she fly?”
“I don't know. If I can only find her, I shall ask her
to come back and face the worst. She can explain.”
“She will have to when she is caught. How do you
propose to find her, Ware?”
“I don't know. Wait till I am on my feet again.”
“Well,” said Morley cheerfully, “I’ll give you a clue
—the Scarlet Cross.”
“Rubbish! There's nothing in that in spite of the
anonymous letter. What do you know about the matter?”
“Only what Steel told me. He found a boatman at
Gravesend who declared that on the day of the crime—
Steel gave him the date—a small steam yacht was lying
in the river off the town. It was called The Red Cross.
The next morning it was gone. The night was foggy,
and no one saw it leave its moorings. It simply van-
ished. What do you make of that, Ware?”
“Nothing at all. What has this yacht to do with Miss
Denham P” -


78 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Can't you see? The anonymous letter referred to a
Scarlet Cross. Such an ornament was picked up in the
church, and the boat was called xx
“The Red Cross—not The Scarlet Cross,” interrupted
Ware.
“Only a difference of shade,” said Morley ironically.
“But I am certain that Miss Denham with her companion
went on board that yacht. I can’t think how else they
escaped.”
“Why should this lawyer's clerk have gone on board?”
“That's what Steel is trying to find out. I expect he
will make inquiries of Asher, Son, and Asher's office.
But the name of the yacht, the fact that Miss Denham
made for Gravesend, where it was lying, and its appear-
ance and disappearance within twenty-four hours during
which the crime was committed shows me that she fled
and that she is guilty.”
Ware restrained himself with a violent effort. “Oh,”
he said ironically, “then you believe that Miss Denham
arranged that the yacht should be at Gravesend, ready
for her flight, after the death of Daisy.”
“It looks like that,” assented Morley. “I believe my-
self that the crime was premeditated.”
“And was the fact of my car being at the church gate
premeditated?” asked Ware angrily. -
“Why not? Miss Denham knew that your car was
coming for you after the service.”
“Morley, I admit that things look black, but she is not
guilty.”
“Humph! You love her.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“As you will. Let us say no more on the subject. I
wish to tell you why I came.”
“It is sure to be a more disagreeable subject,” retorted


8o A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
told her that I had enough for both, but she hankered
after having money in her own right.”
“Look at the papers,” said Morley, handing them to
the young man, “and you will see that Powell died over
four months ago in Sydney. His solicitors arranged
about the estate in the colony of New South Wales, and
then communicated with Asher as Powell had advised
them before he died. There is a copy of the will there.”
“So I see. But tell me the chief points in it. I feel
too tired to wade through all this legal matter.”
“Well, the money was left to Daisy, and failing her it
goes to a man called George Franklin.”
“H'm He has come in for his kingdom very speedily,
thanks to the death of poor Daisy. Who is he?”
Morley glanced at a letter. “He was the brother-in-
law of Mr. Powell—married Powell's sister who is dead.
I don't know if there is any family. Asher's firm doesn't
know the whereabouts of Franklin, but they are adver-
tising for him. The five thousand a year goes to him
without reservation.”
“Why did they tell you all this?”
“I really can't say, unless it is because I was Daisy's
legal guardian. I wish she had come in for this money,
Ware, for I do not say but what I shouldn’t have been
glad of a trifle. And if Daisy had lived she would have
paid me something. Certainly as I did what I did do out
of sheer friendship with her father, I have no right to de-
mand anything, but when Franklin hears of my circum-
stances I hope he will lend me some money to get me out
of my difficulties.”
“It all depends upon the kind of man he turns out to be.
But I always thought, Morley, that it was your wife to
whom Kent left his daughter. She was an old friend of
his.”


THE IRONY OF FATE. 8I
“Quite so; but Kent appointed me guardian, as Mrs.
Morley refused to be legally bound. I am sure I did my
duty,” added the little man, with sudden heat.
“I am sure you did. You behaved like a father to her,
and I am sorry she did not live to repay you.” Giles
thought for a moment or so, then added, “I was engaged
to Daisy, and I am rich. Let me help you, Morley.”
“No, thanks. It is good of you to suggest such a thing,
but I am a very independent man. If this Franklin will
do anything, I don't mind accepting a thousand from
him; otherwise—no, Ware.”
Giles admired the bluff way in which Morley said this.
He knew well that for a long time Morley and his wife
had done all they could for Daisy Kent, and that both
of them deserved great praise. He suggested that Mrs.
Morley might be induced
“No,” interrupted his visitor, “my wife wants nothing.
She has her own money, and ample means.”
“Then why don't you ask for her help?”
“My dear Ware, I married Mrs. Morley because I loved
her, and not for her money. All her property is settled
on herself, and I have not touched one shilling of it. She
would willingly help me, but I have refused.”
“Isn't that rather quixotic on your part?”
“Perhaps,” responded Morley, with some dryness; “but
it is my nature. However, I see that I am tiring you.
I only came to tell you of this irony of fate, whereby
Daisy inherited a fortune too late to benefit by it. I must
go now. My wife expects me back in Brighton to-mor-
row.”
“When do you return to The Elms?”
“In a month. And what are your movements?”
Ware thought for a few minutes before he answered.
At length he spoke seriously.


82 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Morley, I know you are prejudiced against Miss Den-
ham.”
“I think she is guilty, if that is what you mean, Ware.”
“And I say that she is innocent. I intend to devote
myself to finding her and to clearing up this mystery.”
“Well, I wish you good luck,” said Morley, moving
towards the door; “but don't tell me when you find Miss
Denham. If I come across her I'll have her arrested.”
“That's plain enough. Well, since you are her de-
clared enemy, I shall keep my own counsel.” He raised
himself on his elbow. “But I tell you, Morley, that I
shall find her. I shall prove her innocence, and I shall
make her my wife.”
Morley opened the door.
“The age of miracles is past,” he said. “When you
are more yourself, you will be wiser. Good-bye, and a
speedy recovery.” -
As the visitor departed Trim entered with the letters.
He was not at all pleased to find Giles so flushed, and
refused to hand over the correspondence. Only when
Ware began to grow seriously angry did Trim give way.
He went grumbling out of the room as Giles opened his
letters. The first two were from friends in town asking
after his health; the third had a French stamp and the
Paris postmark. Ware opened it listlessly. He then ut-
tered an exclamation. On a sheet of thin foreign paper
was the drawing in pencil of a half-sovereign of Edward
VII., and thereon three circles placed in a triangle, marked
respectively “A,” “D,” and “P.” Below, in a handwrit-
ing he knew only too well, was written the one word
“Innocent.”
“Anne, Anne!” cried Ware, passionately kissing the
letter, “as though I needed you to tell me that!” .
And it was not till an hour later that he suddenly re-


THE IRONY OF FATE. 83
membered what a narrow escape he had had from putting
Morley on the track of Anne Denham. Had Morley seen
that letter P
“Paris,” murmured Giles, “I’ll go there.”


CHAPTER IX
A STRANGE DISCOVERY
HE offices of Asher, Son, and Asher were situated
in a dark, narrow street in the City, which led down
to the river. In former days the place might have been
respectable, and then the original Asher had set up his
official tent in the neighborhood; but civilization had
moved westward, and Terry Street was looked on askance
by fashionable solicitors. Nevertheless the firm of Asher
continued to dwell in the dingy office, where their pro-
genitors had slaved for close on a hundred years. It was
quite good enough, thought the present head of the firm,
for such well-known lawyers.
The firm did a good old-fashioned business, eminently
respectable and safe. None of the three partners was a
sharper, as Morley asserted; but as the firm had issued a
judgment summons against the master of The Elms, he
could scarcely be expected to think well of them. Old
Mr. Asher rarely came to the office, preferring his coun-
try house and melon beds, and the business was conducted
by the son and the other Asher, who was a cousin. Both
these gentlemen were over forty, and in spite of a modern
education were decidedly old-fashioned. There was


A STRANGE DISCOVERY 85
something in the musty air of the Terry Street office
that petrified them into old men before their due time.
The three clerks who sat in the outer rooms were also
elderly, and the sole youthful creature about the place
was the office boy, a red-haired imp who answered to
the name of Alexander. His surname was Benker, but
was not thought sufficiently dignified for use in so sedate
a place of business.
With some difficulty Steel found this musty haunt of
the legal Muse, and sent up his name to the senior part-
ner with a request for an interview. Alexander, whistling
between his teeth, led him into a frowzy apartment lined
with books and tin boxes, and furnished with a green
baize-covered table heaped with legal papers, three chairs,
and a mahogany sofa of the Early Victorian period. Mr.
Asher, the son, might have belonged to the same epoch,
in spite of his age, so rusty and smug did he look. His
face was clean-shaven with the exception of side-whiskers;
his hair was thin on the top and sparse on the sides, and
he was dressed in a suit of solemn black, with a satin tie
to match. In fact, he was the typical lawyer of melo-
drama, and Steel was surprised to find so ancient a sur-
vival in these modern days. But when they began to
talk Asher proved to be quite able to hold his own, and
was not at all fossilized in brain, whatever he might be
in appearance. He knew not only the name of Steel, but
all about the case and Steel's connection therewith. He
referred in feeling terms to Daisy's death.
“A very charming girl, Mr. Steel,” said the young-
old lawyer. “On several occasions she has been here to
draw her little income. It is sad that she should have met
with her death at the hands of a jealous woman at the
very time she was about to enjoy a legacy of five thou-
sand a year.”


86 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“You don't say so!” cried Steel, who had heard noth-
ing of this.
“Ah! Mr. Morley never informed you of the fact.”
“Well, no, he didn't; but then, I have not seen him
for over a week. I believe he is at Brighton with his
wife. Who left this money to the late Miss Kent?”
“A relative of hers who died lately in Australia.”
“And failing her who inherits?”
Mr. Asher reflected. “I don't know that you have any
right to ask that question,” he said, after a pause.
“Pardon me,” replied the detective. “Miss Kent was
murdered. I fancied that the money might have some-
thing to do with the commission of the crime.”
“No, Mr. Steel. I read the evidence given at the in-
quest. Jealousy was the motive of the crime, and Miss
Denham is guilty.”
“I am somewhat of that way of thinking myself, Mr.
Asher. And on the face of it there is no other way of
accounting for the murder. Nevertheless it is just as
well to look at the matter from all sides. The crime may
be connected with the question of this fortune. You may
as well tell me what I wish to know. I’ll keep my mouth
closed.”
“Are you going to accuse our client of the crime?”
asked Asher dryly. “I fear you will waste your time if
you do. Since you look at the matter in this way, I don't
mind speaking about what after all is not your business.”
“That is as it may be,” returned Steel enigmatically.
Asher passed this remark over. “Failing Miss Kent,
the five thousand a year goes to George Franklin, a
brother-in-law of the testator. We lately received a let-
ter from him, informing us that he intended to claim the
money.”
“How did he know that he would inherit?”


A STRANGE DISCOVERY 87
“We advertised for him. He is quite unaware of the
death of Miss Kent, and I daresay thinks Mr. Powell left
the fortune to him direct.” -
“You can't be certain of his ignorance. However, let
us give him the benefit of the doubt. Where did he write
from ?”
“From Florence, in Italy, where he has lived for four
years. He will be in London next week, and if you want
to see him xx
“I’ll think of it,” interrupted Steel. “There may be no
need to trouble Mr. Franklin. At present I am searching
for this clerk of yours, who went off with Miss Denham.”
The lawyer raised his eyebrows with manifest sur-
prise. “A clerk of ours, Mr. Steel? I don't quite fol-
low you.” -
“I refer to the man who served a judgment summons
on Mr. Morley.”
“A boy served that,” explained Asher. “The boy who
showed you in.”
Steel stared hard at the solicitor, trying to understand
why he had made such a statement. “But that is ab-
surd,” he remarked. “I know that nothing was said at
the inquest about the matter, as Mr. Morley did not wish
it to be known that he was in such difficulties. But a
tall man, with a reddish beard, dressed in a great-coat,
with a white scarf, served the summons. Afterwards he
went to the midnight service in the parish church, and
lured Miss Kent outside by means of a note, which we
cannot find. From what I have gathered this man went
with Miss Denham in Mr. Ware's motor-car. He fled
with her, and I fancy he must be either the assassin or
an accessory after the fact.”
Asher heard all this with extreme surprise. When
Steel concluded he touched the bell. Alexander respond-
º


88 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
ed with his usual cheerful and impudent air. His master
addressed him with some severity. “What about that
summons which was served by you on Mr. Morley, of
Rickwell ?” he demanded.
The lad grew crimson to his ears, and looked at the
floor much embarrassed. “I served it all right, sir,” he
mumbled.
“You served it,” struck in Steel, with emphasis. “That
is quite untrue. A tall man with a red beard served it.”
“Alexander, tell the truth. What does this mean?”
The boy began to sob, and drew his coat-sleeve across
his eye with a snuffle. “I thought it was all right,” he
said, “or I should not have given it to him.”
“The summons! You gave it to someone to serve?”
“Yes, sir. To Mr. Wilson, mother's lodger.”
“Is he tall? Has he a pale face and a red beard?”
asked Steel.
“He has, sir. He's been with mother six months, and
was always kind. When I got the summons he said that
he was going into the country, and would serve it on Mr.
Morley.”
“Alexander,” said Asher in an awful tone, “I gave you
money for your railway fare to go to Rickwell. What
have you done with that money, wretched boy?”
“I went to the Hippodrome with another boy,” wept
Alexander. “I thought as I’d take the holiday, as you'd
think I was in the country. Please, sir, I’m very sorry,
but I thought Mr. Wilson was all right.”
“Did Mr. Wilson come back to say that all was right?”
demanded. Steel sharply.
“No, sir, he didn't. Mother and I ain’t set eyes on
him since he went away to serve the summons. I was
afraid to tell you, sir,” he added to his master, “’cause


A STRANGE DISCOVERY 89
I knew I’d done wrong. But I hope you won't be hard
on me, sir.”
“Alexander,” said Mr. Asher, “you have disgraced a
most respectable office, and can no longer continue in it.
You have spent money, you have wasted time, both given
to you for a certain purpose. For the sake of your
mother, who is a hard-working woman, I shall not take
any legal steps. But from this day you cease to be in
our employment. Your wages for the week shall be con-
fiscated, since you have made free with my money. At
five to-day, Alexander, you leave this place forever.”
“Oh, sir—please, sir—I didn't—”
“Alexander, I have spoken. You can depart.”
With a howl the boy went out of the room, and sat
weeping in the outer office for at least ten minutes. He
was wondering what he should say to his mother, for she
was a terrible woman, with a short temper and a hard
hand. His fellow-clerks demanded what was the matter,
but Alexander had sense enough to keep his own counsel.
All he said was that the governor had discharged him,
and then he wept afresh.
While thus employed Steel made his appearance. He
had been discussing the matter with Asher, and had pro-
posed a course of action in connection with the delinquent
to which Asher agreed. He advanced to the weeping
Alexander and lifted him from his seat by the collar.
“Come, young man,” said he, “take me home to your
mother at once.”
“Oh, Lor’,” cried Alexander, “she'll give me beans !”
“You deserve the worst beating she can give you,” said
Steel severely, while the clerks grinned. “However, you
must come with me. Where do you live?”
“Warder Street, Lambeth,” snuffled Alexander, and


90 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
urged by the hand on his collar, went out of the office
with the detective.
“We'll take a hansom,” said Steel, and shortly was
ensconced in one with the miserable Alexander.
As a rule a ride in a hansom would have been a joy
to Master Benker, but he was too much afraid of the
meeting with his mother to take any pleasure in the treat.
However, he relied on the promise of the detective that
he would sooth the maternal ire, and managed to reply
fairly well to the questions Steel asked. These referred
to Mr. Wilson.
“Who is he?” demanded the detective.
“Mother's lodger,” replied Alexander; “he’s been with
her six months, and mother thought a deal of him. He
was kind to me.”
“Ah! Was he well off?”
“I don't knew. He paid his rent regular, but he wore
shabby clothes, and was always out. I only saw him at
night when I came home from the office.”
“Did he ask you many questions about the office?”
“Oh, yes. He said he wished me to get on—that I was
a smart boy, and a credit to my mother.”
“So you are,” answered Steel genially. “I’m sure
she'll give you a proof of her approval to-day. Now don't
cry, boy.” Steel shook Alexander, and then demanded
suddenly, “You copy all the letters, do you not?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Master Benker, wondering why
this was asked.
“And you read them sometimes?”
“Nearly always. I like to know what's going on.
Mr. Wilson said I should make myself acquainted with
everything.”
“I’m sure he did,” muttered Steel ironically. “Did you
read any letter saying that Miss Kent had inherited a


A STRANGE DISCOVERY 91
fortune? Miss Daisy Kent, who lived with Mr. Mor-
ley at Rickwell ?” -
Alexander thought for a moment. “Yes, I did. It
was a letter to some lawyers in Sydney.”
“Did you tell Mr. Wilson about it?”
“Yes, sir. He was always talking about people coming
in for money, and I said that a girl called Miss Kent had
come in for five thousand a year.”
“I thought so. When did you tell Mr. Wilson this?”
“Three days after Christmas.”
“Before he offered to serve the summons?”
“Why, I hadn't got the summons then,” said Alexander.
“Mr. Asher gave it to me the day before New Year. I
said I was going into the country to Rickwell, for Mr.
Wilson asked me what I was making myself smart for.
He said he'd take the summons, and that I could go to
the Hippodrome with Jim Tyler.”
“Which you did on your employer's money. You are
a smart lad, Alexander. What did your mother say?”
“Mother was out when I came home with the summons,
and after Mr. Wilson said he'd take it I didn't say any-
thing to her.”
“Then she thought that on the day before the New
Year you were at the office as usual?”
“Yes,” snuffled Master Benker, “she did. Oh, Lor’ſ.”
as the cab stopped before a tidy house in a quiet street,
“here we are.”
“And there is your mother,” said the detective cheer-
fully, as a severe face appeared at the white-curtained
window.
Alexander wept afresh as Steel paid the cabman, and
positively howled when the door opened and his mother
—a lean woman in a black dress, with a widow's cap—ap-


92 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
peared. He would have run away but that Steel again
had a hand on his collar.
“Alexander,” cried his mother harshly, “what have you
been doing?”
“Nothing very dreadful, ma'am,” interposed Steel.
“It will be all right. Let me in, and I'll speak for my
young friend.”
“And who may you be, sir?” demanded Mrs. Benker,
bristling.
“A personal friend of Mr. Asher's.”
On hearing this dreaded name Mrs. Benker softened,
and welcomed Steel into a neat parlor, where he seated
himself in a horsehair mahogany chair of the most slip-
pery description and related what had happened. Alex-
ander stood by and wept all the time. He wept more
when his mother spoke.
“I expected it,” she said in quiet despair; “that boy is
the bane of my life. I’ll speak to you shortly, Alexander.
Go to your room and retire to bed.”
“Oh, mother! mother!” cried Master Benker, writhing
at the prospect of a thorough whipping.
“Go to your room, Alexander, and make ready,” re-
peated the widow, with a glare, and the boy retired slow-
ly, wriggling and snuffling. When his sobs died away
and an upstairs door was heard to close with a bang, Mrs.
Benker addressed herself to Steel.
“I hope you will induce Mr. Asher to overlook this,”
she said, clasping a pair of lean, mittened hands; “I am
so poor.”
“I’ll do my best,” responded Steel; “that is, if you will
give me some information about your late lodger, Mr.
Wilson.”
“Why should I do that?” asked Mrs. Benker suspi-
ciously.


94 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
ander in the evening he would hardly have any light.
Then sometimes he would lie in bed all the day, and be
out all the night. At other times he would stay at home
the whole of the twenty-four hours. But he always paid
his rent regularly, and gave little trouble over his food.
Yes,” added Mrs. Benker, smoothing her apron, “Mr.
Wilson was always a gentleman. I will say that.”
“Humph!” thought Steel, taking all this in eagerly.
“A queer kind of gentleman,” he added aloud. “Did you
know anything else about him, Mrs. Benker?”
“No, sir.” She drew herself up primly. “I never pry
—never.”
“Did any one call to see Mr. Wilson?”
“No one. All the time he was here not one person
called.”
“Did he receive any letters?”
“No. Not one letter arrived.”
“Queer,” murmured Steel. “What newspaper did he
take?”
“The Morning Post. Also he took the World, Truth,
Modern Society, and M. A. P. He was fond of the fash-
ionable intelligence.”
“Oh, he was, was he? Would you have called him a
gentleman?”
“He always paid his rent duly,” hesitated Mrs. Benker,
“so far he was a perfect gentleman. But I have lived as
a lady's maid in the best families, sir, and I don't think
Mr. Wilson was what you or I would call an aristocrat.”
“I see. So you were a lady's maid once. In what
families?”
Mrs. Benker was not at all averse to relating her better
days, and did so with pride. “I was with the Countess
of Flint, with Mrs. Harwitch, and with Lady Susan Sum-
mersdale.”


CHAPTER X
ON A FRESH TRAIL
F Giles Ware had not been desperately in love and des-
perately anxious to find Anne Denham, he would
scarcely have gone to Paris on such a wild-goose chase.
The postmark on the letter showed that she was, or she
had been, in the French capital; but to find her in that
immense city was like looking for a haystack in a league-
long desert. However, Ware had an idea—foolish
enough—that some instinct would guide him to her side,
and, therefore, as soon as he recovered sufficiently to
travel he crossed the Channel with Trim. He left Rick-
well about three weeks after his interview with Morley.
Time enough, as he well knew, for Anne to change her
place of residence. But he trusted to luck.
For quite a fortnight he explored the city, accompanied
by the faithful old servant. Trim had sharp eyes, and
would be certain to recognize Anne if she came within
eyesight. But in spite of their vigilance and observa-
tion, the two saw no one even distantly resembling Anne.
Certainly if Giles had gone to the authorities, who take
note of all who come and go, he might have been more
successful. But knowing that Anne was wanted by the
English police, he did not dare to adopt this method. He


ON A FRESH TRAIL 97
was forced to rely entirely on himself, and his search re-
sulted in nothing.
“It ain't no good, Master Giles,” said Trim for at least
the tenth time; “we’ve lost the scent somehow. Better
go back to London. I don't want you to be ill over here,
sir, with nothing but foreign doctors to look after you.”
“I shan’t leave Paris until I am certain that she is not
in the place,” declared Ware resolutely.
“Well, sir, I don't know how much more certain you
wants to be. We've tramped them bullyvardes and
Chamy Elizas till our feet are near dropping off. You're
looking a shadow, Master Giles, if you'll excuse an old
man as nursed you when you were a baby. She ain't here.
Now I shouldn't be surprised if she were in London,” said
Trim wisely.
“What, in the very jaws of the lion? Nonsense!”
“Oh, but is it, sir? I always heard it said by them as
knows that the jaws of the lion is the very last place any
one expects to find them.” Trim did not state what
“them” he meant. “If she went back to Rickwell she
would be safe, especially if she laid up in some cottage
and called herself a widder.”
“Trim, you've been reading detective novels ſ”
“Not me, sir; I ain't got no time. But about this go-
ing back—”
“We'll go back to-morrow, Trim,” said Ware, with
sudden resolution. And Trim joyfully departed to pack.
It just struck Giles that after all Trim might be right,
and that having thrown the police off the scent by going
abroad in the yacht, Anne might return to London. She
might be there now, living in some quiet suburb, while
the police were wasting their time corresponding with the
French authorities. Moreover, Ware thought it would
be just as well to learn what Steel was doing. He had


98 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
charge of the case and might have struck the trail. In
that case Giles wanted to know, for he could then avert
any possible danger from Anne. And finally he reflected
that he might learn something about Anne's friends from
the people at the Governesses' Institute where Mrs. Mor-
ley had engaged her. If she returned to London it was
not impossible that she might have gone to hide in the
house of some friend. Any one who knew Anne could
be certain that she was not guilty of the crime she was
accused of, and would assuredly aid her to escape the un-
just law. So thought Giles in his ardor; but he quite
forgot that every one was not in love with Anne, and
would scarcly help her unless they were fully convinced
of her innocence, and perhaps not even then. Most peo-
ple have a holy horror of the law, and are not anxious
to help those in danger of the long arm of justice.
However, Giles reasoned as above and forthwith left
Paris for London. He took up his quarters in the Guelph
Hotel, opposite the Park, and began his search for Anne
again. Luckily he had obtained from Mrs. Morley the
number of the Institute, which was in South Kensington,
and the day after his arrival walked there to make in-
quiries. It was a very forlorn hope, but Ware saw no
other chance of achieving his desire.
The Institute was a tall red-brick house, with green
blinds and a prim, tidy look. He was shown into a prim
parlor and interviewed by a prim old lady, who wore
spectacles and had a pencil stuffed in the bosom of her
black gown. However, she was less prim than she
looked, and had a cheerful old ruddy face with a twinkling
pair of kindly eyes. In her heart Mrs. Cairns admired
this handsome young man who spoke so politely, and was
more willing to afford him the desired information than
if he had been elderly and ugly. Old as she was, the


ON A FRESH TRAIL IOS
Cairns had done—that he wished to have Anne arrested.
The following evening he arrayed himself with par-
ticular care and drove in a hansom to Westminster. The
cab stopped before a great pile of brick buildings near the
Abbey, and when Giles had dismissed it he entered a large
and well-lighted hall with a tesselated pavement. Here
a porter volunteered, on ascertaining his business, to con-
duct him to the door of the Princess Karacsay's flat,
which was on the first floor.
Giles was admitted by a neat maid-servant, who showed
him into a picturesque drawing-room. A tall woman in
evening dress was standing beside the window in the
twilight. Giles thought her figure was familiar and
recognized the turn of her head. He uttered a cry.
“Anne,” he said, stretching his arms. “Anne, my
dearest!”


CHAPTER XI
PRINCESS KARACSAY
VEN as he spoke the room was flooded with the light
of the electric lamps. The woman by the window
turned and came forward smiling. With a feeling of bit-
ter disappointment Giles recoiled. It was not Anne. He
had been deceived by a chance resemblance.
“I can quite understand your mistake,” said the Prin-
cess Karacsay. “It is not the first time that I have been
taken for my friend.”
Indeed, she was very like Anne, both in figure and face.
She had the some dark hair and dark eyes, the same oval
face and rich coloring. But her expression was differ-
ent. She was more haughty than Miss Denham, and
there was less simplicity in her manner. Even as Ware
looked at her the likeness seemed to vanish, and he won-
dered that he should have made such a mistake. But for
the twilight, the turn of her head, and her height, to-
gether with the way in which she carried herself, he would
not have been deceived.
“One would take you for Miss Denham's sister,” he
said when seated.
The Princess smiled oddly. “We are alike in many
ways,” she replied quietly. “I look upon Miss Denham


PRINCESS KARACSAY Io?
as my second self. You called me Anne when you mis-
took me for her,” she added, with a keen glance. -
“I have no right to do so, Princess, but He hesi-
tated, not knowing how to choose his words. She saw
his perplexity and smiled.
“I quite understand, Mr. Ware.”
“Anne—I mean Miss Denham—has told you about
me?”
“I have not seen her for months, Mr. Ware, not since
that terrible event which has made a fugitive of her.”
Giles was bitterly disappointed, and his face showed
his feelings. From what Mrs. Cairns had said he was
certain that the Princess would be able to help him, and
here she confessed an ignorance of Anne's whereabouts.
Nevertheless Ware still hoped. He thought that not
knowing his real errand, she was feigning ignorance for
the sake of her friend's safety. “I am sorry she has not
spoken to you about me,” he remarked, “for then you
would know that I wish her well.”
“Oh, I know that. Anne—I may as well call her Anne
to you, Mr. Ware—wrote to me from Rickwell several
times. She told me all about you. But I have not seen
her since the death of your fiancée. I have no idea where
she is now.”
“I thought—and Mrs. Cairns thought—that she would
come to you in her distress, or at least communicate her
whereabouts.”
“She has done neither, and I do not know where to
address a letter.”
“What is to be done?” said Giles half to himself and
much distressed.
Princess Karacsay rose and glanced at the clock with
a laugh. “Oh, if we talk, something may come of our
putting our heads together,” she said. “Meantime we


Io& A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
can make ourselves comfortable. Here are coffee and
cigarettes, Mr. Ware. Would you prefer a cigar?”
“No, thank you, Princess. These look very good.”
“Both coffee and cigarettes are Turkish,” said she,
handing him a cup and afterwards a cigarette. “I get
them from a cousin of mine who is an attaché at Con-
stantinople. Come now.” She lighted a cigarette for
herself and sat down on an amber divan near Ware's
chair. “Let us talk before my friend arrives.”
“I beg your pardon, Princess, I hope my coming 2
“No, no,” she explained hurriedly. “I asked my friend
to meet you.”
“Indeed.” Giles was much surprised. “I did not
know we had a mutual friend.”
The Princess nodded and blew a cloud of smoke. “At
ten o'clock you shall see him. I won't tell you who he is.
A little surprise, Mr. Ware.”
Ware looked at her sharply, but could make nothing
of the enigmatic smile on her face. She was undeniably
a very beautiful woman as she lounged amongst the am-
ber-tinted cushions, but in her dress and general looks
there was something barbaric. She wore a dinner dress
of mingled scarlet and black, and many chains of sequins
which jingled with her every movement. As Ware's eyes
met her own she flashed a languorous look at him, and a
slow smile wreathed her full red lips. Giles could not
help admiring her, but he had a feeling that she was not
altogether to be trusted. It behove him to be wary in
dealing with this superb tigress. Yet, as another thought
crossed his mind, he smiled involuntarily.
“Why do you smile, Mr. Ware?” asked the Princess.
She spoke the English language admirably, and with but
a little foreign accent.
“Pardon,” replied Giles, still smiling, “but Mrs. Cairns
>


PRINCESS KARACSAY Io9
told me that at one time you aspired to become a gov-
erness. I can't imagine you teaching children.”
“Ah, you have no imagination—no Englishman has.
Children are fond of me—very fond.” She cast another
look at his handsome face, and added with emphasis, “I
can make any one I choose fond of me.”
“I quite believe it, Princess. You have woman's im-
perial sceptre—beauty.”
“A charming compliment,” responded she, her mood
changing, “but we are not here to exchange compliments.
So you love Anne?”
“With all my heart and soul,” he replied fervently.
His hostess appeared rather disconcerted by this reply.
“You are a miracle of chivalry, my dear Mr. Ware,” she
said dryly. “But is it not rather a large heart you have
to love two women at the same time?”
“I understand what you mean,” answered Ware quietly,
“but my engagement to Miss Kent was purely a family
arrangement. I loved Anne—I still love her. All the
same, I would have married Miss Kent had she not been
murdered.”
“You are very obedient, Mr. Ware.”
“And you very satirical, Princess. I could explain,
but there is no need for me to do so. I want to find Anne.
Can you help me?”
“Not at present, but I may be able to do so. Of course,
you don't believe that she killed your fiancée?”
“Certainly not. I think the crime was committed by
the man with whom she fled.”
“A tall man with a red beard and hair and black eyes?”
“Yes, yes. Do you know him? Who is he?”
“I have had him described to me,” responded the Prin-
cess calmly, “but I know nothing about him.”
“Is he a friend of Anne's P”


IIO A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“That I don’t know.”
She quietly selected another cigarette, lighted it, and
looked with a serene smile at her visitor. Giles was an-
noyed. “We don't seem to be getting on with our busi-
ness, Princess,” he said roughly.
“What is our business?” she demanded, looking at him
through half-closed eyes. Her scrutiny made Giles un-
comfortable, and he shifted his seat as he answered.
“Mrs. Cairns said you could tell me about Anne.”
“So I can. What do you want to know, Mr. Ware?”
“Who is she P Who was her father? Is he dead or
alive? What do you know about the Scarlet Cross,
and—” He stopped, for the Princess had opened her
eyes to their fullest extent.
“The Scarlet Cross. You know about that also?” she
asked.
“Of course I do. There was an anonymous letter
“I have seen the letter, or at least a copy.”
“Indeed,” said Ware, much astonished, “and an enamel-
led cross—”
“I have seen the cross also.”
“It appears to me, Princess, that you know everything
about the case.”
She glanced again at the clock, and smiled as she re-
plied, “I am a friend of Anne's, Mr. Ware. I daresay you
would like to know who told me all these things. Well,
you shall be enlightened at ten o'clock. Meantime I can
tell you all I do know about Anne and her father.”
“You will speak freely?” he asked mistrustfully.
“Absolutely. You—you—” she hesitated—“you love
Anne.” She gave him a searching look. “Yes, I see you
do. I can speak openly. Will you have another cup of .
coffee? No!. Another cigarette. Ah, there is the box.
A match. Now.”
* >


PRINCESS KARACSAY III
“Now,” said Giles eagerly, “what about Anne?”
“What about myself first of all, Mr. Ware. I am a
Hungarian. I quarrelled with my people and ran away.
Finding myself stranded in London with very little money,
I tried to get a post as a governess. I went to Mrs.
Cairns, and thus became acquainted with Anne. We be-
came great friends. She told me everything about her-
self. When I knew her history we became greater friends
than ever. I was a governess only for a year. Then
someone heard me sing, and—” —she shrugged her
beautiful shoulders—“but that is quite another story, Mr.
Ware. I am a concert-singer now, and it pays me excel-
lently.”
“I am very pleased with your success, Princess. But
Anne?”
She flashed a rather annoyed look at him. “You are
scarcely so chivalrous as I thought, Mr. Ware,” she said
coldly. “No, say nothing; I quite understand. Let us
talk of Anne. I will tell you her history.” She re-lighted
her cigarette, which had gone out, and continued, “Her
father was a gambler and a wanderer. He lived mostly
on the Continent—Monte Carlo for choice. Anne's
mother”—here the Princess paused, and then went on
with an obvious effort—“I know nothing of Anne's
mother, Mr. Ware. She died when Anne was a child.
Mr. Denham brought up his daughter in a haphazard
way.”
“Was his name really Denham *
“So Anne told me. I had no reason to think that it
was otherwise. He was a gentleman of good family,
but an outcast from his people by reason of his reckless
folly. I also am an outcast,” said she pleasantly, “but
merely because I am strong-minded. I am not foolish.”


II4 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“The fact is,” said Steel easily, “I have changed my
opinion, Mr. Ware, and I think Miss Denham is innocent.
The man who killed Miss Kent is called Wilson.”
“Wilson. And who is Wilson, and why did he kill
her?”
“I don't know who Wilson is,” replied Steel. “I am
trying to find out. I am not quite certain why he killed
her, but I am beginning to suspect that it was on ac-
count of this inherited money. I told you that, Princess,”
he added, turning to the divan.
“Yes, Mr. Steel. And I said then, I say now, I do not
agree.”
“If you would be more explicit,” said Ware, feeling
helpless.
Steel took no notice of him for the moment. “Then if
it's not the money I don't know what the motive can be.”
He turned to Ware. “See here, sir. This Wilson, whom-
soever he may be, lived with the mother of Asher's office-
boy—he was her lodger. The boy told him about the
money coming to Miss Kent. Afterwards the lad had a
summons given him to serve on Morley. Wilson offered
to take it, and did so. He removed his effects from Mrs.
Benker's house—she's the mother of the lad—and went
down to Rickwell. You know what happened there. Now
if he didn't kill Miss Kent on account of the money, why
did he ask the office-boy about the matter?”
Giles shook his head. “I can't say,” he said, “no more
than I can explain why Miss Denham helped him to es-
cape.”
“Well,”—Steel scratched his chin—“I have an idea
about that. But you must not be offended if I speak
plainly, Mr. Ware.” -
“I shall be offended if you speak evil of my friend
Miss Denham.” This was from the Princess, who raised


116 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Well, then,” went on Steel triumphantly, while the
Princess—as Giles observed—listened intently, “I looked
after that yacht. I could not find her, but I am looking
for her now. That is why I am in the country. I came
up this morning from Deal, and I go back there to-mor-
row. I find, sir, that this yacht puts in at various places
every now and then.”
“Most yachts do.”
“Yes, sir. But while most yachts are at anchor in a
place does a burglary invariably occur? No, sir, wait,”
for Giles had sprung to his feet. “Lady Summersdale's
place was on the seashore. Her diamonds were stolen.
At the time this yacht was at anchor in the bay. A red
cross was found in the safe. The boat is called by that
name. Several times I find that when the yacht has been
at a certain place a burglary has occurred. This man Wil-
son wears a red cross on his watch-chain. Now, sir, I
believe that he is one of a gang of burglars—that the cross
is a sign. This explains his interest in the Society pa-
pers. He wants to find out where the best swag is to
be found, and xx
“But what has all this to do with my friend Anne?”
cried the Princess.
Steel shrugged his shoulders. “I say nothing,” he re-
plied. “You can draw your own inferences.”
“Do you mean to say that Miss Denham
“I say nothing,” interrupted Steel, catching up his hat.
“Mr. Ware, I am at your service when you want me.
Princess!” He bowed and went out.
As the outer door closed Giles and his hostess looked
at one another. “The man's a foul liar,” burst out Giles
furiously.
“Yes.” The woman was very pale. “Still, my friend
Anne once told me—”
xx


CHAPTER XII
MRS. PARRY's TEA
IX months had passed away since the death of Daisy.
The grass was now green above her grave. Where
she had fallen there had she been buried beside her father,
and the villagers often talked of the tragedy, and pointed
out to strangers the spot where it had taken place. But
she who had killed the girl—they still considered Anne
guilty—had never been brought to justice. From the day
she had fled on Ware's motor-car nothing had been heard
of her.
No one troubled about the dead girl. Daisy had not
been very popular during her life, and now that she was
gone her name was scarcely mentioned. For a time Mrs.
Morley had placed flowers on the green mound, but after
her return from Brighton had desisted. The grass grew
long, and the path beside the grave green. A tombstone
of white marble had been erected by Giles, and already
that was becoming discolored. Daisy and her resting-
place were forgotten. The poor child might have been
dead a hundred years instead of six months. Only the
tale of her death remained as a fireside legend, to be am-
plified and improved upon as the years went by.


MRS. PARRY'S TEA II9
After that one sensation life went on in Rickwell very
much as it had always done. Morley and his wife re-
turned to The Elms, and instead of having a new gover-
ness the triplets went to school. Mrs. Morley never spoke
of Anne or Daisy, and seemed to grow no more cheerful
than before even in the perfect summer weather. She
still looked pale and subdued, and her eyes still had in
their watery depths an anxious expression. Everyone said
that she was regretting the death of Daisy and the wick-
edness of Anne; but others remarked that she had looked
just as haggard and worn before as after the tragedy.
Mrs. Parry gave it as her opinion that the poor lady
had a secret sorrow, and tried by skilful questioning to
learn what it was. But either Mrs. Parry was not clever
enough or Mrs. Morley had no secret to reveal, for the
scandalmonger learned nothing. The only thing that
Mrs. Morley said was that she missed her girls. Where-
upon Mrs. Parry told her that she ought to be ashamed
of herself, seeing that the three were getting a good edu-
cation. However, this did not seem to console Mrs. Mor-
ley much, for she wept copiously in her usual fashion.
The good old lady returned to her cottage very much
disgusted. It was rather a dull time for her, as she had
heard no news for a long time. Everyone was so well-
behaved that there was no scandal going, and Mrs. Parry
began to think that she ought to pay a visit to town.
Her cousin, Mrs. McKail, had already gone back to New
Zealand with a fearful opinion of English Society, for
Mrs. Parry had blackened the country just as though she
had been a pro-Boer.
Then one day her little maid, who was called Jane, and
had the sharpest ears of any one in the village, brought
in breakfast with the remark that Mr. Ware had returned.


I22 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“No; I have looked everywhere. She has vanished like
a bubble.”
“It is just as well. You couldn't possibly marry her and
bring her back to Rickwell as your wife.”
“Why not? She is innocent. You said yourself that
she was.”
“And I believe it. I have stood up for her all through.
All the same, Ware, there would be a scandal if she came
back as Mrs. Ware.”
“I don't care two straws for that,” said Giles, flinging
back his head.
“No,” she replied dryly, “I know that. You're an ob-
stinate man, as any one can see with half an eye. Well,
I'm glad to see you again. Sit down in the armchair yon-
der and tell me what you have been doing all these months.
No good, if your face is the index of your mind.”
Ware laughed, and sitting down managed to stow his
long legs out of the way—no easy matter in the little
room. Then he accepted a cup of excellent tea from Mrs.
Parry and some of her celebrated cake.
He did not reply immediately, as he did not want to
tell her the truth. She had too long a tongue to be told
anything which it was necessary to keep secret. He put
her off as he best could with a general answer.
“I have just been going to and fro.”
“Like Satan,” sniffed Mrs. Parry. “He’s your model,
is he? So you have been searching for Anne. Where?”
“In Paris and in London. But I can’t find her.”
“She doesn’t want you to find her,” replied the old lady.
“If she did, you would stand face to face with her soon
enough.”
“That goes without the speaking,” retorted Ware.
“However, my adventures would not amuse you, Mrs.


MRS. PARRY'S TEA I23
Parry. Suppose you tell me what has been going on in
these parts?”
“As if I knew anything of what was going on,”
Mrs. Parry.
Giles laughed.
It was a fiction with Mrs. Parry that she never inter-
fered with other people's business, whereas there was not
a pie within miles into which she had not thrust her finger.
But he knew how to start her tongue.
“The Morleys, what about them?”
“No change, Ware. The Tricolor has gone to school—
I mean the three children—although I can't get out of the
habit of calling them by that ridiculous name. Mrs. Mor-
ley is as dismal as ever, and seems to miss Anne very
much.”
“As well she might. Anne was a good friend to her.
And Morley?”
“He has found a new friend,” said Mrs. Parry trium-
phantly, “a man called Franklin.”
“George Franklin'" cried Ware, startled, for he had
heard all about the fortune from Steel. “He is the man
who inherited the five thousand a year that Powell left
to Daisy. Steel, the detective, told me, and, now I think
of it, Morley told me himself when I was ill.”
“It’s the same man, Ware. He has been here two
months, and has taken the Priory.”
“That's a cheerful place,” said Giles. “Why, it has
been standing empty for three years.”
“I know. The last tenants left because they said it was
haunted.”
“Rubbish! And by what?”
“By a white lady. She wanders up and down the park,
wringing her hands. But this Franklin evidently does not
’ said


I24 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
believe in ghosts, for he has been there these two months,
and never a word from him.”
“What kind of a man is he?”
“A tall man, with very black eyes, and a black beard.
No,” added Mrs. Parry, correcting herself, “I am wrong.
He had a beard when he first came, and now has shaved it
off.”
“Have you seen much of him?”
“Hardly anything. Morley is the only person with
whom he is intimate in any degree. He hardly ever comes
out, and when people call he is not at home. Why the
man should have five thousand a year I can't make out.
He does no good with it.”
“Any family? a wife?”
“There is a daughter, I understand, but she is an in-
valid, and keeps to her room or to the grounds. Weak
in the head I should say, seeing how secluded her father
keeps her.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Yes, I came on her unexpectedly one day—or rather
one evening. A short girl, with red hair and a freckled
face. She looks a fool, and was dressed in all the colors
of the rainbow. I don’t wonder he—I mean Franklin—
keeps her out of sight.”
“Humph!” said Ware, rather astonished by the extent
of Mrs. Parry's information, “did the servants tell you
all this?”
“There are no servants,” retorted Mrs. Parry, with
scorn. “The man is a mean creature. You may not be-
lieve me, Ware, but he has only three people to do the
work of that huge house.”
“Then there are three servants?”
“Some people might call them so,” retorted Mrs. Parry,
determined not to give up her point, “but they are a queer


126 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
guest. Then, before replying, she gave him permission
to smoke. “I like the scent of a cigar about the place,”
she said; “it reminds me of the Colonel. He was an
awful man to smoke. The one habit I could not break
him of.”
Giles lighted a cigarette willingly enough, and repeated
his question. This time he got an answer that surprised
him. “It’s this way,” said the old lady, taking up her
knitting, “for some time the grave was quite neglected.”
“No, I gave orders that it should be looked after. I
told Drake and my gardener. He's a friend of the sex-
ton's, and I thought there would be no trouble.”
“There has been, then,” said Mrs. Parry triumphantly.
“The sexton and your gardener quarrelled, and have not
been on speaking terms for months. Thomas, the sexton,
won't let Williams do anything to the grave, and out of
spite won't touch it himself, so it went to rack and ruin.
The grass is long—or rather was long—and the flowers
all gone to seed. A sore wreck, Ware.”
“I am most annoyed. I'll see about it to-morrow.”
“There is no need. The grave is now as neat as a
new pin. The grass is clipped, and fresh flowers were
planted a month ago. I never saw a grave better kept.
Quite a labor of love.”
“And who has done this? Mrs. Morley?”
“Pish!” said the old dame pettishly. “As though that
woman had the gumption to do anything. Humph! No
one knows who has done it.”
“What do you mean?” Ware looked puzzled.
“What I say; I usually do. The grave has been put
to rights. At first few people noticed it, because few go
into that corner; but one day some imp of a choir boy
saw the improvement, and told old Thomas. He came
and looked at it, and others came. No one knew who


CHAPTER XIII
MRS. BENEER REAPPEARS
HE more Giles thought about Franklin, the more he
was certain that he was the man for whom search
was being made. To be sure there was no distinguishing
mark of identification; the evidence that he was one and
the same amounted to the facts that he had large black
eyes, and that his height and figure resembled the so-
called Wilson. Moreover, although other people in the
village had seen the clerk, no one but Giles seemed to
recognize him. In fact, this recognition was rather due
to an instinct than to any tangible reason. But in his own
mind he was convinced. He recalled how the man had
suddenly removed his scarf as though he were stifling on
that night. He remembered the wan face, the dark,
anxious face, and the rough red beard and hair.
To be sure Franklin was dark-haired and sallow in
complexion; also he was clean-shaved, and even when
not—according to Mrs. Parry—had worn a full black
beard. But the red hair and whiskers might have been
assumed as a disguise. Giles did not know very well how
to verify his suspicions. Then he determined to confide
in Morley. Steel had told him that the proprietor of The
Elms was an ex-detective, and Giles thought that for the


130 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
sake of avenging Daisy's death he might be induced to
take up his old trade. With this idea he called at The
Elms.
Morley was delighted to see him and welcomed him
in the most cheerful manner. He and Giles were always
good friends, and the only subject of contention between
them was the question of Anne's guilt. Morley still be-
lieved that the governess had committed the crime and
asked after her at the outset of the interview.
“Have you found her?” he asked, just as Mrs. Parry
had done.
Giles knew quite well of whom he was speaking. “No,
I have not,” he answered; “and if I had I certainly should
not tell you.”
“As you please,” replied the little man complacently;
“you will never see the truth.”
“It is not the truth. But see here, Morley, what is the
use of our discussing this matter? You believe Miss Den-
ham to be guilty. I am certain that she is innocent. Let
the difference between us rest there. Still, if I could
prove the innocence of Miss Denham—”
“I should be more than delighted,” responded Morley
quickly, “and would make all the amends in my power
for my unjust suspicions. But you have first to prove
them unjust. Believe me, Ware, I admired Miss Denham
as much as my wife did, and thought much of her. I
defended her from poor Daisy's aspersions, and would
have stood her friend all through but for this last act of
hers. Well! Well, don't get angry. I am willing to be
shown that I am wrong. Show me.”
Giles reflected for a moment, then went straight to the
point.
“I have been with Steel,” he said abruptly, “and he
tells me that you have been in the detective line yourself.”


MRS. BENKER REAPPEARS. I31
Morley nodded. “Quite so,” he answered, “although
I asked Steel to say nothing about it. I am a private gen-
tleman now, and I don't want my former occupation to
be known in Rickwell. A prejudice exists against detec-
tives, Ware. People don't like them, because every one
has something to conceal, and with a trained man he or
she is afraid lest some secret sin should come to light.”
“It may be so, although that is rather a cynical way
of looking at the matter. But you are really Joe Bart?”
“Yes. And quite at your service. Only keep this
quiet.”
“Certainly. I quite appreciate your reasons for want-
ing the matter kept quiet. But see here, Mr. Morley—I
shall call you so.”
“It will be better,” replied the ex-detective cheerfully;
“and I have a sort of right to the name. It was my
mother’s.”
“Very good. Then as Morley why should you not ex-
ercise your old skill and help me to find out who killed
Daisy”
“I should be delighted, and what skill remains to me is
at your service. But I am rusty now, and cannot follow a
trail with my old persistence or talent. Besides, my mind
is made up as to the guilt—”
“Yes, yes,” interposed Giles hastily; “you think so,
but I don't agree with you. Now listen to what I have
to tell you, and I am sure you will think that it was the
man who killed Daisy.”
“But he had no motive.”
“Yes, he had. I’ll tell it to you concisely.”
Morley looked surprised at Giles’ insistence, but nodded
without a word and waited for an explanation. Giles
related all that he had learned about Wilson, and how
Steel had connected him with the supposed clerk who had


I32 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
served the summons on Morley. Then he proceeded to
detail Steel's belief that the so-called Wilson was a bur-
glar, and mentioned the fact of the yacht with the strange
name. Morley listened in silence, but interrupted the
recital with a laugh, when the scarlet cross was mentioned
in connection with the robbery at Lady Summerdale's
house.
“Steel has found a mare's nest this time,” he said cool-
ly. “He knew better than to come to me with such a
cock and bull story, although he has imposed very suc-
cessfully on you and on that Hungarian Princess you talk
of. I had the Summersdale case in hand.”
“I know. Steel said that you carried it through suc-
cessfully.”
Morley demurred. “I don't know if you can say that I
was successful, Ware. It was not one of my lucky cases.
I certainly got back the jewels. I found them in their
London hiding-place, but I did not catch one of the
thieves. They all bolted.”
“In The Red Cross yacht.”
“Oh, that's all rubbish,” said Morley frankly; “there
were a great many yachts at Bexleigh on that occasion.
I don’t remember one called The Red Cross. And even if
one of that name was there, it does not say that it is the
same that was off Gravesend the other day.”
“Six months ago,” corrected Giles gravely; “but how
do you account for the fact that wherever that yacht has
been burglaries have taken place?”
“I can’t account for it, and Steel has yet to prove that
there is any connection between the yacht and the rob-
beries. He thinks it a kind of pirate ship evidently. Not
a bad idea, though,” added Morley musingly; “the goods
could be removed easily without suspicion on board a
good-looking yacht.”


MRS. BENKER REAPPEARS I33
“And that is what has been done.”
“It wasn't in the matter of Lady Summersdale's
jewels,” retorted the ex-detective. “I found those in Lon-
don, and have reason to believe that they were taken there
by train. Besides, there was no connection between the
yacht and that robbery.”
“Steel said that a scarlet cross was found in the safe,
and 3 *
“And,” interrupted Morley, “there you have the long
arm of coincidence, Ware. That cross belonged to Lady
Summersdale, and was one of the trinkets left behind.
If you want proof on this point, you have only to ask
Lady no, I forgot, she is dead. However, I daresay
her son or daughter will be able to prove that the cross
was hers.”
Giles was much disappointed by this explanation, which
seemed clear enough. And if any one should know the
truth, it would be the man who had taken charge of the
case. Failing on this point, Giles shifted his ground.
“Well, Morley,” he said, “I am not very anxious to
prove this man Wilson a burglar. He is a murderer, I
am sure, and the greater crime swallows up the lesser.”
“That sounds law,” said Morley, lighting a cigar.
“Well, Ware, I don't see how I can help you. This
man Wilson, whether he is innocent or guilty, has van-
ished; and, moreover, his connection, if any, with the
Summersdale robbery of ten years ago won't prove him
guilty of my poor ward's death.”
“I only mentioned that to show his connection with the
yacht at Gravesend. But as to this Wilson, I know where
he is.”
Morley wheeled round with an eager light in his eyes.
“The devil you do. Where is he?”
“At the Priory.”


I34 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Is this a joke?” cried Morley angrily. “If so, it is a
very poor one, Ware. The man who lives at the Priory
is my friend Franklin ->
“He is also the man who was in the church on New
Year's Eve—the man who killed Daisy, as I truly be-
lieve.”
Giles went on to state what his reasons were for this
belief. All at once Morley started to his feet. “Ah! I
know now why something about him seemed to be familiar
to me. What a fool I am! I believe you are right, Ware.”
“What? That he is this man Wilson P”
“I don't know what his former name was,” replied
Morley, with a shrug, “but now you mention it I fancy
he is the man who served the summons on me.”
“You ought to know,” said Ware dryly; “you saw
him in this room, and in a good light.”
“True enough, Ware; but all the time he kept his col-
lar up and that white scarf round his throat. His chin
was quite buried in it. And then he had a rough red—
wig, shall we say? and a red beard. I didn't trouble to
ask him to make himself comfortable. All I wanted was
to get him out of the way. But I remember his black
eyes. Franklin has eyes like that, and sometimes I catch
myself wondering where I have seen him before. He
tells me he has lived in Florence these six years and more.
I fancied that when I was a detective I might have seen
him, but he insisted that he had not been to London for
years and years. He originally came from the States.
And I was once a detective! Good Lord, how I have
lost my old cleverness! But to be sure I have been idle
these ten years.”
“Then you think Franklin is this man?”
“I think so, but of course I can't be sure. Naturally he
will deny that he is, and I can't prove the matter myself.


MRS. BENKER REAPPEARS I35
But I tell you what, Ware,” said Morley suddenly, “get
that woman Wilson lodged with down, and see if she will
recognize Franklin as her former lodger. She, if any
one, will know him, and perhaps throw him off his guard.”
Ware rose. “A very good idea,” he said. “I’ll write to
her at once. I am certain this is the man, especially as he
has inherited Daisy's money. He killed her in order to
get the fortune, and that was why he kept asking Asher's
office boy about money left to people.”
“Ah!” Morley looked thoughtful. “So that was the
motive, you think?”
“I am sure of it, and a quite strong enough motive for
many people,” said Ware grimly. “If Mrs. Benker can
verify this man, I'll have him arrested. He will have to
explain why he came here instead of the office boy, and
why he fled on that night.”
“Yes, yes!” cried Morley excitedly. “And he might
perhaps explain why the governess helped him to escape.”
“Ah!” Giles' face fell. “So he might; but if he dares
to inculpate her in this crime—”
“Ware,” said Morley, laying his hand on the young
man's shoulder, “if I were you I should do nothing rash.
Every one thinks that Miss Denham is guilty. If this
Franklin is the man who fled with her, he will accuse her
to save himself. Certainly there is the motive of the
money, but that might be explained away.”
“I don’t see how it can.”
“Nor I; still, there is always the chance. Again, he
may take alarm—always presuming he is the man—and
fly. I tell you what, Ware, you bring Mrs. Benker down,
and take her into the grounds of the Priory. I will ar-
range that Franklin, without suspecting her or us, shall
meet her, accidentally, at some place where we can hide.
Then we can overhear if he is the man or not.”


136 7A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“He’ll deny that he is.”
“Why should he? There is nothing, so far as he knows,
that Mrs. Benker can lay hold of. If he is the man he
will admit his identity, if not, he will explain who he is.
Whereas if we show ourselves and show that we suspect
him, he will be on his guard. No, Ware; better let the
woman meet him by chance.”
“It’s a good plan,” replied Giles, shaking hands hearti-
ly with Morley. “I am delighted that you should co-
operate with me. We will yet prove that Anne is inno-
cent.” -
“I hope so,” cried his host, slapping Giles on the back.
“Off with you, Ware, to do your part. I'll attend to
Franklin. But say no word of our plan to any one. Upon
my word,” cried he jubilantly, “I feel just as though I
were in the profession again.” And thus laughing and
joking, he sent his visitor away in the best of spirits.
Delighted that he had some one to help him, Giles lost
no time in performing his part of the business. He sent
a letter to Mrs. Benker, asking her to come down for a
couple of days. It was his intention to invite Alexander
also, as the boy would also be useful in identifying Frank-
lin as his mother's former lodger; but since leaving
Asher's Alexander had been taken up by Steel, who saw
in him the makings of a good detective. If Alexander
learned anything he would certainly tell his master, and
then Steel would come down to interfere. Ware did not
want him to meddle with the matter at present. He
wished to be sure of his ground first, and then would ask
the assistance of the detective to have Franklin arrested.
Of course, he had every confidence in Steel, but for the
above reason he determined to keep his present action
quiet. Also, Steel was on the south coast, hunting for
evidence concerning The Red Cross yacht, and would not


MRS. BENKER REAPPEARS I37
be pleased at being taken away to follow what might
prove to be a false trail. Ware therefore said nothing
to Mrs. Benker about what he desired to see her, but
simply asked her to come down on a visit.
There was a prospect of his having another visitor,
and one he did not much wish to meet. This was the
Princess Karacsay. Several times he had called to see
her, but she had always put off her promised explanation
on some plea or another. Instead of attending strictly to
the business which had brought them together, she made
herself agreeable to Giles—too agreeable he thought, for
he had by this time got it into his head that Olga Karac-
say was in love with him. He was not a vain young man,
and tried to think that her attentions were merely friend-
ly; but she was so persistent in her invitations and—in
the slang phrase—made such running with him, that he
grew rather nervous of her attentions. Several times she
had proposed to come on a visit to Rickwell, but hitherto
he had always managed to put her off. But her letters
were becoming very imperative, and he foresaw trouble.
It was quite a relief to Giles when the post arrived with-
out a letter from this too persistent and too charming lady.
However, she did not trouble him on this especial occa-
sion, and he was thus enabled to give all his time to Mrs.
Benker.
That good lady duly arrived, looking more severe than
ever and with several new tales about the iniquities of
Alexander. She expressed herself greatly obliged to
Giles for giving her a day in the country, and got on very
well with the old housekeeper. But when Ware told her
his reason for asking her, Mrs. Benker grew rather nerv-
ous, as she did not think how she could support an inter-
view, and, also, she wanted to know what the interview
was for. To some extent Giles had to take her into his


138 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
confidence, but he suppressed the fact that he suspected
Franklin of the crime. He merely stated that Steel—who
had introduced Giles to Mrs. Benker—had reason to be-
lieve that the so-called Wilson was wanted by the police.
All that Mrs. Benker had to do was to see if Franklin
was really her former lodger. After much talk and many
objections, she consented to do what was wanted.
This was to wander in the park of the Priory and meet
Franklin accidentally near a ruined summer-house, near
what was known as the fish-ponds. Morley had arranged
that Franklin should meet him there, and was to be late,
so as to afford Mrs. Benker an opportunity of speaking to
the man. Morley and Ware concealed themselves in the
summer-house and saw Mrs. Benker parading the grass.
Shortly Franklin arrived, walking slowly, and Mrs. Ben-
ker saluted him.


I4O A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Boarded with you!” Franklin stared, and spoke in an
astonished tone. “Why, I never boarded with you in my
life I’’
“Oh, Mr. Wilson, how can you? What about my little
house in Lambeth, and the dear boy—my son Alexander—
you were so fond of?”
“You are raving.”
“I’m as sane as you are,” said the landlady, her color
rising, “and a deal more respectable, if all were known.
Why you should deny me to my face is more than I can
make out, Mr. Wilson.”
“My name is not Wilson.”
“And I say it is, sir.”
Both the man and the woman eyed one another firmly.
Then Franklin motioned Mrs. Benker to a seat on a mossy
bank.
“We can talk better sitting,” said he. “I should like
an explanation of this. You say that my name is Wilson,
and that I boarded with you.”
“At Lambeth. I'll take my oath to it.”
“Had your boarder red hair and a red beard?”
“Red as a tomato. But you can buy wigs and false
beards. Eyes, as I say, you cannot change.”
“Had this Wilson eyes like mine?” asked Frankly eager-
ly. -
“There ain't a scrap of difference, Mr. Wilson. Your
eyes are the same now as they were then.”
“One moment. Had this man you think me to be two
teeth missing in his lower jaw—two front teeth?”
“He had. Not that his teeth were of the best.”
Franklin drew down his lip.
“You will see that I have all my teeth.”
“H'm l’ Mrs. Benker sniffed. “False teeth can be
bought.”


TREASURE TROVE I4I
“I fear you would find these teeth only too genuine,”
said the man quietly. “But I quite understand your mis-
take.”
“My mistake?” Mrs. Benker shook her head vehement-
ly. “I’m not the one to make mistakes.”
“On this occasion you have done so; but the mistake
is pardonable. Mrs.-Mrs.--what is your name?”
“Mrs. Benker, sir. And you know it.”
“Excuse me, I do not know it. The man who was your
lodger, and whom you accuse me of being, is my brother.”
“Your brother" echoed the landlady, amazed.
“Yes, and a bad lot he is. Never did a hand's turn in
all his life. I daresay while he was with you he kept the
most irregular hours?”
“He did—most irregular.”
“Out all night at times, and in all day? And again,
out all day and in for the night?” -
“You describe him exactly.” Mrs. Benker peered into
the clean-shaven face in a puzzled manner. “Your hair
is black, your voice is changed, and only the eyes remain.”
“My brother and I have eyes exactly the same. I
guessed your mistake when you spoke. V assure you I
am not my brother.”
“Well, sir,” said the woman, beginning to think she had
made a mistake after all, “I will say your voice is not like
his. It was low and soft, while yours, if you'll excuse me
mentioning it, is hard, and not at all what I'd call a love-
voice.”
Grim as Franklin was, he could not help laughing at
this last remark.
“I quite understand. You only confirm what I say.
My brother has a beautiful voice, Mrs. Benker; and much
harm he has done with it amongst your sex.”
“He never harmed me,” said Mrs. Benker, bridling. “I


TREASURE TROVE I43
“I’m not at all astonished. He has placed himself with-
in the reach of the law a hundred times. If the police
come to me, I'll tell them what I have told you. No one
would be more pleased than I to see Walter laid by the
heels.”
“Is his name Walter?”
“Yes, Walter Franklin, although he chooses to call him-
self Wilson. My name is George. He is a blackguard.”
“Oh, sir, your flesh and blood.”
“He’s no brother of mine,” said Franklin, rising, with
a snarl. “I hate the man. He had traded on his resem-
blance to me to get money and do all manner of scoundrel-
ly actions. That was why I went to Italy. It seems that
I did wisely, for if I could not prove that I have been
abroad these ten years, you would swear that I was Wal-
ter.”
“Oh, no, sir—really.” Mrs. Benker rose also.
“Nonsense. You swore that I was Walter when we
first met. Take a good look at me now, so that you may
be sure that I am not he. I don't want to have his ras-
calities placed on my shoulders.”
Mrs. Benker took a good look and sighed. “You’re
not him, but you're very like. May I ask if you are
twins, sir?” -
“No. Our eyes are the only things that we have in
common. We got those from our mother, who was an
Italian. I take after my mother, and am black, as you
see me. My brother favored my father, who was as red
as an autumn sunset.”
“He was indeed red,” sighed Mrs. Benker, wrapping
her shawl round her; “and now, sir, I hope you'll hum-
bly forgive me for—”
“That's all right, Mrs. Benker. I only explained myself


144 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
at length because I am so sick of having my brother's sins
imputed on me. I hope he paid your rent.”
“Oh, yes, sir, he did that regularly.”
“Indeed,” sneered Franklin; “then he is more honest
than I gave him credit for being. Because if he had not
paid you I should have done so. You seem to be a de-
cent woman and—”
“A widow !” murmured Mrs. Benker, hoping that he
would give her some money. But this Mr. Franklin had
no intention of doing.
“You can go now,” he said, pointing with his stick to-
wards an ornamental bridge; “that is the best way to the
high-road. And, Mrs. Benker, if my brother should re-
turn to you let me know.”
“And the police, sir,” she faltered.
“I’ll tell the police myself,” said the man, frowning.
“Good day.”
Mrs. Benker, rather disappointed that she should have
received no money, and wishing that she had said Walter
Franklin had not paid her rent, crept off, a lugubrious fig-
ure, across the bridge. Franklin watched her till she was
out of sight, then took off his hat, exposing a high, bald-
ish head. His face was dark, and he began to mutter to
himself. Finally, he spoke articulately.
“Am I never to be rid of that scamp?” he said, shak-
ing his fist at the sky. “I have lived in Italy—in exile,
so that I should not be troubled with his schemes and ras-
calities. I have buried myself here, with my daughter and
those three who are faithful to me, in order that he may
not find me out. And now I hear of him. That woman.
She is a spy of his. I believe she came here from him
with a made-up story. Walter will come, and then I'll
have to buy him off. I shall be glad to do so. But to be
blackmailed by that reptile. No! I'll go back to Florence


TREASURE TROVE I45
first.” He replaced his hat and began to dig his stick in
the ground. “I wonder if Morley would help me. He is
a shrewd man. He might advise me how to deal with this
wretched brother of mine. If I could only trust him?”
He looked round. “1 wonder where he is? He promised
to meet me half an hour ago.” Here Franklin glanced at
his watch. “I’ll walk over to The Elms and ask who this
woman, Mrs. Benker, is. He may know.”
All this was delivered audibly and at intervals. Giles
was not astonished, as he knew from Mrs. Parry that the
man was in the habit of talking aloud to himself. But
he was disappointed to receive such a clear proof that
Franklin was not the man who had eloped with Anne.
Even if he had been deceiving Mrs. Benker (which was
not to be thought of), he would scarcely have spoken in
soliloquy as he did if he had not been the man he asserted
himself to be. Giles, saying nothing to his companion,
watched Franklin in silence until he was out of sight,
and then rose to stretch his long legs, Morley, with a
groan, followed his example. It was he who spoke first.
“I am half dead with the cramp,” said he, rubbing his
stout leg, “just like old times when I hid in a cupboard
at Mother Meddlers, to hear Black Bill give himself away
over a burglary. Ay, and I nearly sneezed that time,
which would have cost me my life. I have been safe
enough in that summer-house—but the cramp—owch 1”
“It seems I have been mistaken,” was all Giles could
Say.
“So have I, so was Mrs. Benker. We are all in the
same box. The man is evidently very like his scamp of a
brother.”
“No doubt, Morley. But he isn't the brother himself.”
“More's the pity, for Franklin's sake as well as our


146 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
own. He seems to hate his brother fairly and would be
willing to give him up to the law—if he's done anything.”
“Well,” said Ware, beginning to walk, “this Walter
Franklin—to give him his real name—has committed mur-
der. I am more convinced than ever that he is the guilty
person. But I don't see what he has to do with Anne.
Her father is certainly dead—died at Florence. Ha! Mor-
ley. Franklin comes from Florence. He may know—he
may have heard.”
Morley nodded. “You’re quite right, Ware. I’ll ask
him about the matter. Humph!” The ex-detective stop-
ped for a moment. “This involuntary confession clears
George Franklin.”
“Yes. He is innocent enough.”
“Well, but he inherited the money,” said Morley. “It’s
queer that his brother, according to you, should have
killed the girl who kept the fortune from him.”
“It is strange. But it might be that Walter Franklin
intended to play the part of his brother and get the money,
counting on the resemblance between them.”
“That's true enough. Yet if George were in Italy and
within hail, so to speak, I don't see how that would have
done. Why not come to The Elms with me and speak to
Franklin yourself? He will be waiting for me there.”
“No,” answered Ware after some thought, “he evi-
dently intends to trust you, and if I come he may hold
his tongue. You draw him out, Morley, and then you can
tell me. Mrs. Benker—”
“I’ll say nothing about her. I am not supposed to know
that she is a visitor to Rickwell. He'll suspect our game
if I chatter about her, Ware. We must be cautious. This
is a difficult skein to unravel.”
“It is that,” assented Giles dolefully, “and we're no
further on with it than we were before.”


TREASURE TROVE I47
“Nonsense, man. We have found out Wilson's real
name.”
“Well, that is something certainly, and his brother may
be able to put us on his track. If he asks about Mrs.
Benker, say that she is a friend of my housekeeper. You
can say you heard it from your wife.”
“I’ll say no more than is necessary,” replied Morley
cunningly. “I learned in my detective days to keep a
shut mouth. Well, I'll be off and see what I can get out
of him.”
When Morley departed at his fast little trot—he got
over the ground quickly for so small a man—Giles wan-
dered about the Priory park. He thought that he might
meet with the daughter, and see what kind of a person
she was. If weak in the head, as Mrs. Parry declared
her to be, she might chatter about her Uncle Walter.
Giles wished to find out all he could about that scamp.
He was beginning to feel afraid for Anne, and to wonder
in what way she was connected with such a blackguard.
However, he saw nothing and turned his face home-
ward. Just as he was leaving the park on the side near
the cemetery he saw something glittering in the grass.
This he picked up, and was so amazed that he could only
stare at it dumb-founded. And his astonishment was
little to be wondered at. He held in his hand a half-
sovereign with an amethyst, a diamond, and a pearl set
into the gold. It was the very ornament which he had
given Anne Denham on the night of the children's
party at The Elms—the coin of His Most Gracious Ma-
jesty King Edward VII.


CHAPTER XV
AN AWKWARD INTERVIEW
HE discovery of the coin perplexed Giles. It was
certainly the trinket attached to the bangle which
he had given Anne. And here he found it in the grounds
of the Priory. This would argue that she was in the
neighborhood, in the house it might be. She had never
been to the Priory when living at The Elms, certainly not
after the New Year, when she first became possessed of
the coin. He decided, therefore, that at some late period
—within the last few days—she had been in the park,
and there had lost the coin. It would, indeed, be strange
if this trifling present which he had made her should be
the means of tracing her to her hiding-place.
And that hiding-place was the Priory. Giles felt sure
of this. If she was in the neighborhood and walking
about openly, she would be discovered and arrested.
Therefore she must be concealed in the house. She had
gone off with Walter Franklin, and here she was under
the wing of his brother George. The case grew more
mysterious and perplexing as time went on. Giles did
not know which way to turn, or what advantage to reap
from this discovery.
Certainly, if he could get into the Priory and search


AN AWKWARD INTERVIEW I49
the house, he might discover Anne. Or, it might be, that
if he confided in Franklin and told him of his love for
Anne, the man might tell the truth and let him have an
interview. But the matter took some thinking out. He
decided to let it remain in abeyance at present. After
kissing the coin—had it not been Anne's 2–he slipped it
into his waistcoat-pocket and returned home.
Here a surprise, and not a very agreeable one, awaited
him. He reached his house just in time to dress for
dinner, and found a letter, which had been delivered by
hand. It was from Olga Karacsay, and announced that
she and her mother were stopping at the village inn. She
asked Giles to come over that evening, as she wished to
introduce him to the elder Princess. Ware was vexed
that this inopportune visit should have taken place at the
moment. He did not wish to be introduced to Olga's
mother, and had more to do than to chatter French to a
foreign lady. However, being naturally a most polite
young gentleman, he could not refuse the request, and
after dinner proceeded to the village.
Morris, the landlord of “The Merry Dancer”—which
was the name of the inn—was a burly man, and usually
extremely self-important. On this night he excelled him-
self, and looked as swollen as the frog in the fable. That
two Princesses should stay in his house was an honor
which overwhelmed him. To be sure, they were foreign-
ers, which made a difference; still, they had titles, and
plenty of money, and for all Morris knew—as he observed
to his flustered wife—might be exiled sovereigns. Mor-
ris received Giles in his best clothes, and bowed himself
to the ground.
“Yes, Mr. Ware, their Highnesses are within—on the
first floor, Mr. Ware, having engaged a salon and two
bedrooms.”


I52 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“singing is not easy. For the rest, I assure you I am
respectable.”
“It is not the life for a Karacsay, my dear. If you
would only come back to Vienna and marry the man your
father xx
“I choose for myself when I marry,” flashed out Olga,
with a glance at the uncomfortable Giles. “Count Taroc
can take another wife.”
The Princess, seeing that Giles found this conversa-
tion somewhat trying, refrained from further remark.
She shrugged her ample shoulders, and sipped her coffee,
which she complained was bad. “You do not know how
to make coffee here,” she said, unfurling a fan, “and it
is cold, this England of yours.”
“Princess, to-night is warm" expostulated Ware.
“Nevertheless I have had a fire made up,” she answered,
pointing with her fan to the end of the room; “the land-
lord was so surprised.”
“He no doubt considered it to be an eccentricity of Her
Highness,” said Olga, with a laugh; “a cigarette,
mother?”
The Princess took one languidly, and moved her chair
closer to the fire. The night—to Giles—was quite hot,
and he could scarcely bear the stifling heat of the room.
Windows and doors were closed, and the fire flamed up
fiercely. Also some pastiles had been burnt by Olga, and
added a heavy, sensuous scent to the atmosphere. Ware
could not help comparing the room to the Venusberg, and
the women to the sirens of that unholy haunt. Which of
the two was Venus he did not take upon himself to de-
cide.
“I am used to the tropics,” explained the Princess,
puffing blue clouds of smoke. “I come from Jamaica;


AN AWKWARD INTERVIEW I53
but I have been many years in Vienna, and in that cold
Hungary,” she shivered.
“Ah, now I see, Princess, why you speak English so
well,” said Giles, and he might also have added that he
now guessed why she was so Eastern in appearance and
so barbaric in her taste for crude, vivid colors. She had .
negro blood in her veins he decided, and Olga also. This
would account for the fierce temperament of the latter.
“I left Jamaica when I was twenty-two,” explained
the Princess, while her daughter frowned. For some
reason Olga did not seem to approve of these confidences.
“Prince Karacsay was travelling there. He came to my
father's plantation, and there he married me. I am sorry
I did not marry someone in Jamaica,” she finished lazily.
“My dear mother,” broke in her daughter petulantly,
“you have always been happy in Vienna and at the Castle.”
“At the castle, yes. It was so quiet there. But Vien-
na, ach! It is too gay, too troublesome.”
“You don’t like noise and excitement, Princess?”
She shook her imperial head with the gesture of an
angry queen.
“I like nothing but rest. To be in a hammock with a
cigarette and to hear the wind bend the palms, the surf
break on the shores. It is my heaven. But in Hungary
—no palms, no surf. Ach!” She made a face.
“You are different to Mademoiselle Olga here,” said
Ware, smiling.
“Quite different,” cried Olga, with a gay laugh. “But
I am like my father. He is a bold hunter and rider. Ah,
if I had only been born a man! I love the saddle and
the gun. No wonder I got away from the dull Society life
of Vienna, where women are slaves.”
“I like being a slave, if rest is slavery,” murmured her
mother.


I54 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Would not your father let you ride and shoot, Made-
moiselle Olga P”
“Ah yes, in a measure. But he is an Austrian of the
old school. He does not believe in a woman being inde-
pendent. My mother, who is obedient and good, is the
wife he loves.”
“The Prince has been very kind to me. He does not
trouble me.”
“He wouldn't let the air blow too roughly on you,
mother,” said Olga, with a scornful laugh. “He is a
descendant of those Magyars who had Circassian slaves,
and adores them as playthings. I am different.”
“You are terribly farouche, Olga,” sighed the elder
woman. “Your father has forgiven you, but he is still
annoyed. I had the greatest difficulty in getting his per-
mission to come over here.”
“He doubtless thinks you will be able to bring me back
to marry Count Taroc,” replied Olga composedly, “but I
stay.” She looked at Giles again, as if he were the rea-
son she thus decided. To change the conversation he
stood up.
“I fear I fatigue you ladies,” he said, looking very
straight and handsome. “You will wish to retire.”
“Certainly I retire,” said the Princess. “But my daugh-
ter—”
“I shall stop and talk with Mr. Ware.”
“Olga!” murmured her mother, rather shocked.
“I fear I have to go,” said Giles uneasily.
“No. You must stop. I have to talk to you about
Anne.”
“Who is this Anne?” asked the Princess, rising lazily.
“No one you know, mother. A friend of Mr. Ware's.
Now you must retire, and Katinka shall make you com-
fortable.”


AN AWKWARD INTERVIEW I55
r
“You will not be long, Olga 2 If your father knew—”
“My father will not know,” broke in her daughter, lead-
ing the elder woman to the door. “You will not tell him.
Besides” (she shrugged), “we women are free in Eng-
land. What would shock my father is good form in this
delightful country.”
The Princess murmured something to Giles in a sleepy
tone, and lounged out of the room bulky but graceful.
When she departed and the door was closed, Olga threw
open the windows. “Pah!” she said, throwing the pas-
tiles out of doors, “I cannot breathe in this atmosphere.
And you, Mr. Ware?”
“I prefer untainted airs,” he replied, accepting a cigar-
ette.
“The airs of the moors and of the mountains,” she ex-
claimed, drawing herself up and looking like a huntress
in her free grace. “I also. I love wide spaces and chill
winds. If we were in the Carpathians, you and I, how
savage our life would be!”
“An alluring picture, Princess.”
“I am not Princess at present. I am Olga!”
“Mademoiselle Olga,” he corrected. “And what about
Anne?” -
She appeared annoyed by his persistence. “You think
of nothing but that woman,” she cried impetuously.
“Your friend, mademoiselle.”
“Ach! How stiffly you stay that My friend! Oh,
yes. I would do much for Anne, but why should I do
a11?” -
“I do not understand, mademoiselle.”
With a strong effort she composed herself, and looked
at him smiling. “Is it so very difficult to understand?”
she asked softly.
“Very difficult,” replied Ware stolidly.


156 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“None so blind as those who won't see,” muttered Olga
savagely.
“Quite so, mademoiselle.” He rose to go. “Will you
permit me to retire?”
“No! I have much to say to you. Please sit down.”
“If you will talk about Anne,” he replied, still stand-
ing. “From what you said at our first interview, she
evidently knows something of the Scarlet Cross, and >>
“I don't know what she does know. She was always
careful.”
“I thought she spoke freely to you,”
“Oh, as a woman always does speak to one of her own
sex. With reservations, Mr. Ware. Still, I could tell
you something likely to throw some light on the mystery.”
“If you only would.” -
“It would not lead you to her hiding-place.”
“What if I knew it already, mademoiselle?”
She stood before him, her hands clenched, her breath-
ing coming and going in quick, short gasps. “You can't
know that.”
“But you do,” he said suddenly.
“I may, or I may not,” she replied quickly; “and if you
know, why not seek her out?”
“I intend to try.”
“To try! Then you are not sure where she is?” said
Olga eagerly.
“Before F answer that, mademoiselle, I must know if
you are my friend or Anne's—enemy,” and he looked at
her straightly.
“You have put the matter—the position in the right
way. I am your friend and Anne's—no, I am not her
enemy. But I won't give her to you. No, I won't. You
must guess that »
“Mademoiselle,” he interrupted quickly, “spare your-


AN AWKWARD INTERVIEW I57
self and me unnecessary humiliation. You know that I
love Anne, that I love no one but her. I would give my
life to find her to prove her innocence.”
“Even your life will not bring her to you or save her
from the law. Giles”—she held out her arms—“I love
you.”
“The heat of the room is too much for you. . I will
* >
go.
“No!” She flung herself between him and the door.
“Since I have said so much, I must say all. Listen! I
have been making inquiries. I know more about the Scar-
let Cross and Anne's connection with it than you think.
Her fate is in my hands. I can prove her innocence.”
“And you will—you will!”
“On condition that you give her up.”
“I refuse to give her up,” he cried angrily.
“Then she will be punished for a crime she did not
commit.”
“You know that she is innocent.”
“I can prove it, and I shall do so. You know my
price.”
“Olga, do not speak like this. I would do much to
save Anne—”
“And you refuse to save her,” she replied scornfully
“I refuse to give her up!”
“Then I shall do so—to the police. I know where she
is.”
“You do—that is why you are down here.”
“I did not come here for that, but to see you. To make
my terms. I love you, and if you will give her up, I shall
save her—”
“I can save her in spite of you,” said Giles, walking
hastily in the door. “Your presence here confirms a fancy
that I had. I can guess where Anne is, and I'll save her.”


158 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“You will bring her to the light of day and she will be
arrested. I alone can save her.”
“You will. Oh, Olga, be your better self, and »y
“You know my price,” she said between her teeth.
“I can't pay it—I can't.”
“Then you must be content to see her ruined.”
“You are a devil!”
“And you are most polite. No; I am a woman who
loves you, and who is determined to have you at any cost.”
“Can you really save Anne?”
“I can.”
“Will you give me time to think?”
A flash of joy crossed her face. “Then I am not so
indifferent to you as you would have me suppose,” she
said softly.
“You are not so—no, no! I can't say it! Give me
time! give me time!” He opened the door.
“Wait, wait!” she said, and closed it again. “I will
give you two days. Then I return to London. If I have
your promise, Anne shall be set free from this accusa-
tion. If you tamper in the meantime with her—for you
may know where she is—I’ll have her arrested at once.”
“I will do nothing,” he said in muffled tones.
“Swear! swear!” She placed her hands on his shoul-
ders.
Giles stepped back to free himself. “I will swear noth-
ing,” he said in icy tones. “I take my two days.” So
saying he opened the door, but not quickly enough to
prevent her kissing him.
“You are mine! you are mine!” she exclaimed exult-
ingly. “Let Anne have her liberty, her good name. I
have you. You are mine!—mine!”
“On conditions,” said Giles cruelly, and went away
quickly.


16o A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
be found. It might be that Anne could save herself. But
seeing that she had fled immediately after the murder, it
would be difficult for her to exonerate herself. Also, the
reason she had then to take the guilt upon her own shoul-
ders might again stand in the way of her now clearing
her character. Nothing was left but to marry Olga and
so free Anne, or seek Anne himself. Ware determined
to adopt the latter course as the least repugnant to his
feelings.
But Olga was no mean antagonist. She loved Giles so
much that she knew perfectly well that he did not love
her, and this knowledge taught her to mistrust him. As
her passion was so great she was content to take him as
a reluctant husband, in the belief that she, as his wife,
would in time wean him from his earlier love. But she
was well aware that, even to save Anne, he would not
give in without a struggle.
This being the case, she considered what he would do.
It struck her that he would see if he could get into the
Priory, for from some words he had let fall she was con-
vinced that he thought Anne was concealed therein. Olga
had her own opinion about that; but she had to do with
his actions at present and not with her own thoughts.
For this reason she determined to watch him—to be in
his company throughout the time of probation.
Thus it happened that before Giles could arrange his
plans the next day—one of which entailed a neighborly
visit to Franklin—Olga made her appearance at his house,
and expressed a desire to see his picture gallery, of which
she had heard much. Her mother, she said, was coming
over that afternoon to look at the house, which, as she
had been told, was a model of what an English country-
house should be.


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS I61
Giles growled at this speech, being clever enough to
see through the artifices of Mademoiselle Olga.
“The house is as old as the Tudors,” he expostulated;
“your mother should look at a more modern one.”
“Oh, no,” replied Olga sweetly. “I am sure she will
be delighted with this one; it is so picturesque.”
“I am afraid that I promised to pay a visit this after-
noon.” -
“Ah, you must put it off, Mr. Ware. When two ladies
come to see you, you really cannot leave them alone.”
“If the next day will do—”
“I don't think it will. My mother and I leave the next
day. She is due in town to a reception at the Austrian
Embassy.”
Ware made other excuses, but Olga would listen to
none of them. She stopped all the morning and looked at
the pictures, but she never referred to their conversation
of the previous night. There was a tacit understanding
between them that it should remain in abeyance until the
time given for the reply of Giles was ended. Still, Ware
could not forget that burning kiss, and was awkward in
consequence.
Not so Olga. She was quite cool and self-possessed,
and although alone with him for close on two hours, did
not show the least confusion. Giles, much disgusted,
called her in his own mind “unmaidenly.” But she was
not that, for she behaved very discreetly. She was sim-
ply a woman deeply in love who was bent on gaining her
ends. Considering the depth of her passion, she re-
strained herself very creditably when with the man she
loved. Giles now saw how it was that she had defied her
family and had taken her own way in life.
“I won't stop to luncheon,” she said, when he asked
her; “but I and my mother will come over at three


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS I65
way to the spot where he had found the coin of Edward
VII. To his surprise he saw a girl stooping and search-
ing. At once he decided that she was looking for the
lost coin. But the girl was not Anne.
Looking up suddenly she surveyed him with a startled
air, and he saw her face plainly in the quiet evening light.
She had reddish hair, a freckled face, and was dressed—
as Mrs. Parry had said—in all the colors of the rainbow.
Giles guessed at once who she was, and bowed.
“Good evening, Miss Franklin,” he said, lifting his hat,
“you seem to be looking for something. Can I assist
you?”
The damsel looked at him sternly and scowled. “You’re
trespassing,” she said in rather a gruff voice.
“I fear that I am,” he answered, laughing; “but you'll
forgive me if I assist you in your search, won't you?”
“Who are you?” questioned Miss Franklin, quite un-
moved by this politeness. “I never saw you before.”
“I have just returned from London. My name is
Ware.”
“Ware!” echoed the girl eagerly. “Giles Ware?”
“Yes. Do you know my name?”
She took a good look at him, and seemed—he was vain
enough to think so—rather to soften towards him. “I
have heard Mrs. Morley speak of you,” she declared
bluntly.
“Ah! You have not heard a lady speak of me?”
Miss Franklin stared. “No, I never heard a lady talk
of you,” she replied, with a giggle. “What lady?”
“The lady who is stopping in your house.”
Her eyes became hard, and she assumed a stony ex-
pression. “There is no lady in the house but myself.”
“Not a lady who lost what you are looking for?”
This time she was thrown off her guard, and became


I66 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
as red as her hair. She tried to carry off her confusion
with rudeness. “I don't know what you're talking of,”
she said, with a stamp and a frown! “you can just clear
away off our land, or I'll set the dogs on you.”
“I see. You keep dogs, do you? Bloodhounds prob-
ably?”
“How do you know that?” asked Miss Franklin, star-
ing. “Yes, we do keep bloodhounds, and they will tear
you to pieces if you don't go.”
“You seem to forget that this is a civilized country,”
said Giles quietly. “If you set your dogs on me, I shall
set the police on you.”
“The police!” She seemed startled, but recovered her-
self. ...I don't care for the police,” she declared defiantly.
“You might not, but Walter Franklin might.”
“Who is he? Never heard of him.”
“Never heard of your uncle?” said Giles, and then won-
dered how he could let her know that he had heard it with-
out confessing to the eavesdropping. It suddenly oc-
curred to him that Franklin had—he supposed—on the
previous day made a confidant of Morley. This supposi-
tion he took advantage of. “Mr. Morley told me that
your father had mentioned his brother.”
The girl started and thought for a moment. “Oh, you
mean Uncle Walter,” she said, after a pause. “Yes, but
we never talk of him.”
This little speech did not ring quite true. It seemed
as though the girl wished to back up the saying of her
father, whether she believed it or not. “Is that why you
pretended ignorance?” he asked.
“That was why,” replied Miss Franklin, with brazen
aSS111tance.
She was lying. Giles felt certain of that, but he could
not bring the untruth home to her. He suddenly revert-


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS I67
ed to the main object of his interview, which had to do
with the possibility of Anne being in the Priory.
“What about that coin you are looking for?”
“I am looking for no coin,” she replied, quite prepared
for him. “I lost a brooch here. Have you found it?”
“Yes,” replied Giles, his eyes watchfully on her face.
“It is an Edward VII. coin in the form of a brooch.”
He thought Miss Franklin would contradict this, but
she was perfectly equal to the occasion. “You must have
found it, since you know it so well. Please give it to
me.”
“I have left it at home,” he answered, although it was
lying in his pocket-book, and that next his heart. “I will
give it to you to-morrow if you tell me from whom you
got it.” * *
“I found it,” she confessed, “in the churchyard.”
“Ah!” A sudden light flashed into the darkness of
Ware's mind. “By the grave of that poor girl who was
murdered P”
“I don't know of any murdered girl,” retorted Miss
Franklin, and looked uneasy, as though she were con-
scious of making a mistake.
“Yes you do, and you know the lady who cleans the
stone and attends to the grave. Don't deny the truth.”
Miss Franklin looked him up and down, and shrugged
her clumsy shoulders. “I don't know what you are talk-
ing about,” she declared, and with that turned on her"
heel. “Since you will not take yourself off like a gentle-
man, I'll go myself”; and she went.
“Don’t set the bloodhounds on me,” called out Giles.
But she never turned her head; simply went on with a
steady step until she was lost in the gloom of the wood.
Giles waited for a time. He had an idea that she was
watching. By-and-by the feeling wore off, and know-


CHAPTER XVII
PART OF THE TRUTH
OR a moment the lovers stared at one another in the
luminous twilight. The meeting was so strange,
the place where it took place so significant of the trouble
that had parted them, that both were overcome with emo-
tion. Anne was as white as the marble tombstone, and
looked at him with appealing eyes that beseeched him to
go away. But having found her Giles was determined
not to lose her again, and was the first to find his tongue.
“Anne!” said he, and stepped towards her with open
armS.
His voice broke the spell which held her chained to the
ill-omened spot, and she turned to fly, only to find her-
self on his breast and his dear voice sounding entreatingly
in her ears. -,
“Anne,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “you will not leave
me now P” -
After a brief struggle she surrendered herself. There
was no danger of any one coming to the churchyard at
this hour, and since they had met so unexpectedly, she—
like the tender, sweet woman she was—snatched at the
blissful moment. “Giles,” she murmured, and it was the
first time he had heard her lips frame his name. “Giles!”


176 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
whatever was the reason. But I have not seen Mark
since immediately after the death, and can't get an ex-
planation. I saw him in Florence, and he told me that
my father was dead and buried. Since then I have not
seen him.”
“So you returned to England, thinking your father was
dead?”
“Certainly. He left me a little money. I went back
to my situation. Afterwards I came down here. On that
New Year's Eve I entered the library and saw my father
speaking to Mr. Morley. I disguised my feelings, as I
was certain he did not wish to be recognized. But the
shock was so great that I nearly fainted. I went up to
my room, and afterwards to church to see my father. He
was there, as you know. I saw him pass a paper to Daisy.
She went out ten minutes later; he followed. I wished
to see him, and I was curious to know why he had come
to Rickwell and had let me think he was dead. Shortly
afterwards I went outside. It was snowing fast. I could
not see my father or Daisy. Suddenly I came across my
father. He was beside the grave of Mr. Kent. Daisy
was lying on the ground. He gasped out that she was
dead, and implored me to save him.”
“Do you think he killed her?”
“No. Afterwards he denied that he did. But at the
time I believed that he was guilty. I saw that he would
be arrested, and in a frenzy of alarm I cast about for
some means to save him. I remembered your motor-car
was waiting at the gates. I sent Trim away on an er-
rand xx
“I know, I know ! You deceived him 1"
“To save my father,” replied Anne quietly. “I got the
car in this way and went off with my father. He told
me to go to Gravesend, where he had a yacht waiting.


PART OF THE TRUTH 177
Near Gravesend the car upset. We left it on the road-
side and walked to Tilbury. A boatman ferried us across
the river, and we went on board the yacht.”
“Did you know your father was the owner of the
yacht?”
“No, I did not. He said that it belonged to a friend.
We departed in the yacht and went to a French port, then
on to Paris.”
“And it was from Paris that you sent me the drawing
of the coin.”
“Yes; I knew that appearances were against me, and
could not bear to think that you should believe me guilty.
I did not dare to send any letter, but I knew you would
recognize the drawing of the Edward VII. coin, and so
sent it as you saw.”
“How long did you stay in Paris?”
“For some weeks. Then we went to Italy, to Flor-
ence.”
“Wasn't your father recognized?”
“No; he had altered his appearance. He gave me no
reason at first for doing this, but afterwards told me that
he was engaged in a political conspiracy, something to do
with the Anarchists.”
“Is the red cross the symbol of some society?”
“I can't say. He refused to explain the mystery of the
cross to me. I admit fully, Giles, that I cannot under-
stand my father. His ways are strange, and he leads a
most peculiar life. Afterwards George Franklin, my
uncle, came to England and inherited the property. My
father sent me to him with an explanation. My uncle
refused to believe that I was guilty, and gave me shelter
in his house until such time as my character could be
cleared. I came over and have been hiding in the Priory
ever since. I was so sorry for poor Daisy and for her


CHAPTER XVIII
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT
ILES left the churchyard slowly, with his brain in a
whirl. Anne had departed in hot haste, taking
shelter in her hiding-place, and he dare not follow unless
he wanted it to be discovered. He never knew who it
was, whose footsteps had startled heraway. When she left
him he remained for quite ten minutes where he was, in a
kind of dazed condition. The footsteps were not heard
now. So intent had he been upon Anne's flight, and on
the amazing things she had told him, that he had not
noticed when they ceased. Then it occurred to him that
they had retreated—just as though a person had been
listening and had hastily gone away. But of this he
could not be sure. All he did know was that when he
rounded the corner there was not a soul in sight. And
nothing remained but to go home.
Olga and her mother did not put in an appearance on
this night, so Giles had ample time to think over his meet-
ing with Anne. He did not see how he could help her,
and the story she had related bewildered, instead of en-
lightening him. After a time he rearranged the details,
and concluded that, in spite of all denial, her father was
the guilty person, and the crime had been committed for
the sake of the Powell money.


WHAT HAPPENED NEXT I8L
“Whether the Scarlet Cross indicates a political society
or is the symbol of a thieves' association,” said Giles to
himself, “I can't say until Steel is more certain of his
ground. But this Alfred Denham, or Walter Franklin,
or whatever he chooses to call himself, is evidently a bad
lot. He has sufficient love for his daughter to keep his
iniquities from her, and that is why Anne is so much in
the dark. I quite believe that she thinks her father in-
nocent, and saved him on the spur of the moment. But
he is guilty for all that.”
And then Giles proceeded to work out the case as it
presented itself to him. Walter Franklin—as he found
it most convenient to call him—was a scoundrel who
preyed on society, and who by some mischance had a pure
and good daughter like Anne. To keep her from know-
ing how bad he was—and the man apparently valued her
affection—he sent her to be a governess. She believed in
him, not knowing how he was plotting to get the Powell
money.
Certainly Walter had resided in Florence under the
name of Denham. Ware quite believed this, and guessed
that he did so in order to keep an eye on his brother
George, who was to inherit the Powell money. Probably
he knew beforehand that Powell was ill, and so had
feigned death that he might carry out his scheme without
Anne's knowledge. That scheme was to impersonate his
brother; and Giles trembled to think of how he proposed to
get rid of George when the time was ripe. He must have
intended to murder him, for since he had slain Daisy with
so little compunction, he certainly would not stick at a
second crime.
However, thus Giles argued, the first step to secure
the money was for him to feign death and thus get rid
of Anne. Then he came to London, and as Wilson


184 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
again did he bless the selfishness of the elder Princess,
which had removed the obstacle of Olga from his path.
Meanwhile he put her out of his mind and went on to
the Priory. He called in on the way to see Morley, but
learned that the little man had gone to town. Mrs. Mor-
ley looked more worn and haggard than ever, and seemed
about to say something as Giles was taking his leave.
However, she held her peace and merely informed him
that she missed her children dreadfully. “But I'm sure
that is not what she meant to say,” thought Ware, as he
departed. On looking back he saw her thin white face
at the window and concluded—as Mrs. Parry did—that
the poor lady had something on her mind.
In due time he arrived at the Priory and was shown
into a gloomy drawing-room, where George Franklin re-
ceived him. Giles apologized for not having called be-
fore, and was graciously pardoned.
“And, indeed, I should have called on you, Mr. Ware,”
said Franklin, “but I am such a recluse that I rarely go
out.”
“You call on Mr. Morley, I believe?”
“Yes; he is a cheery man, and won't take no for an
answer. I find that his company does me good, but I
prefer to be alone with my books.”
There were many books in the room and many loose
papers on the desk, which Giles saw were manuscripts.
“I write sometimes,” said Franklin, smiling in his sour
way. “It distracts my mind frºm worries. I am writing
a history of Florence during the age of the Renaissance.”
“A very interesting period,” Giles assured him.
“Yes; and my daughter Portia helps me a great deal.
You have met her, Mr. Ware. She told me.”
“Yes; we met in the park. She was looking for some-
thing, which I found; but I gave it to—to-” Giles


WHAT HAPPENED NEXT 185
hesitated, for he was on dangerous ground. “To another
lady,” he finished desperately, and waited for the storm
to break.
To his surprise the man smiled. “You mean my niece
Anne,” said he in the calmest way.
“Yes; I do mean Miss Denham. But I did not know
that—tha xx
“That I wished you to know she was under my roof.
Is that it?”
“Yes,” stammered Giles, quite at sea. He did not ex-
pect this candor.
Franklin rather enjoyed his confusion. “I did not in-
tend to let you know that she was here. It was her own
request that you were kept in ignorance. But since you
met her—”
“Did you hear of our meeting?”
“Certainly. Anne told me of it directly she came back.
Oh, I have heard all about you, Mr. Ware. My niece
confessed that you loved her, and from Morley I heard
that you defended her.”
“Did Morley know that Anne was here?”
“Certainly not. At the outset of our acquaintance he
informed me that he believed her to be guilty. I resolved
to say nothing, lest he might tell the police.”
“Why did you not tell him that she was innocent?”
asked Giles hotly.
The man looked grave and smoothed his shaven chin—
a habit with him when perplexed. “Because I could not
do so without telling an untruth,” he said coldly.
Giles started to his feet, blazing with anger. “What!”
he cried, “can you sit there and tell me that your own
niece killed that poor girl?”
“I have reason to believe that she did,” replied Frank-
lin.


122 A COIN OF EDTWAFL WIL
*If she corfesses this II gº away ari rever see her
2g2+. The pºe—aº. 3'-tº ree-tº-3. I wº: give
her up to the police. Ezº if she is gº tard I can't
believe such a tº:g of her, III tear her cut of rºy heart-
Pºut it's :::pºe, irpºssilieſ
Praº....: 2.xed at tº with a prº-g sºle as he hid
h;4 face in his hands. Then he touched hi- on the shoul-
der and led the way along a passage towards the back
part of the house. At a door at the end he parised "The
room is rather dark. You won't see her clearly," he said,
“but you will know her by her voice.”
“I would know her anyway,” cried Giles fiercely, and
tormented beyond endurance.
Franklin gave him another glance, as though asking
him to brace himself for the ordeal, and then opened the
door. He showed small mercy in announcing Ware's
coming. “Anne, here is Mr. Ware come to see you. Tell
him the truth.”
The room was not very large, and was enveloped in a
semi-gloom. The blind was pulled down, and the cur-
tains were drawn. The bed was near the window, and
on it lay Anne in a white dress. She was lying on the
bed with a rug thrown over her feet. When she heard
the name of Giles she uttered a cry. “Keep him away!
she said harshly. “Keep him away! Don't let him
come!”
“Anne! Anne!” cried Giles, coming forward, his mouth
dry, his hands clenched. “Do not tell me that you killed
I)aisy.”
There was a groan and silence, but Anne—so far as
he could see—buried her face in the pillow. It was Frank-
lin who spoke. “Anne, you must tell the truth once and
for all.”
“No, no,” she cried, “Giles would despise me.”


WHAT HAPPENED NEXT 189
“Anne,” he cried in agony, “did you kill her?”
“Yes,” came the muffled voice from the bed. “I found
her at the grave. My father was not there. He had
missed her in the darkness and the snow. She taunted
me. I had the stiletto, which I took from the library,
and I killed her. It was my father who saved me. Oh,
go away, Giles, go away!”
But Giles did not go. He rose to his feet and stepped
towards the window. In a second he had the blind up
and the curtains drawn apart. The light poured into the
room to reveal—not Anne Denham, but the girl Portia
Franklin,


192 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
longer time to get away. She said that I might deceive
the servants and my father, but that I could never deceive
you, because you loved her. But I had a good try,” con-
tinued Portia, nodding her red head triumphantly.
“When my father spoke your name at the door I thought
I would try.”
“Well, you have done so only to fail,” responded Ware
coolly. “For the moment I was deceived, but you forgot
how to manage your voice, and, moreover, your explana-
tion was too elaborate. But how is it you dare to con-
fess, as Anne, that she killed the girl?”
“Anne did kill Daisy Kent!”
“She did not.”
“Yes, she did. She confessed as much to father last
night, and to me also. She asked me to tell you so, that
you might forget all about her. I was going over to your
place this very day to tell, but when father brought you
in I thought I would pretend to be Anne and tell you in
that way.”
“Anne would have written, and »
“No, she wouldn't,” said Portia, eagerly. “She began
to write a letter saying that she was guilty, but afterwards
she thought it might fall into the hands of the police, and
tore it up. She told me to let you know by word of
mouth. All she asks of you is that you will forget that
she ever existed.”
“Let her tell me that with her own lips,” said Giles,
groaning.
“Yes, Portia, tell Mr. Ware the place Anne has gone
>>
to
Portia eyed her father with some anger. “How can I
tell when I don’t know? Anne never said where she was
going. I let her out by the back door just before dawn,
and she went away. I know no more.”


THE CLUE LEADS TO LONDON I93
“If she writes, you will let Mr. Ware know.”
“I shan’t,” retorted the girl. “Anne wants him to for-
get her.”
“That is impossible,” said Giles, whose face was now
haggard with the anguish of the moment; “but you must
be my friend, Portia, and tell me. Think how I suffer!”
“Think how she suffers, poor darling!” cried Portia,
whose sympathies were all with Anne. “Don’t ask me
any more. I shan’t speak.”
And speak she would not, although Giles cajoled and
Franklin stormed. Whatever could be said of Portia, she
was very loyal to the outcast. There was nothing for it
but for Ware to depart. And this he did.
What was the best thing to be done Giles did not very
well know. Anne was lost again, and he did not know
where to look for her. He could not bring himself to
believe that she was guilty, in spite of her confession to
Portia and Franklin.
“It’s that blackguard of a father of hers over again,”
he thought, as he tramped moodily through the Priory
park. “She is afraid lest his brother—her uncle—should
denounce him, and has taken the crime on her own shoul-
ders. Even though he is her father, she should not sacri-
fice so much for him. But it is just noble of her to do so.
Oh, my poor love, shall I ever be able to shelter you from
the storms of life?”
There did not seem to be much chance of it at the pres-
ent moment. Mistrusting her uncle, she had vanished, and
would let no one but Portia know of her new hiding-place.
And Portia, as Giles saw, was too devoted to Anne to
confess her whereabouts without permission. And how
was such permission to be obtained? Anne allowed her
uncle to think her guilty in order to save her unworthy
father from his fraternal hatred. She had asserted her


196 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“You mean present me to them,” corrected the old
dame, who was a stickler for etiquette. “They are genu-
ine Princesses, are they not?”
“Oh, yes. But they are not royal. Princess Karacsay
is the wife of a Magyar noble. She is not an Austrian,
however, as she came from Jamaica. The younger, Prin-
cess Olga, is ->
“Jamaica,” interrupted Mrs. Parry! “Humph! That
is where Anne Denham was born. Queer this woman
should come from the same island.”
“It’s certainly odd,” replied Giles. “But a mere co-
incidence.”
“Humph!” from Mrs. Parry. “Some folks make their
own coincidences.”
“What do you mean, Mrs. Parry?”
“Mean? Humph! I don't know if I should tell you.”
Giles was now on fire to learn her meaning. Evidently
Mrs. Parry did know something, and might be able to
help him. But seeing that she was slightly offended with
him, it required some tact to get the necessary informa-
tion out of the old lady. Giles knew the best way to ef-
fect his purpose was to feign indifference. Mrs. Parry was
bursting to tell her news, and that it would come out the
sooner if he pretended that he did not much care to hear
it.
“There is no reason why you should tell me,” said he
coolly. “I know all about the Princess Karacsay. She
and her daughter only came down here for a rest.”
“Oh, they did, did they, Ware? Humph!” She rubbed
her nose again, and eyed him with a malignant pleasure.
“Are you sure the elder Princess didn't come down to see
Franklin P” -
“She doesn't know him,” said Giles, trying to be calm.


THE CLUE LEADS TO LONDON I97
“She took a walk in the Priory woods. I suppose that is
how the mistake—”
“I don't make mistakes,” retorted Mrs. Parry, with a
snort. “I know a new gardener who is employed at the
Priory. He told Jane, who told me, that Princess Karac-
say, the mother, called on Franklin the other morning
and entered the house. She was with him for over an
hour. He came to the door to see her off. The gardener
was attending to some shrubs near at hand. He could not
hear what they said to one another, but declares that
Franklin was as pale as a sheet.”
“Queer,” though Giles, remembering how the elder lady
had denied all knowledge of the man. However, he did
not make this remark to Mrs. Parry. “Well, there's
nothing in that,” said he aloud. “Franklin lived in Italy
for many years. He may have met the Princess there.”
“True enough.” Mrs. Parry was rather discomfited.
“There may be nothing in it, and Franklin seems to be
decent enough in his life, though a bit of a recluse. I've
nothing to say against the man.”
Giles thought that this was rather fortunate for Frank-
lin, seeing that Mrs. Parry's tongue was so dangerous.
If she ever came to know of his brother Walter, and of
the relations between him and George, she would be sure
to make mischief. He thought it prudent to say nothing.
The less revealed to the good lady the better. However,
this attitude did not prevent Ware from trying to learn
what Mrs. Parry had discovered with regard to the two
Princesses. She told him an interesting detail without
being urged.
“Last night about nine I saw one of them out for a
walk.”
“Princess Olga P’’ questioned Giles.
“Mrs. Parry nodded. “If she is the younger of the


2OO A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Anne, luckily for her. If it had been the old coachman
she might have been in jail by this time. Well, as I say,
I was on the moor and saw the carriage coming along. I
didn't know that those Princesses were in it till one of
them—the younger—got out and stood by the roadside.
I was close at hand, and hidden by a gorse bush. She
whistled. I tell you, Ware, she whistled. What manners
these foreigners have! Three times she whistled. Then
some one rose from behind another bush and walked
quickly to the carriage. It was Anne. Oh, don't tell me
it wasn't,” cried Mrs. Parry, vigorously shaking her head.
“I knew her walk and the turn of her head. Trust me
for knowing her amongst a thousand. Anne Denham it
was and none other.”
“What happened then?” asked Giles anxiously.
“Why, this Princess Olga embraced and kissed her.
Does she know her?”
“Yes. They have been friends for a long time.”
“Humph! and Princess Olga's mother comes from
Jamaica, where Anne was born,” said Mrs. Parry.
“Queer. There is some sort of a connection.”
“You are too suspicious, Mrs. Parry.”
“All the better. But I can see through a stone wall.
Believe me, Ware, that if there isn't some connection be-
tween those two, I am a Dutchwoman. However, Anne
got into the carriage and it drove away.”
Giles caught up his hat. “To London,” he cried jubi-
lantly. “I know where Anne is to be found now.” And
to Mrs. Parry's dismay, he rushed out.


CHAPTER XX
MANY A SLIP 'TwixT CUP AND LIP
UT Giles was not destined to go to London as quickly
as he thought. He rushed out of Mrs. Parry's
cottage, leaving that good lady in a state of frenzied
curiosity, and walked rapidly through the village on the
road to his own house. On the way he dropped into
“The Merry Dancer” to look at an “A B C.” Morris,
still swelling with importance over his illustrious guests,
although these had now left, conducted him into the de-
serted salon and gave him the guide. While Giles was
looking up the first train, Morley, hot and dusty and short
of breath, rushed into the room.
“Upon my word, Ware, I think you must be deaf,” he
said, wiping his perspiring forehead. “I’ve been running
and calling after you for the last five minutes.”
“I was buried in my own thoughts,” replied Ware,
turning the pages of the guide rapidly, “wait a bit.”
“I see you are going to London, Ware. What's up?”
By this time Giles noted the earliest train he could
catch from Barnham Station, and found he had over an
hour to spare. He was not averse to spending a portion
of it in Morley's company, for he had much to tell him
of what had happened. And the advice of the ex-detec-


2O4 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
not think I'll hunt down Miss Denham. Besides,” added
Morley, nodding, “I am going away.”
“What!” Giles was astonished. “Are you leaving
The Elms?”
“In a month's time,” replied the little man. “My wife's
doing, not mine. She has never got over a certain horror
of the house since the murder of that poor girl. I shall
sell every stick of furniture and take Mrs. Morley and
the children to the United States. She wants to get
away from the old life and begin a new one. So do I.
Rather a late beginning at my age, eh, Ware?”
“What about your finances?”
“Oh, that's all right,” said Morley, jubilantly. “I have
settled everything. An old aunt of mine has died and
left me a couple of thousand a year. I have paid every
debt, and shall leave England without leaving a single
creditor behind me. Then Mrs. Morley has her own
money. We shall do very well in the States, Ware. I
am thinking of living in Washington. A very pleasant
city, I hear.”
“I’ve never been there,” replied Giles, making for the
door, “but I am glad to hear that your affairs are settled.
There is no chance of trouble with Asher now.”
Morley shook his head with a jolly laugh. “They
won't send down another Walter Franklin, if that is what
you mean,” said he.
“They did not send him down. He came himself.”
“Yes. I only spoke generally. Well, I’ll be sorry to go,
for I have made some pleasant friends in Rickwell—your-
self amongst the number. But my wife insists, so I must
humor her. There's Franklin. I shall be sorry to leave
lim.” -
“Is he not going also?”


MANY A SLIP 'TWIXT CUP AND LIP 205
Morley looked astonished. “No. Why should he go?
He has the Priory on a seven years' lease. Besides, he
likes the place.”
“He might go to escape his brother.”
“I don’t think Walter Franklin will dare to trouble
George now. He is innocent of actually committing this
crime, but he certainly is an accessory after the fact.
He'll keep out of the way.”
“Let us hope so for the sake of George. Well, Morley,
I must be off.”
Giles went home at top speed, and Morley remained
at the inn to make inquiries about the Hungarian Prin-
cesses. Although he was not now a detective, yet Mor-
ley still preserved the instinct which made him ask ques-
tions. He heard that the foreign ladies had driven to
Westbury, and afterwards strolled round to the stables
to see the new coachman. He learned from him about the
strange lady who entered the carriage on the moor. The
man described her face, for it seemed that she had lifted
her veil for a moment when alighting at the station. Mor-
ley took all this in, and walked home jubilantly. He
knew that Anne was with the Princess Karacsay.
“If these were the old days,” he said, “I’d wire to Lon-
don to have the house of those Hungarian women
searched. I wonder what they have to do with the mat-
ter? Humph! Anne killed Daisy. Is it worth while to
try and trace her?”
This speech was made to Mrs. Morley, and the pale
woman gave a decided negative. “Let poor Anne go,
Oliver,” she said beseechingly; “I loved her, and she had
much good in her.”
“Still, I’m all on fire to follow up the clue,” said Mor-
ley.
“You promised to leave the detective business alone.”


2O6 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Quite right; so I did,” he answered. “Well, I'll do
what you wish, my dear. Anne Denham can go free for
me. I said the same thing to Ware, although he won’t
believe me. But I should like to know what that Prin-
cess Karacsay has to do with the matter.”
He worried all that evening, and finally went to see
Franklin about the matter. But he got scanty satisfac-
tion from him. Franklin denied that Anne had ever been
in his house, and told Morley to mind his own business.
If the ex-detective's wife had not been present, and if
this conversation had not taken place in her presence,
Franklin might have been more easy to deal with. But
the presence of a third party shut his mouth. So Morley
could do nothing, and made no attempt to do anything.
Had Giles known of this it might have set his mind at
rest, for he could not get out of his head that he was
being followed. At the Liverpool station he alighted
about ten o'clock, and looked everywhere in the crowd
to see if he was being observed. But his fears were vain,
for he could distinguish no one with any inquiring look on
his face, or note any person dogging his footsteps. He
stepped into a cab and ordered the man to drive to St.
John's Wood. But at Baker Street he alighted and dis-
missed the cab. He had only a hand-bag with him, and,
carrying this, he took the underground train to High
Street, Kensington. When he arrived there he drove in
another cab to his old hotel, “The Guelph,” opposite the
Park. When alone in his bedroom Giles smoked a com-
placent pipe. “If any one did try to follow me,” he said
to himself, “he must have missed me when I took the
underground railway.”
. It was close on half-past eleven when he ended his
wanderings, too late to call at the Westminster flat. But
Giles thought that Olga would never think he had traced


MANY A SLIP 'TWIXT CUP AND LIP 207
her flight with Anne, and would not do anything till the
morrow, probably not before twelve o'clock. He was
up early, and went off to New Scotland Yard to see Steel.
He did not intend to tell him about Anne, thinking that
the detective might arrest her if he knew of her where-
abouts. But he desired to know if Steel had discovered
anything in connection with the Scarlet Cross. Also,
since Steel knew Olga so well, he might be able to ex-
plain why she had come down with her mother to Rick-
well, and why the elder Princess had called on Frank-
lin. He half thought that Olga, keeping her promise,
had brought Anne to London to have her taken in charge
by Steel. But on second thoughts he fancied that Olga
would keep Anne as a hostage, and not deliver her up
if he—Giles—agreed to become her husband. Thus
thinking he went to see Steel.
The detective was within, and saw Giles at once. He
looked very pleased with himself, and saluted Ware with
a triumphant smile.
“Well, sir,” he said, “I have found out an astonishing
lot of things.”
“About the murder?” asked Ware apprehensively.
“No.” Steel's face fell. “That is still a mystery, and
I expect will be one until that woman—I mean that young
lady—is found.”
“Do you mean Miss Denham P” demanded Ware stiffly.
“Yes. Do you know where she is?” -
Giles shook his head. He was not going to betray
Anne to her enemy, as Steel in his detective capacity as-
suredly was. “I wish I did,” he said. “I have been at
Rickwell trying to find out things. I’ll tell you of my
discoveries later. Meantime 5x - -
“You want to hear about mine,” cried the detective
eagerly and full of his subject. “Well, the murder can


208 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
wait. I’ll get to the bottom of that, Mr. Ware. But I
am now quite of your opinion. Miss Denham is inno-
cent. This man Wilson killed the girl.”
“I knew that Walter Franklin was guilty,” cried Ware.
“I said Wilson,” was Steel's reply.
“I forgot; you don't know about Wilson alias Frank-
lin. I'll tell you later. Go on, Steel. I’m all attention.”
“Oh! So his real name is Franklin. I never knew
that,” said Steel, drawing his hand down his chin. “Well,
Mr. Ware, I have been to all the ports in the kingdom,
and I have learned that wherever that yacht—she's a
steam yacht—The Red Cross has been, burglaries have
been committed. At last I managed to lay my hand on
a member of the gang, and made him speak up.”
“What gang?”
“A gang of burglars headed by the man I call Wilson
and your Franklin—the Scarlet Cross Society. They
own that yacht, and steam from port to port committing
robberies. A splendid idea, and Wilson's own.”
Then he unfolded to the astonished Giles a long career
of villany on the part of the said Wilson. The young
man shuddered as the vile category of crime was un-
rolled. It was horrible that such a wretch as Walter
Franklin should be the father of Anne. But for all her
parent's vices, Giles never swerved from the determina-
tion to marry the girl. He was not one of those who
think that the sins of the father should be visited on the
child.
“What is the name of the man who confessed all this?”
asked Giles.
“Mark Dane.”
Ware started. That was the name of the man Anne
had mentioned as her father's secretary. However, he
said nothing, and when Steel requested him to tell all he


2IO A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Steel, I won't stand this!” cried Ware, much agi-
tated.
The detective thought for a moment. “See here, sir,”
he remarked, “we won't discuss this matter until I have
caught Dane.”
“How do you hope to catch him?”
“I have laid a trap for him at the Princess Karacsay’s
flat,” said Steel quietly. “Oh, don't look so astonished.
This Dane was one of the attendants at some concert
where the Princess sang. He fell in love with her, and
has been bothering her with letters. I have arranged
that he shall call at the flat. I'll be waiting for him.”
“It’s odd that the Princess should know about this
man,” said Ware.
Steel looked at him queerly. “It is odd,” he said;
“and to my mind it is more than a coincidence. Princess
Olga is a clever woman. I have to be very careful with
her.” -
“Do you mean to say that she knows anything?” asked
Giles.
“I am sure she does. I believe she could explain the
whole business; but I can't find out how she came to be
connected with it. Well, Mr. Ware, I must be off. When
I see Dane and get the truth out of him, I’ll see you
again. I hope, for your sake, that Miss Denham is not
the daughter of this man, but from a few words let drop
by Dane I fear she is. At all events, sir, you can set
your mind at rest about her being guilty of murder. She
is innocent. The father did it.”
Giles departed, much comforted by this statement. He
knew well enough that Anne was the daughter of Wil-
son, alias Denham, alias Franklin, and he shuddered again
to think of his pure, good Anne being mixed up with a
man who was hand and glove with the criminal classes


MANY A SLIP 'TWIXT CUP AND LIP 2II
and a criminal himself. However, he put this matter
out of his mind for the moment, and drove to the West-
minste, flat. If Anne was there, he determined to take
her away to a place of safety, and defy Steel and Walter
Franklin to do their worst.
He went up the stairs, and was told that Mademoiselle
Olga was not at home. He was about to inquire after
Anne, when the elder Princess, looking pale and anxious,
appeared at the door of the drawing-room. She beck-
oned him in and shut the door.
“Have you seen Olga 7" she inquired.
“No, Princess. Is she not with you?”
“She is not,” wailed the woman, throwing herself on
the couch. “Late last night she went out with Anne.
A summons came—some letter—and Anne had to go.
Olga insisted on accompanying her. They said they
would be back at midnight; but they have not reappeared.
I am distracted, Mr. Ware. What shall I do? Where
are they?”
“Who was the letter from ?”
“I don't know. It was for Anne, and »y
“You call Miss Denham Anne,” said Giles abruptly;
“and you brought her here. What do you know if her?”
“Everything,” said the Princess, sitting up. “In spite
of Olga I must tell you the truth. Anne Denham is my
daughter!”


CHAPTER XXI
A STORY OF THE PAST
HIS communication was so extraordinary and unex-
pected that Giles thought the Princess must be out
of her mind. But although overcome with emotion, she
was sane enough, and seeing his astonishment repeated
her statement that Anne Denham was her daughter. The
young man sat down to collect his thoughts.
“Do you mean to say that she is Mademoiselle Olga's
sister?”
“Her half-sister,” corrected the Princess, sobbing. “I
never thought I should find her again, and like this. It's
too dreadful!” And in strange contrast to her usual in-
dolent demeanor, she wrung her hands.
Giles was still bewildered. “And you—were you the
wife of Walter Franklin P’’ he stammered helplessly.
“There is no Walter Franklin,” replied the woman,
drying her eyes and sittting up. “George Franklin is
Anne's father. He was my husband.”
“But you are the wife of Prince Karacsay.”
“Certainly. I eloped with him from Kingstown, in
Jamaica, and George divorced me. I afterwards mar-
ried the Prince.”
“Then the man at the Priory is your first husband?”


A STORY OF THE PAST 213
“No!” cried she vigorously. “He is not George Frank-
lin.”
“He calls himself so,” muttered Ware, quite puzzled.
“Only to keep hold of the money left by Mr. Powell,”
explained the Princess. “He is really Alfred Denham,
who caused all the misery of my married life with
George.”
“Anne's father.”
“No. I tell you he is not Anne's father. George was
the father of Anne. He is dead. He died shortly after
divorcing me.”
Giles felt his heart swell with gratitude to learn that
Anne was not connected with— Here he paused, more
bewildered than ever. “I don't quite understand, Prin-
cess,” he said, trying to arrive in his own mind at some
solution of this complicated mystery. “Had not your
husband a brother called Walter?”
“No. George was an only son.”
“Then did Alfred Denham have a brother of that
name?”
“No. Don't you understand, Mr. Ware. You have
been deceived. Denham, who calls himself by my hus-
band's name pretends to be Anne's father, was the man
who went down to Rickwell.”
“The man whom Anne helped to escape.”
“Yes. Under the belief that he is her father, poor
child.”
“Then there is no Walter Franklin. He is a myth?”
The Princess nodded.
“Invented to throw you off the scent.”
“And Denham, who calls himself George Franklin,
really killed Daisy f"
“I believe he did,” declared the Princess fiercely. “That


2I4 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
man is one of the most wicked creatures born. He is
capable of any crime.”
Ware said nothing. His brain refused to take in the
explanation. That he should have been so deceived
seemed incredible, yet deceived he had been. All this time
he had been following a phantom, while the real person
was tricking him with masterly ingenuity. “But Anne
told me herself that she had an uncle called Walter,” said
he suddenly.
“Of course! To save the man she believed to be her
father.”
“Wait! Wait! I can't grasp it yet.” Giles buried
his face in his hands and tried to think the matter out.
The Princess went to the window and drew aside the
curtain. “I see nothing of Anne and Olga,” she mur-
mured. “Where can they have got to. Oh, am I to lose
her after all?” She paused and came back to the couch.
“Mr. Ware,” she said, “I will tell you all my sad story,
and then you can judge what is best to be done.”
“That is best,” said Giles, lifting up his worn face.
“I am quite in the dark so far. The thing seems to be
incredible.”
“Truth is stranger than fiction,” said the Princess quiet-
ly. “That is a truism, but no other saying can apply to
what I am about to tell you.”
“One moment, Princess. Who found out that Den-
ham was masquerading as your late husband?”
“Olga found it out. I don't know how. She refuses
to tell me.”
“And she asked you to come over to identify the man?”
“Yes. That was why I went with her to Rickwell. I
called on Denham, and saw that he was not my husband.”
“I see!” murmured Giles, remembering what the gar-
dener had told Mrs. Parry about the pallor of the so-


216 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
now saw why Princess Karacsay and her daughter had
such a love for barbaric coloring. Also he guessed that
Olga's fierce temperament was the outcome of her Afri-
can blood.
The Princess nodded. She quite understood his in-
terruption.
“You can see the negro in me,” she said quietly. “In
Jamaica that was considered disgraceful, but in Vienna
no one knows about the taint.”
“It is not a taint in England, Princess—or in the Old
World.”
“No! Perhaps not. But then”—she waved her deli-
cate hand impatiently—“there is no need to discuss that,
Mr. Ware. Let me proceed with what I have to tell you.
When I was eighteen I married George Franklin. He
was a young planter of good birth, and very handsome
in looks.”
“Anything like Denham?” asked Ware quickly.
The Princess blew a contemptuous cloud of smoke.
“Not in the least, Mr. Ware. George was good-looking.
What Denham is, you can see for yourself. Denham was
George's foster-brother,” she explained.
“And his evil genius,” added Giles. “I am beginning
to understand.”
The Princess flushed crimson, and her whole body
trembled with passion. “He ruined my life,” she cried,
trying to restrain her emotion. “If I could see him
hanged, I should be pleased. But such a death would
fall far short of the punishment he deserves.”
“Has Denham negro blood in him?”
“Yes. He is a degree nearer the negro than I am.
George was a native of Jamaica, and very rich. When
his mother died he was quite a baby, and Denham's
mother nursed him. Thus he became Denham's foster-


A STORY OF THE PAST 217
brother, and the two boys grew up together. Powell
tried all he could to neutralize the bad influence of Den-
ham, but it was useless. George was quite under Den-
ham's thumb.”
“Powell! The man who left the money to Daisy P
Was he in Jamaica?”
The Princess nodded. “For a time,” she said, “George
was at an English public school—Rugby, I fancy. He
met Powell there, and the two became much attached.
There was also another boy called Kent.”
“Daisy's father?”
“Yes. George, Powell, and Kent were inseparable.
They were called the Three Musketeers at school. After-
wards George lost sight of Kent, but Powell came out to
Jamaica to stop with George. That was before and after
my marriage. Denham was ruining my husband body
and soul, and in pocket. Powell tried to remonstrate with
George, but it was no use. Denham was the overseer,
and George would not dismiss him. Then Powell re-
turned to England. Afterwards when he heard from
me that George was completely ruined, he wrote about
the money.”
“Did he say he would leave the money to George?”
“Not exactly that. He said that Kent was ruined
also, and explained that if he could make a fortune he
would leave it equally divided between George and Kent,
as he did not intend to marry himself.”
“But he did not leave his money equally divided,” said
Giles.
“No. But at that time Kent was not married, and
Powell had not gone to Australia to make his money.
Whether he liked Kent better than George I don't know,
but, as you are aware, he left the money first to Daisy—


218 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
knowing that Kent was dead—and afterwards, should she
die, to George and his descendants.”
“Then the money which Denham holds as Franklin is
rightfully Anne's?”
“Yes. Now you are beginning to see. But don't be
in too much of a hurry. I want to tell you how my elope-
ment came about.”
Ware nodded, and composed himself to listen. The
Princess resumed.
“I was happy at first with George. I really was in
love with him, and for two years we were devoted to one
another. Anne was born, and she drew us still closer
together. Then Denham chose to fall in love with me.
I repelled him with scorn, but did not tell my husband,
as I dreaded lest George, who had a fiery temper, should
kill the man. I simply kept Denham at his distance.
He vowed to be revenged, and gradually ruined George.
He made him neglect the plantation, and spend more
money than he could afford. He induced him to drink,
and then George, who had not a very strong will, began
to run after other women. I was furious, and told him
about Denham. He was so besotted with the creature
that he refused to listen to me. Powell tried to stop
George's downward course, but without result. Then he
was called back to England, and I was left to battle against
my enemy alone. My father and mother were both dead,
and I could do nothing. Denham constantly inflamed
George against me. Our house was like hell.”
Here she stopped to draw a long breath and control
her emotion. Giles pitied her profoundly, as he guessed
how she had suffered. However, he did not interrupt
her, and she continued in a few moments.
“Prince Karacsay came to the island. He was travel-
ling for pleasure, and in his own yacht. He fell in love


A STORY OF THE PAST 2I9
with me. Seeing how miserable I was, he implored me
to fly with him. But I would not. I had lost much of
my love for George, who, under the bad influence of Den-
ham, treated me so cruelly. But there was my child—
my little Anne—to consider. I declined to fly. Our
plantation was not far from the seashore. In a creek the
Prince had anchored his yacht. Denham was making my
husband jealous, and my life became unbearable. Oh!”
—she threw up her arms—“not even the years of peace
that I have had can obliterate the memory of that ter-
rible time.” And she wept.
Still, Ware did not interrupt, thinking it best that she
should not be questioned too much. With a great effort
she controlled herself, and resumed her pitiful story.
“One night,” she went on in a low voice, “the climax
came. The Prince had been to dinner. He had to go,
because George was so violent. Denham had got my
husband to drink, and his paroxyms of anger became ter-
rible. The Prince wanted to stop to protect me, but I
asked him to go. It was a rainy night, a violent thunder-
storm was going on. I locked myself in the nursery, to
protect myself from the fury of George. He came to
the door and broke it down.” She paused, and her voice
leaped an octave. “George turned me out into the rain.”
“Great God! Did he go that far?”
She was on her feet by this time pacing the room.
“He turned me out into the stormy night. I fled from
his fury, drenched with rain. At the gates of the gar-
dens round the house I met with the Prince. He had
been hanging round the place fearful for my life. He
implored me to come on board the yacht and stop the
night. I was almost distracted with terror and anger.
I went.” She paused again. “From that moment I was
lost.”


222 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
the room looking haggard and worn out. “Anne!” cried
her mother. “Where is Anne?” -
“Lost!” replied Olga, dropping exhausted into a chair,
“lost!”


CHAPTER XXII
OLGA's EVIDENCE
ILES saw in the girl almost as great a change as
that which had taken place in her mother. For-
merly haughty and self-possessed, she was now quite ex-
hausted and broken down. Her dress was muddy and
wet and in disorder. She had a grey face and red eyes.
Huddled up in the chair, she looked a pitiable object—
the ruin of what was once a beautiful woman.
“Anne lost?” cried the Princess, clutching at a chair
to steady herself. “Olga, what do you mean?”
Olga did not answer. She closed her eyes and let her
umbrella fall with a crash. Giles saw that the girl was
quite worn out. Hastily filling a glass with undiluted
whiskey, he held it to her lips, and made her drink the
whole of it. Shortly the ardent spirit did its work. She
sat up and began to talk in a stronger tone; but the ex-
citement was artificial, and would die away soon. Prin-
cess Karacsay saw this, and urged her daughter to tell
her story quickly before she collapsed, so that the police
might be sent in search of Anne.
“The police will never find her,” said Olga, with an
effort. “She is with Mark Dane. He has taken her
away.”
“Dane?” echoed Giles. “Denham's secretary?”


224 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Olga looked at him with an inquiring air. “How much
do you know?” she asked, bracing herself up.
“As much as your mother could tell me. I know that
Anne is your half-sister, and—”
“Yes.” Olga tried to rise, but sank back again. “She
is my sister, my dear sister, and I love her with all the
strength of my nature.”
“Ah,” said Ware sadly, “why did you not talk like that
when last we met, mademoiselle?”
Olga passed her hand across her forehead. “I was
mad, I think. But that is all over. You need have no
fear now, Mr. Ware. My passion for you has spent it-
self.”
“Olga!” cried the Princess, scandalized, “you rave!”
“No,” answered her daughter; “I did last time Mr.
Ware and I were together, but now I talk sense. Did
he not tell ?” -
“I told nothing,” interposed Giles quickly; “and you
had better relate when and where you left Anne, so that
we can find her.”
“I’ll do all in my power to save her and bring her back
to you, Mr. Ware. I was mad to talk and act as I did;
but I have been punished by the loss of Anne.”
“Olga!” cried the Princess in desperation, “for
Heaven's sake speak reasonably Why did you go out
with Anne last night?”
“There was a note for Anne from Mark Dane, asking
her to meet him near the Abbey. She wanted to see him,
as he vanished after the supposed death of her father.”
“Of Alfred Denham,” interrupted the Princess angrily;
“I will not have that man called Anne's father.”
“Of Denham,” said Olga obediently. “Anne wished
to learn why her father had acted in so peculiar a way.
She could not understand his behavior.”


OLGA'S EVIDENCE 225
.
“He is a scoundrel and Anne a saint,” said the Prin-
cess bitterly. “No wonder she could not understand him.
She thinks he is a good man.”
“But surely she knows that he killed Daisy Kent,” said
Giles.
“No,” interposed Olga; “she denies that he did. I ex-
pect Denham has managed to deceive her in some way.”
“Why did you not undeceive her, mademoiselle?”
“It was not yet time,” responded the girl quietly, “but
my mother told her a portion of the truth.”
“Yes. I said that she was my child and that Denham
had been impersonating her father, George Franklin.”
“Then she can't think Denham a good man now,” said
Giles.
“I don't know,” replied the Princess hopelessly. “He
has such power over her. He has been her father so-
called for so long that she finds it difficult to believe ill
of him.”
“To learn the truth was why she insisted on seeing
Dane,” said the girl. “Dane knew all about Denham, and
Anne thought she would make him confess what he
knew.”
“And did he?”
“That I can't say. I went out with Anne and we
walked to the appointed spot. Mark Dane was waiting
for us.”
“Was he not astonished when he saw you?”
“Why should he be astonished?” asked Olga, looking
sharply at Ware.
“Because I understand from Steel that he troubled you
with letters.”
“You mean that Dane was in love with me. Yes. He
was and is.”
“Olga,” cried her mother again, “do behave yourself.”


226 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Oh, this is too serious to be a mere matter of behavior,
mother. I have made use of Dane's love to learn all
about the society of the Scarlet Cross, to which Franklin
and Dane belong.”
“You can tell us that later,” said the Princess impa-
tiently. “I want to know how you lost Anne.”
“Well, mother, Dane was astonished to see me. He
was most respectful, and said that he had a message for
Anne from her father ->
“From Denham.”
“Yes. Anne mentioned that Denham was not her
father, that she had just heard the truth, and Dane was
amazed. He hardly knew what to say, but ultimately
stammered out some sort of denial. Anne did not give
him time to speak. She said that she would see Den-
ham herself, and get to the bottom of the imposture. Then
she asked what message he had sent in the character of
her father. Dane refused to give it in my presence, so I
walked away for ten minutes and left them together.
Oh, I was foolish, I know,” she added in reply to Ware's
exclamation. “But I thought Mark Dane was devoted
to me, and would not play any tricks while I was about.
However, I did leave them alone. Anne was not in the
least afraid, as she always got on well with Dane and
trusted him entirely. When I returned in ten minutes,
or it may be more, they were gone.”
“Gone!” echoed the Princess, much agitated.
“Where?”
“I don't know. I searched everywhere. I went round
and round the Abbey. I asked a policeman. They were
nowhere to be found. I fancied that they went across to
Westminster Bridge, which they could easily do without
my seeing them. Anne must have gone of her own ac-
cord. She was decoyed by Dane. I don't know why,


228 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
from his bad companions. But I hope Steel won't put
him in gaol; that would ruin him entirely. Besides, Steel
promised not to have him arrested.”
“Promised you?” said Ware, astonished.
“Yes. It was I who told him to look after Dane. I
know much about this matter.” Then seeing Giles puz-
zled, she explained, “When I first met Anne I saw that
she was like myself in looks. That drew us together.
You see it yourself, do you not, Mr. Ware?”
“Yes,” replied Giles, “and I often wondered at it. Now,
however, that I know you are half-sisters, I wonder no
longer.”
Princess Karacsay nodded her approval, and Olga con-
tinued.
“When I learned that Anne's name was Denham I
rather drew back from her. She said that she was born .
in Jamaica, and, knowing what my mother had said about
Denham, I thought Anne was the daughter of my mother's
enemy. Afterwards I learned the truth through Dane.”
“How did you meet Dane?”
“Well, I knew him by sight long before we spoke. He
used to dog Anne and myself. She never saw him.
When I described his looks she thought he might be her
dead father's secretary—for she then believed her father,
Denham, alias Franklin, was dead. She wished to see
him, but Dane always kept out of her sight. Then when
Anne went to Mrs. Morley he still continued to dog me.
He got to know a concert hall where I frequently sang
and hired himself there as an attendant. Then he took
to sending me love-letters. I was angry at first. After-
wards I wondered if he know anything about Denham,
and thought he must if he really was the secretary, as
Anne said. I asked him to come here.”
“Olga,” said the Princess, “you have behaved badly.”


OLGA'S EVIDENCE 229
“It has all turned out for the best,” responded Olga
wearily. She was beginning to show signs of fatigue
again, but still kept on with her explanation in the most
plucky manner. “Dane came. He is a handsome young
fellow and was well dressed. I led him on to talk about
Anne. He told me more than he should have done.”
“Told you what?” -
“That Denham had come in for money and was living
at Rickwell. As I knew from Anne about the Powell
money, I put two and two together and concluded that
Denham was pretending to be Anne's father; that she
was really my half-sister; and that her pretended father
had really murdered Daisy Kent to get the money as
Franklin.”
“But how did you know about this?” asked Giles.
“Why,” replied Olga, much surprised at his density,
“I read the case in the papers. I knew that Anne could
not have killed Daisy, and having settled in my own mind
that she was not Denham's daughter, from her resem-
blance to me, I decided that Franklin, who lived at the
Priory and had the money, was really my mother's ene-
my. I sent for my mother. She came over, went down
to Rickwell, and recognized Denham. That is all.”
“Wait a minute,” said Giles quickly, “what about your
telling Steel to look after Dane?”
“Well, Mr. Ware, it was this way,” she answered.
“When you came to me and talked about the Scarlet
Cross, I remembered that Dane had such a one on his
watch-chain.”
“The badge of the gang!”
“Of course, but I did not know that until later. Then
Steel came in, if you remember, and hinted that the red
cross was the symbol of such a gang. Your talk of the
cross being found in the church, and that you thought


230 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
it was dropped by the criminal set me thinking. I sent
for Dane again and tried to find out the truth. At first
he refused, saying it was as much as his life was worth
to talk.”
“And I daresay he is right, mademoiselle. Denham
would not stick at a second murder. By the way, did
you know he was Wilson P’’
“Only when Dane confessed. I gradually got him to
be confidential to me, promising that he would not get
into trouble. He was so deeply in love with me that
he spoke out at last.”
“My dear Olga!”
“Well, mother, I knew if I could get at the truth I
could save Anne.”
The Princess nodded, well pleased. “I am glad you
thought of your sister.” Olga flushed a deep red and her
eyes sought those of Giles. “It was not my sister I
thought of, but of myself,” she said in a low tone. “You
see, mother, I fancied that I might get something if I
could prove the innocence of Anne, for I xx
“Is any explanation needed, mademoiselle?” said Giles
uneasily.
She paused for a moment and looked at him straightly.
“No,” she said at length; “that is all over. I think no
more explanation need be made. But with regard to
Dane. He told me that Denham had come to England
to see about the money left to Daisy Kent. He disguised
himself as Wilson and lodged at a Mrs. Benker's. Then
he went down to Rickwell, and—”
“And murdered Daisy,” interposed Giles eagerly.
“So I said, Mr. Ware; but Dane, who seems devoted
in a way to Denham, denies that he struck the blow.”
“Does he know who did P”
“No. He says Denham doesn't know either.”


OLGA'S EVIDENCE 23I
“Denham's a bigger scoundrel than you think,” said
Giles, recalling his last conversation at the Priory. “He
accuses Anne of murdering the girl.”
“He’ll have to prove it, then,” said Olga coolly, while
her mother shrieked. “I’ll be able to save Anne, never
fear. However, Dane told me that the red cross was
the badge of a thieves' gang. Denham had a yacht called
The Red Cross, which goes from one port to another to
take stolen goods on board.”
“That's what Steel says.”
“Of course. Dane told him when he taxed him with
it. The boy, for he is just twenty-five, told me every-
thing.”
“And you told Steel,” said Ware, rather reproachfully.
“I had to tell Steel, if I wished to save Anne,” retorted
Olga; “but I asked him to do nothing to imperil the
liberty of Mark Dane.” -
“Did he promise that?”
“Yes. Dane saw him in Bournemouth. I told him
to call with a note, which I gave him. Dane did not
know why he was sent, and when he discovered that Steel
was a detective, he became afraid. I believe he told
something, but he afterwards ran away.”
“He doesn't trust you any longer perhaps,” said the
Princess.
“From his attitude last night I think he does, although
he was a trifle reproachful. He will come if Steel has
written a letter to call him here in my name. Then I
daresay he will be able to explain why he took Anne
away.”
“Will he do so?”
“Ah! that is what we must find out.” Olga paused,
then continued. “I wanted Steel to learn all he could


232 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
from Dane about Denham, as I wish to see that man
arrested.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” cried the
Princess.
“I thought of that. Denham tried to ruin your
mother.”
“And he did—he did?” she said bitterly.
“He tried, or rather he is trying, to ruin Anne also,”
said Olga. “For these reasons I wish Steel to find evi-
dence against him, so that he may be arrested and made
to confess his wickedness. Dane is the one who can tell
most about him, and I think Dane will, for since Den-
ham got the Powell money he had not behaved very well.”
While they were thus talking a knock came to the
door. The servant entered with a card, which she pre-
sented on a salver to her mistress. Olga, who was thor-
oughly worn out, took it languidly, then suddenly be-
came excited. “He is here !” she said. “Mark Dane is
here!”


CHAPTER XXIII
MARK DANE
HEN Olga announced the name of her visitor, the
Princess rose to leave the room. She explained
that she did not think it was in keeping with the dignity
of her position to meet every shady person who called,
and added that her daughter was not behaving in a way
worthy of her name and princely family. When she de-
parted Olga looked inquiringly at Ware. He swiftly
interpreted her look.
“I shall stop,” he said promptly. “I am only too anx-
ious to help you.”
Olga came forward and took his hand. “And you
forgive me?” she asked.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he answered, shaking
it heartily. “Let us seek for Anne together. I dare-
say Dane will be able to tell us where she is. I leave you
to manage him.”
The girl nodded and touched the bell. Shortly the
maid showed in a slim young fellow of a somewhat
effeminate type. He was clean-shaven and wonderfully
pale, with large dark eyes and curly black hair, worn
rather long. He was dressed in a grey suit and wore a
red scarf tied loosely in a bow. There was something


234 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
foreign in his looks and dress. At the first sight one
would have taken him for an Italian, but when he spoke
it was apparent that he was an Englishman.
“Princess!” he said effusively, when he entered. Then
catching sight of Giles in the background, he stopped
short with a scared look.
“This is a friend of mine, Mark,” said Olga, coming
forward. “He knows all that there is to be known.”
“Oh! And you promised not to say a word,” said
Dane reproachfully.
She shook her head. “I promised to save you from
being arrested, and I shall fulfil my promise. Why have
you come here?”
Dane fumbled in his pocket. “Your letter,” he said,
handing it to her.
Olga took it, glanced at it, and finally passed it to Ware.
“I did not write that letter,” she said quietly. “Steel
the detective sent it, so as to bring you here. He wishes
to resume the conversation you left unfinished at Bourne-
mouth.”
“It's a trap!” cried Dane violently, and swung round to
the door. But there was no chance of escape in that di-
rection. He opened it to find Steel standing without.
The detective stepped into the room and locked the door.
“Now,” he said, “we can have some conversation.
Princess, I apologize for having used your name unau-
thorized, but it was the only way to bring this young man
into my net.”
“Into a net!” said Dane, letting fall his soft hat. “You
intend to have me arrested !” His hand went round to
the back of his waist. In a moment Steel had flung him-
self forward, and after a short struggle disarmed him.
The knife that the detective had secured was an ugly-
looking weapon.


MARK DANE 235
“You are more Italian than the Italians,” he said, slip-
ping the knife into his pocket; “but you are not a gentle-
man to frighten the lady.”
“I am not frightened,” said Olga promptly; “but I
am very tired. I shall retire and leave you two gentle-
men to deal with Mark.”
Dane sprang forward and caught her dress. He
looked terrified. “Do not leave me,” he entreated. “You
know that I love you, and that for your sake I have be-
trayed a man who has done much for me. You prom-
ised to help me.”
“I shall do so,” she answered, returning to her seat.
“I shall see that you are not arrested, and >>
“Pardon me, Princess, it may be necessary to
“Mr. Steel, this man shall not be arrested,” she said,
stamping her foot.
“If I am,” cried Dane resolutely, “I shall say nothing.
Only to save myself will I speak.”
Ware addressed a few hurried words to the detective,
who nodded reluctantly. It was Giles who spoke. “I
promise that you shall not be put in gaol, Dane,” he said,
“but you must tell the truth.”
“If I do so I am in danger of my life.”
“Then it is not gratitude that keeps you silent?”
“Gratitude!” said Dane, flinging back his head, “what
have I to be grateful for? Mr. Franklin—”
“You mean Denham,” interposed Olga quickly.
“Denham "echoed Steel, “that is the father of the gov-
erness.”
“No,” said Giles, “Anne's father is dead. This man
Denham pretended to play the part, and she has only
lately been undeceived. Also, Mr. Steel, you must know
that there is no Walter Franklin. The man at the Pri-
2x


236 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
ory is the scoundrel you know as Wilson, the head of the
Scarlet Cross Society and the murderer of Miss Kent.”
“Not that last,” interposed Dane, while Steel dropped
into a seat transfixed with astonishment. “Denham did
not kill her. He does not know who did. He told me
so.”
“He would tell you anything to save himself,” said
Olga.
“No,” replied Dane, “he tells me all his secrets. At
one time I should have died before I revealed them, but
Denham has treated me cruelly. I owe him no gratitude.
For years I slaved for him. I did all that a man could
do for his sake. What reward have I got? He has
beaten me like a dog. He has left me to starve. He
has delivered me up to those members of our society who
hate me. Since he came in for this money xx
“Wrongfully,” put in Giles.
“As you say, sir—wrongfully. But since he became
George Franklin and a wealthy man, he told me plainly
that he washed his hands of me. He gave me a small
sum, and sent me to America, promising an annuity. It
was not paid. I wrote—I threatened. He laughed at
me. So I have come back from America to punish him.”
He turned to Olga and continued vehemently, “Do you
think that I would have told you what I did, Princess,
had I not hated the man? No. Not even for the love
I bear you would I have done that. You sent me to
Mr. Steel at Bournemouth. I knew that he was a de-
tective, and went prepared to tell all about Denham's
wickedness, even although I incriminated myself.”
“But you did not do so,” said Steel dryly; “you ran
away.”
“And why? Because you mentioned that you suspect-
ed Miss Denham of a crime. I held my tongue until I
*


MARK DANE . 237
could see some chance of proving her innocence. Had
I told you all I knew then you would have had her ar-
rested, and let her know the shame of the man—her
father.”
“He is not her father,” said Olga again.
“I know nothing about that,” replied Dane, sitting
down; “he always said that he was her father, and I had
no reason to believe otherwise. But I am glad to hear
that he is not. She is too good and pure to be the daugh-
ter of such a man. I have known her for years. She is
an angel. She nursed me through an illness. I would
do anything to prove my gratitude for her sake. I held
my hand from harming Denham because I thought he
was her father, and **
“You need do so no longer,” cried Ware, whose face
was bright when he heard this praise of Anne; “she is
the daughter of George Franklin, of Jamaica. Denham
assumed the name to get the Powell money.”
“Then,” cried Dane, flinging wide his arms in a most
dramatic manner, “all I know you shall know. I turn
King's evidence.”
“The best way to save your own skin,” said Steel dry-
ly; “you are an Irishman, are you not?”
Dane nodded. “Born in New York,” said he.
“Humph!” murmured Steel, but so low that only Giles
heard him, “all the better. You would betray your own
mother if it suited you.”
Meanwhile Olga was speaking to the man. “The first
thing you have to confess,” she said, “is about Miss Den-
ham. Where is she P’’
“With Mr. Morley.”
Giles uttered an exclamation. “What has he got to do
with her?”


MARK DANE 239
Molley said, and he asked her to come at once. She
hesitated for a time, and then went with Morley. She
told me to wait till the Princess Olga came back and tell
her this.”
“Why did you not?”
“Because Morley whispered that I was not to do so.
I went away in another direction.”
“Then why do you tell now?” asked Ware bluntly.
“I wish to be revenged on Denham,” said Dane fiercely.
“He treated me like a dog, and he shall be bitten by me.
Curse him l’’
Olga walked to the door. “I shall go now,” she said,
seeing that Dane was becoming excited and fearing a
scene. “You can tell Mr. Steel and Mr. Ware every-
thing, Mark. When Denham is caught and Anne is free,
you shall come to Vienna with me. My father shall take
you into his service,” and with this she held out her hand
to him in a regal manner. Dane kissed it as though it
had been the hand of a queen, and when she was out of
the room, turned to the two men with a shining face.
“I am ready to tell you everything,” he said.
“And betray those who have done you a kindness,”
muttered Steel. “You would not be an Irish-American
if you didn't. I know the type.”
Quite unaware of this uncomplimentary speech, Dane
glanced into a near mirror and ran his slim hand through
his hair. He cast such a complacent look at his reflec-
tion that Giles could not forbear a smile. The man was
a compound of treachery, courage, and vanity. He had
some virtues and not a few vices, and was one of those
irresponsible creatures who develop into Anarchists. But
that the Scarlet Cross Society had attracted his talents
in the direction of a kind of coast piracy, he would with-
out doubt have been employed in blowing up kings or


240 A. COIN OF EDWARD VII.
public buildings. Giles thought with a grim smile that
if Olga took this creature to Austria, Prince Karacsay
would have some work to keep him in order. Dane was
not the man to settle to a dull, respectable existence or
to earn his bread without a little excitement. A danger-
ous man, and the more dangerous from his enormous
vanity and utter want of moral principle.
Having made Steel promise not to arrest him, nor to
make any use of his revelations to endanger his own lib-
erty, Dane cheerfully proceeded to betray those he had
sworn secrecy to. Wicked as was the gang, and evil as
was the purpose of its formation, Giles could not help
feeling a contempt for the traitor. There should be
honor amongst thieves, thought Ware. But Dane did not
believe in the proverb, and explained himself quite com-
placently.
“I met Denham—as he usually called himself many
years ago in Italy—at Milan,” said Dane; “he had a house
there. His daughter—let us call Miss Anne his daugh-
ter, although I am glad to hear she is not—lived with
him. She was then about fifteen and was at school at a
convent. She and I got on very well. I adored her for
her beauty and kindness of heart. I was starving for
want of money, as my remittances had not arrived from
America. Denham took me in. I made myself useful,
so there was no charity about the matter.”
“Still, he took you in,” suggested Giles, “that was
kind.”
“A kindness to himself,” retorted Dane. “I tell you,
sir, Denham wanted what he called a secretary and what
I called a tool. He found such a one in me. I don't deny
that I did all his dirty work, but I had some feeling of
gratitude because he rescued me from starvation.”
“You contradict yourself, Dane.”


242 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
a moment she was Franklin's daughter. And for the
matter of that,” added Dane carelessly, “I did not know
if he was really Denham or Franklin himself.”
“But Miss Anne knew nothing of all this?” asked Giles.
“Absolutely nothing. After she went to the Milan
convent, Denham would not let her come back to him
again. He was afraid lest she should learn what he was
and wished to preserve her good opinion. She went out
as a governess, and only rarely came home.”
“And how did Denham earn his living?”
“Oh, he invented the Scarlet Cross Society. He bought
a yacht, and steamed to England from Genoa. For years
we put in at different ports, robbed houses and stowed
the goods on board. Then we returned to Italy and
sold them.”
“A clever dodge,” murmured Steel. “So that is why
the goods were never traced.”
“That is why,” said Dane, with great coolness. “There
was a Jew who took a lot of what we brought. He sold
them in the East. But it is too long a story to tell at
present. Denham sometimes went to England and some-
times stopped in Florence. When he was away I stayed
in his house as George Franklin.”
“I see. He wished to prove an alibi.”
“That's it,” said Dane. “He intended to get that
money sometime, and wished that when inquiries were
made about George Franklin that it could be proved he
was in Florence all the time.” -
“And then when Powell did die?”
“Denham knew as soon as possible. He had a
spy in Australia, and had a cablegram sent to him. Then
he arranged a pretended death to get rid of Miss Anne.
He did not want her to come into his new life. He
treated her well, however, for he left her money, and in-


MARK DANE 243
tended to give her an income when he got the money.
Another man was buried in place of Denham and he went
to England, where he reappeared as George Franklin to
claim the money.”
“As Wilson, you mean, to kill the girl who stood be-
tween him and the fortune,” said Steel, raising his eyes.
Dane shook his head. “I know nothing of that,” he
said. “From the day Denham left Florence my associa-
tion with him has severed. I saw Miss Anne, told her
about the death of her father, and then went to America.
Denham did not pay me my annuity, and I came back to
be revenged. I saw him, but he denies having killed the
girl. He says he does not know who committed the mur-
der. I have been earning my bread as I best can, waiting
for revenge.”
“But you had only to threaten to make all this public
to make Denham give you what you wished.”
“No.” Dane looked uneasy. “The fact is he and
some one else have a hold over me. I need not tell you
what it is, but I had to be silent.”
“But now that you speak he has still the hold.”
“Yes. But I intend to ruin myself in order to ruin
him,” cried Dane fiercely, and rose to his feet. “Well,
gentlemen, that is all I can tell you at present. I shall
go.”
To Giles' surprise, Steel made no objection. “You’ll
come and see me again?” he said, opening the door for
Dane.
“Assuredly,” replied that young gentleman, and de-
parted.
Giles looked amazed at this permission to depart be-
ing given by the detective. “I should have thought it
would be to your interest to keep Dane here,” he said.
“He has not told us everything yet.”


244 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“No,” replied Steel, closing his book with a snap, “there
is one very interesting detail he has not told us. But the
next time we meet I’ll get it out of him. Here,” he
touched the book, “there is enough to go on with. I'll
go down to the Priory and see the sick Mr. Denham.”
“I’ll come also and see Anne,” said Giles eagerly. “But
Dane?”
“He’s all right. I have a couple of men waiting out-
side. He will be followed everywhere. I’ll be able to lay
hands on him whenever I like. Also I wish to see where
he goes. He knows the various hiding-places of this
gang, and I want him to be tracked to one of them.”
“H'm I Don't you believe his story?”
“Not altogether. He evidently hates Denham with all
the virulent hatred of a malicious character. He's a devil,
that man Dane. I should not like to incur his enmity.
However, we'll make use of him, and then the Princess
can take him to Vienna to make trouble there, as he as-
suredly will.”
“What is the especial detail you want to learn?”
“I wish him to explain how he killed Daisy Kent.”
“He Dane! Do you mean to say—?”
“I mean to say that Dane is the murderer,” said Steel
triumphantly. “That is the reason Denman and this
other person (whoever he may be) have a hold over him.
If he ruins Denham, he does so at the cost of being
hanged.”


CHAPTER XXIV
A RAT IN A CORNER
HE next day Giles returned to Rickwell with Steel.
The detective could not leave town before, as he
had to procure a warrant for the arrest of Alfred Den-
ham, alias Wilson, alias George Franklin, and half a dozen
other names. The man was to be arrested for various
robberies connected with the gang of thieves, of which he
was the head. Search was being made by the police for
The Red Cross yacht, but evidently the gang had taken
alarm, for she had disappeared. It was Steel's opinion
that she was down Plymouth way, sailing round the
Devonshire coast, and the police in that county were on
the lookout.
“Once I can get that ship,” explained Steel to Giles
when in the train, “and their claws will be cut. They
have escaped for a long time, so ingenious have their
methods been. But I have accumulated a mass of evi-
dence, and have several names known to the police. Yes,
and several names of people not known. There are about
twenty thieves, professional and amateur, connected with
this matter. It is a big affair. But I’ll get the yacht, and
then Denham. That will be the means of laying bare the
whole swindle.”


246 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
“Which? Denham or the yacht?”
“Each both ! If the police can seize the boat unex-
pectedly, some incriminating papers are sure to be found
on board. And if I can arrest Denham, I’ll soon get
the truth out of him.”
“I don't believe he can tell the truth, even if forced to,”
said Ware grimly. “You have no idea how that man
has cheated me, Steel,” and then Giles related the eaves-
dropping of himself and Morley.
“I don't know how Denham got to know,” he con-
tinued, “but the tale he told about the invented brother
was his own history, and quite deceived me and Morley.
Also that soliloquy after Mrs. Benker departed was a
masterly conception. It would have cheated any one, let
alone me. The man was acting for the benefit of myself
and Morley, and knew we were listening. What a clever
scoundrel !”
“He’s been a little too clever this time,” replied Steel;
then he began to laugh, but refused tâ explain why he did
so, save in a general way.
“This is the queerest case I was ever in,” he said, with
a chuckle; “you don't know how queer.”
“Well, you explain. I think you are keeping something
from me.”
“I am,” answered Steel readily. “Tit for tat, Mr.
Ware. You did a little business on your own account,
and said nothing to me. I repay the compliment.”
“I was afraid you would arrest Miss Denham.”
“You mean Miss Franklin. No, I should not have done
that. My investigations into this thieving case have
shown me that she is perfectly innocent. She knows
nothing about Denham's rascalities, and she certainly did
not commit the murder.”
“Are you so sure that Dane is the culprit?” asked Giles.


A RAT IN A CORNER 247
“Yes, I am sure. He was at Gravesend on board that
yacht, and when the so-called Wilson came by train from
London, Dane rode over from Tilbury on a motor-bicycle.
They met on that night, and then I expect Denham in-
duced Dane to murder the girl. Afterwards Dane went
back to Tilbury as he came, and Denham induced his
daughter to rescue him on your motor.”
“But why should he get Anne to do that?”
“Because he saw that he had been wrong in forcing
Dane to do what he did. Dane was too hasty. He should
have waited till Denham was a safe distance away, and
then have executed the deed. As it was I believe that
Denham came out to find the girl dead, and knowing he
might be accused, lost his head. Otherwise he certainly
would not have betrayed himself to Miss Anne. She,
believing him to be her father, secured the car and saved
him. A very clever woman, Mr. Ware. I hope you
will ask me to the wedding.”
“How do you know it will ever take place?” asked
Giles sadly.
“Because I am sure we shall find Miss Anne in the
Priory. I shall arrest Denham, and you can place the
lady in charge of some friend, or send her up to her
mother, the Princess Karacsay. By the way, how does
she come to be the mother?”
“It’s a long story. The Princess was married twice.
first to George Franklin, of Jamaica, and secondly to
Prince Karacsay. But how do you know that when Mor-
ley arrived with Anne that Denham did not take fright and
fly ?”
“I don't think Morley would let him do that. It is
probable that Miss Anne would tell him what she knew,
and there would be quite enough suspicion excited in
Morley's mind to induce him to communicate with me.”


A RAT IN A CORNER 249
to unmask Denham, and had thus made her aware of
Anne's existence, she could not do that without provoking
her mother's undying enmity. On the whole, Olga was
something of a problem, and although Giles wished to
think of her as kindly as he could, he determined to see
as little of her as was possible after the marriage. He
did not trust her. There was too much of the untamed
tigeress about the girl.
When the train arrived at Barnham, a trap ordered by
Giles was waiting to take them to Rickwell. On the plat-
form Steel was met by a local policeman who seemed to
be much excited. “I have acted according to your in-
structions, sir,” he said, touching his helmet.
“Well,” said Steel sharply while Giles lingered to lis-
ten—for everything the detective said was interesting to
him; he still doubted his intentions regarding Anne—
“did Mr. Morley bring down Miss Denham P”
“No, sir,” was the unexpected answer. “Mr. Morley
has not come back since he went up to town two nights
ago. He went by the nine train.”
“The same train as I went by,” interposed Giles.
“Are you sure?” said Steel, and Giles fancied he saw
a smile play round his rather full lips.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Morley on the evening he went away
called at the Priory and had a quarrel with Mr. Franklin,
sir. They came to blows, sir, and Mr. Franklin's leg is
broken.”
“Then he has not left Rickwell ?”
“No, sir. He's laid up with the broken leg and his
daughter is nursing him. He's awful bad, I’ve been told,
sir, by Mrs. Parry.”
Giles could not help laughing at the introduction of
the good lady's name. She seemed to be mixed up with
everything. He could not be sorry for Denham, as he


250 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
was only meeting with his deserts. “But Anne—where
can she be?” he asked Steel, as they stepped into the cart.
“I wish I knew,” said Steel gloomily. “I had an idea
that Morley was playing me false.”
“Do you think he is in league with Denham *
“I am sure of it. That is the portion of the case of
which I have not spoken to you. You'll hear what Den-
ham says. Now that Morley has left him in the lurch
Denham will reveal Morley's connection with these mat-
ters. But Morley has secured a hostage in the person
of Miss Anne. He has taken her away somewhere. His
wife may know of his whereabouts. After we have seen
Denham we'll speak of her.”
“Since when have you had suspicions of Morley?”
“Since I investigated this Scarlet Cross case. I have
found one or two of the gang who, like Dane, are willing
to turn King's evidence to save themselves. It was one of
them called Scott who told me of Dane's coming on the
motor-bicycle to Rickwell. But later on you shall hear all.
Let me round off the case by arresting Denham.” Here
Steel scratched his head and smiled ruefully. “But I fear
the case will not be finished till Morley is caught, and
where am I to look for him? I wish I had had him
watched. He has been too clever for me. I might have
known. As Joe Bart he was one of the smartest detectives
in London.”
After this speech Steel began to think, and as he seemed
impatient of interruption, Giles said nothing. In due time
they arrived at the door of the Priory. It was close on
five o'clock. Steel rang the bell, and as he did so a couple
of policemen came round the corner for orders. Steel
told them to wait in the hall while he saw Denham. “I
don’t think he can show fight with a broken leg,” said
Steel grimly.
ſ
ſ


A RAT IN A CORNER 25I
As he spoke the door opened. Portia with ner freckled
face swollen with weeping appeared. She did not seem
astonished at the sight of the men in uniform. Perhaps
she had seen them lurking in the neighborhood and knew
what to expect.
“Come in,” she said sullenly to Steel and his companion.
“My father expects you.”
“Who told him I was coming?” asked Steel.
“I don't know,” she answered, and led the way up the
stairs. On the landing she turned viciously. “If father
had not broken his leg, you would not have found us
here,” she declared.
“I quite believe that,” retorted Steel.
“And you needn't have brought those beasts of men,”
continued the girl, with a glance at the police in the hall.
“We are all alone. Dowse and his wife and daughter
ran away whenever they heard there was trouble.”
“Oh, they are mixed up in this affair also.”
“I don't know. I shan’t say anything, for I don't know
nothing.”
She sullenly led the way through a long corridor and
opened the door of a sitting-room. Here on a sofa with
a small table at his elbow lay Denham. His leg was
swathed in bandages, and he wore a loose dressing-gown.
As they entered he laid down a book and looked at them.
His face was worn, his hair was quite grey, but the bril-
liance of his eyes were undimmed, and he spoke in a mas-
terful manner.
“Here you are, Steel,” he said coolly. “Got the war-
rant?”
“How do you know I have a warrant?” asked the other,
taken aback.
“I knew you would find out the truth the moment Mrs.
Franklin, or rather, I should say the Princess Karacsay,


A RAT IN A CORNER 253
Kent. She was murdered by—but I'll tell you that later.
In the meantime, Mr. Ware, tell me what the Princess
told you, and I'll supply the details she doubtless has
omitted. Then Steel can follow with his tale.”
Giles had no hesitation in complying with this request.
He narrated his connection with Olga and the story told
by her mother. Also he detailed how he had confided in
Morley, thinking him an honorable man. This was the
only time when Denham smiled, and he did smile derisive-
ly. However, he did not interrupt, but when Giles was
finished looked at Steel. That gentleman gave a history
of his doings and discoveries. He omitted all mention
of Morley. Denham noted this.
“I see you have left something for me to tell,” he said.
“Well, as I am like a rat in a corner, I must give in. The
end has come, and I don't know that I am sorry. I have
had a very uneasy life of it since I left Jamaica. And,
as usual, it was a woman who ruined me.”
“Not the Princess Karacsay,” said Giles quickly.
“Yes. You heard her version of the story, now hear
mine. She led me on, she behaved badly, she 32
“I don't believe you. I won't listen.”
“Very good. Then we will take up the story from the
time I came to Milan,” replied Denham coolly. “Anne
was with me, and I treated her well. She never knew
anything of my inner life, and always thought me a good
man. I rather prided myself in keeping her in that be-
1ief.”
“Dane said that you behaved very well,” said Steel.
Denham nodded ironically. “I am much obliged for the
good opinion of such a scoundrel,” he said. “Well, you
know how I treated Anne. When she became a governess
she left me to follow out my idea of making money. I
bought a yacht, and invented the Society of the Scarlet


A RAT IN A CORNER 255
reputation might be preserved. He was highly compli-
mented on getting the swag back,” added Denham, Smil-
ing ironically, “but the thieves unfortunately escaped.”
“And he was hand in glove with the lot of you,” said
Steel, almost with admiration. “I always said Joe Bart
was clever.”
“He was too clever for me,” said Denham, shifting his
position, and sighing with the pain of his leg. However,
with iron resolution he continued. “But I’ll punish him
yet. Well, to make a long story short, Morley retired
from the force and married a widow. She had money.
He spent all she had. He got his percentage from our
society, and spent that also. He was always gambling,
and took runs up to town to lose his money in a private
hell he knew of. Afterwards he got into difficulties, and
began to yearn for the Powell money. It was because
Daisy Kent was to inherit it that he induced her father
to appoint him her guardian.”
“And for that reason he settled in Rickwell.”
“Yes. Kent had known Mrs. Morley for many years,
and it was she who was the guardian. When he married
Mrs. Morley our friend settled in Rickwell, so that his
wife might renew her friendship with Kent and get the
girl. It all came about as he designed, and Daisy Kent
lived at The Elms. Morley thought he would sell me, and
when the girl got the money, by using his influence to
induce her to give it to him, I believe he was capable of
killing his wife and of marrying Daisy. But that scheme
was stopped by the fact that Daisy was engaged to you,
Ware.”
“I am thankful that she was,” said Giles, wiping his
face. “What a devil the man is l’’
“He is a clever man,” replied Denham coolly, “but he
was not sufficiently clever to get the better of Daisy Kent.


256 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
What she found out, or how he treated her, I don't know ;
but she took a violent hatred to him. He knew she would
not give him the money when she got it, and so—”
“Stop!” cried Ware. “Do you mean to say Morley
killed the girl?”
“No. I wish I could say so. But he was in his house
all the time. He is innocent enough. I'll tell you about
that later. At present let me go on with the story. I
heard by cable from Australia that Powell was dead, and
then I feigned death to get rid of Anne. I came to
England, and, as Wilson, heard about the will, and after-
wards served the summons.”
“Why did you serve the summons?”
“I simply wanted to see Morley without suspicion be-
ing excited. I saw him in the library. He told me that
he had ordered the yacht to anchor off Gravesend and that
Dane was coming to tell him when it was there. He then
asked me to kill Daisy Kent, saying I could get the for-
tune when she was dead.”
Denham paused, and wiped his face.
“I don't pretend to be a good man,” he said, “but I de-
clined to murder the girl. While we were arguing Anne
entered. When she saw me she nearly fainted, as she
thought I was dead. She recognized me.”
“Yes,” put in Giles, “but she said she didn't speak to
you.”
“But she did. Morley knew then that she was Frank-
lin's daughter, and, if Daisy died, the rightful owner of
the money. I expect that is why he had decoyed her
away. Well, I made Anne agree to be silent, promising
her an explanation the next day. She left the room. I
went away, and afterwards to church. I wished to see
Daisy and warn her against Morley. I passed a note say-
ing that I desired to see her about the money. She went


A RAT IN A CORNER 257
out. I followed shortly. It was snowing heavily when I
got out. I heard a cry, and rushed in its direction. It
came from the grave of Kent. Daisy was lying there
dead. I saw a man dash away 32
“Who was he?” asked Steel and Giles simultaneously.
“I believe, from the glimpse I caught, he was Dane.”
“I thought so,” said Steel triumphantly.
“Yes, Dane killed the girl. I expect Morley put him
up to it. I lost my head. I knew that to save himself
that Morley would accuse me. I rushed forward. Anne
came out. I hurriedly explained, and then xx
“We know,” interrupted Giles, “you bolted on my mo-
tor-car. Tell us how you got the money.”
“Oh, I appeared as Franklin, and saw Asher. I pro-
duced my papers, and was put into formal possession of
the money. Morley insistcd that I should live down here,
under his eye. I could not refuse. He has drained me
of nearly every penny. Then, when trouble began, he
made use of his position here to warn me of what was
going on.”
“He made a fool of me,” said Giles grimly. “I told
him everything, and you played that nice little comedy in
the park.” -
“With Mrs. Benker?” Denham Smiled. “Yes; and the
soliloquy was my own idea. I knew that would impose
on you.”
“Morley swindled me also,” said Steel, with gloom.
“Clever man ſ”
“You said that before,” remarked Denham dryly.
“However, when Anne's mother appeared I knew the
game was up. She made me promise to send Anne to
her, so I had to let her go.”
“Why did you blame Anne for the murder?”
“I wanted to stop your prying into matters which did


258 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
not concern you,” snarled the man savagely. “It was you
who started all this infernal business. But it's all over.
You can arrest me as soon as you like, Steel, and if you
can catch Morley I'll willingly stand in the dock beside
him.”
As he said this the door opened. There was a noise
outside. Portia was trying to keep some one back, but
the man forced his way past her and into the room. It
was Trim, and he presented a letter to his master. “Beg
pardon, sir, but I heard you were here, and there's a let-
ter came this morning marked ‘Immediate.’ I wanted to
start for town, but when I heard you were here I came
over, and this young woman's been trying to keep me
out, to say nothing of them police below.”
Giles opened the letter hastily. Something fell with
a silvery ring on the floor. Steel picked it up. “What's
this?” he asked wonderingly—“a coin with precious
stones'
“Anne's Edward VII. half-sovereign,” shouted Giles.
“This is from her.” The letter, written in pencil, merely
said, “Prisoner—yacht—Bilbao.”
“Steel,” cried Giles, “Morley has taken her to Bilbao!
We follow.”


A CATASTROPHE 26I
mountains high. But Calthorpe drove his vessel sheer
through them, and never slackened his speed for all their
fury. And now it must be explained how Dane came to
be on board. The explanation may be given in his own
words to Giles.
“When I left you in London, sir,” he said, “I wondered
where Morley had taken Miss Anne. From what I knew
I guessed that he would not carry her to the Priory at
Rickwell. It then struck me that he might use the yacht.
Since Steel took up the case she has changed her name
and her appearance, for Morley and Denham were both
afraid lest she might be found out. The gang of course
know nothing of my intention to smash up the organiza-
tion, and I knew that I could get all information from
one of them. I sent a wire to this man—he's called Ar-
den—and received information that the boat was at
Gravesend by Morley's orders, under the name of The
Dark Horse.”
“Rather a good name,” said Ware, smiling. “Morley
is something of a humorist.”
“He’s a devil!” said Dane fiercely. “I’ll tell you my
reason for saying so later, sir. I went to Gravesend and
found her lying in mid-stream. I went on board and
learned that Morley was away, but that the boat was to
sail shortly for some unknown destination.”
“Where was Morley?”
“Up in town, sir, getting his money together to make
tracks. I found Miss Anne on board. She told me that
Morley had suggested they should get to Rickwell by the
Gravesend line, and she, not thinking any harm of him
and anxious to see Denham and learn the truth about her
dead father, agreed. He took her down and drugged her
in the train. As an invalid she was taken on board The
Dark Horse and confined to her cabin. A hag called Mrs.


262 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Johns attended to her. I know the old wretch. A regu-
lar bad one; but devoted to Morley, who got her out of
some trouble.”
“Why did you not rescue Miss Anne,” said Giles, “and
save us this journey, Dane?”
“I couldn't. Mrs. Johns allowed me to see Miss Anne,
as she had no reason to suspect me; but she kept guard
at the door, and would not let me out of her sight almost.
If I had tried to take Miss Anne ashore, she'd have
brought the crew on me. They are all Morley's creatures.
I should simply have been poleaxed and dropped over-
board, while the yacht sailed away. No, sir. I told Miss
Anne my difficulty, and asked her to send a line to you at
the Priory—where I knew you were—that you might
follow. She wrote three or four words—”
“I know,” interrupted Giles, “and enclosed the coin.”
“She did that, sir, so that you could be sure the mes-
sage came from her. I posted the letter. Then I went
on shore and waited till Morley came back. I learned
from Miss Anne that the boat was going to Bilbao, and
when she started I came on to the Priory to ask if I could
join in the hunt for Miss Anne. Yes,” cried Dane, shak-
ing his fist, “and the hunt after that devil Morley.”
“Why do you hate him so?” asked Giles, wondering at
the man's fierceness and ill-suppressed emotion.
Dane thought for a moment, then answered, with his
eyes on the deck, “Morley killed my mother,” he said in
a low voice. “No, sir, not in the way you think. He
killed her by telling her what I was. She was a good
woman. She brought me up well, and did her best to
make me a decent man. I was well behaved till I went to
Italy to study singing, and fell in with Denham. He
made me bad. Afterwards Morley made me worse. I
have thieved, I have—but what does the catalogue of my


264 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
after the previous conversation Giles began to wonder
if Dane really was guilty, despite the belief of Steel and
the evidence of Denham. He resolved to set his doubts
at rest.
“Dane,” he said, after a pause, “you appear to have
much good in you, and the Princess Olga is anxious to
save you from yourself. Since you are helping us to
break up this gang and catch Morley, who appears to be
the arch-criminal, I am willing to do what I can to save
you from the law. But there is another crime **
“What particular crime do you mean, sir?” asked Dane
quietly.
“The murder of Miss Kent.”
Dane started. “Do you believe that I had anything to
do with that?”
“Why not? You were at Rickwell on the night it was
committed.”
“I was. I came over from the yacht at Gravesend to
tell Morley she was waiting his orders there, and to tell
Denham also. He had appointed a meeting there for me.
I came on a motor-bicycle. What of that?”
“A man called Scott told Steel that you were in Rick-
well.”
“I admit it. I know Scott. He has turned King's evi-
dence. It seems to me, sir, that the whole lot of us will
be pardoned if we are so anxious to betray one another.
But this crime—”
“Denham says you killed the girl.”
Dane sprang to his feet with flashing eyes. “I swear
by all that I hold most holy that I did not touch the girl,”
he declared. “I never even set eyes on her. Denham
accuses me—yes, because I have told the truth about him.
I came on that night and saw Morley and him at the win-
dow of the library in Morley's house. When I gave my


A CATASTROPHE 267
carry Anne off to the mountains. He was such a scoun-
drel, and so clever, that it might be possible he had con-
federates at Bilboa to help him to carry out any scheme he
might suggest. Giles wished to catch him before he had
time to formulate any new villainy. At all events, Morley
would never think that they had tracked him so speedily,
or had followed so rapidly. It was unlikely that he would
use the yacht to the fullest extent of her steaming powers.
In the centre of the Bay The Firefly was caught by the
full force of the storm. The wind and waves were terri-
fic, but the gallant little boat proved herself trustworthy.
Under a sullen sky, over a dismal grey sea she steamed,
her decks streaming with water, and the ship herself roll-
ing terribly.
Calthorpe did not slacken speed, and the boat responded
splendidly to his handling. A sharp lookout was kept by
all on board for the yacht, as Giles had offered a large
reward for the first man who espied the boat. But the
difficulty was that none of the crew knew the looks of
The Dark Horse. However, they were to hail when they
saw anything in the shape of a yacht, and there were one
or two false alarms. At length, when The Firefly was ap-
proaching the Spanish coast, Dane, who was on deck with
a glass, gave the alarm. It was a misty, grey day, with
absence of sun and wind. The ocean was heaving like
masses of liquid pitch with an oily look, and the yacht
cut sheer through the terrific waves that threatened to
overwhelm her. Suddenly a wind rose, there was a blink
of sunshine, and about a mile away a bark was seen roll-
ing in the trough of the sea. “There she is "roared Dane,
and every one came on deck.
“Are you sure?” cried Giles, taking the glass.
“Perfectly sure,” replied Dane, who was dangerously
excited. “Captain, let me handle the wheel as a reward.”


268 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Calthorpe gave his assent, as he knew what a good
steersman Dane was. He then took his post beside Giles
and Steel, who were admitted on to the bridge, and thence
directed the ship. Then The Firefly made a bee-line for
the distant ship.
Steel and Giles had less sense than they should have
had; and Dane in his joy at the sight of his prey quite
forgot that with a good glass Morley could recognize
them all three. It was The Red Cross, alias The Dark
Horse, that was steaming leisurely southward, and doing
her best to battle with the strong seas that hammered her
newly painted sides. Thus Morley, who had never ex-
pected such promptitude, became aware that his foes were
at his heels. He saw the detective and Giles on the
bridge. But Dane he did not see, being in too much of a
hurry after his first glimpse of the danger to take further
interest in those on board The Firefly. The result of
Morley's decision was that those on the pursuing yacht
saw clouds of smoke pouring out of the funnel, and knew
that the furnaces were being crammed to suffocation.
There was a shout of joy from The Firefly's crew, for
now the fun was beginning.
“We'll see if she'll beat my boat,” said Calthorpe on
the bridge.
It was very stormy, and black clouds were racing across
a pallid sky. A furious wind had blown the mists into
shreds of vapor, and was ripping white spume from the
tops of the rearing waves. The vessel in flight soared
like a swallow, and slid down into mile-long valleys; but
The Firefly, having more powerful engines, tore straight
through the walls of water that threatened to block her
way. She trembled with the vibration of her screws, and
in the stormy heaving of the water there was great dan-
*er lest her propeller fans should snap. However, the en-


A CATASTROPHE 269
gineer stood with his hand on the throttle-valve, and
stopped the spinning of the screws when they emerged.
Much the same tactics were being pursued on board
The Dark Horse, save that in addition the safety-valve
was tied down. The engines worked at furious speed,
and the boat leaped like a hunted stag. But the hound
On its heels came closer and closer, and those on The Dark
Horse could hear the roar of the delighted Firefly crew.
Morley ground his teeth, and fed his furnaces again.
Anne came on deck.
“Go below !” he said, and swore at her.
“I shall not,” she retorted, and got away from him.
He was not able to pursue, not being in position to
leave his post beside the captain. Besides, he thought it
mattered very little whether she was seen or not. Ware
knew that she was on board, and, moreover, if The Dark
Horse were overhauled, he would suffer most himself by
the capture. It would do him no good to throw Anne
overboard, although he felt much inclined to do so if only
for revenge.
Calthorpe could well be proud of his boat. She re-
sponded gallantly to the strain put upon her, and tore
like a mad thing through the waste of waters. She swung
'longside of The Dark Horse, Dane steering with flashing
eyes and his long hair streaming in the wind. There was
less than a quarter of a mile separating the boats. Mor-
ley swerved to the right. Dane followed. A pretty bit
of steering on the part of both vessels took place until
the winds and waves took command. Then the boats,
out of hand, swung together, almost touching. Giles
could see Anne. She cried out and stretched her hands.
Suddenly Dane turned the yacht in a circle. Calthorpe
shouted to know, with several adjectives, what he was
up to. He would have stopped the engines, which were


A CATASTROPHE 271
plunging like a colt, rolling like a drunken man. Giles
saw Morley; near him Dane with a savage look on his
face. Morley, with terror in his eyes, tried to get away,
but Dane reached him, flung his arms round him, and with
a wild shout both men went down into the furiously bub-
bling witch-caldron, never to rise again.
The strain of the whole terrible business was too much
for Giles Ware. For the first and last time in his life
he fainted. The last recollection he had was of seeing
the doomed vessel plunging downwards and a cloud of
white steam rising with a terrible roar from her explod-
ing boilers. After that, darkness and insensibility.


THE END OF THE TROUBLE 273
leaving Anne to the society of the Princess. Almost as
soon as he set foot in his home he was informed of the
news by Trim.
“Mr. Franklin is dead,” said Trim, with startling
abruptness. -
“Dead l’” echoed Ware astonished. “Was his broken
leg the cause?”
“No,” replied the old man; “but yesterday he received a
telegram, and afterwards took a dose of poison. His
daughter is coming here to see you, sir. She heard you
were to be here to-day.”
Giles wondered why Portia should come to see him,
and also why Denham should have committed suicide
after receiving a telegram. Trim could not tell him what
the telegram was about, so Giles had to wait until the
girl chose to call and enlighten him. Perhaps she had a
message for him from the dead man concerning Anne.
Meanwhile Trim went on to state that Mrs. Morley was
leaving Rickwell.
“She has sold all her furniture and has let The Elms,”
said Trim. “I saw Morris yesterday, and he tells me she
is stopping at ‘The Merry Dancer' with her children.”
“Does she know of her husband's death?” asked Giles.
“Death, sir. Is Mr. Morley dead?”
“I forgot. You do not know. Yes, Trim. He went
down in his yacht, The Dark Horse, in the Bay of Bis-
cay.”
“Poor woman!” said Trim, looking shocked; “she was
so fond of him.”
Ware had his own opinion on this point, so made no
remark. He turned over the correspondence that had
accumulated during his absence, and found a letter from
Mrs. Morley written a day or so previous. She said
therein that she wished to see him particularly, and that


274 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
she would call as soon as he returned. She had some-
thing most particular to tell him. The word “particular”
was underlined. Giles wondered if she intended to tell
him some of Morley's rascalities. But then he remem-
bered that, according to Dane, she knew nothing of the
double life which her husband had led. Anxious to hear
what she had to say, he despatched a note by Trim asking
her to come to his house, and offering to go to the inn,
should she prefer their conversation to take place there.
When Trim departed, Giles proceeded to despatch such
business connected with his estates as was necessary.
Hardly had he been an hour engaged in this way when
Portia called to see him. She had discarded her rainbow-
colored garb, and was clothed in funereal black. When
she entered Giles' study he saw that her eyes were red,
and her face swollen with weeping. He felt extremely
sorry for the poor girl, and privately determined to look
after her as Denham had requested. Meantime he did
his best to console Portia.
“I am sorry to hear of your father's death,” he said
sympathetically. Portia looked at him indignantly.
“Why should you say that?” she demanded; “you were
not his friend.”
“No. I certainly was not. All the same I cannot
help regretting that a man with such great gifts should
have wasted them in the way he did, and should have put
an end to himself.”
“There was nothing else for him to do,” said the girl
mournfully. “He was to be taken to gaol as soon as his
leg was better. The police could not move him immedi-
ately, or he would have been put in gaol long ago. But
he's dead now, and I'm glad. Whatever you may say of
him, Mr. Ware, he was my father, and good to me.
Yes, and he was good to Anne also. She'll tell you so.”


THE END OF THE TROUBLE 275
“I am sure he was,” answered Giles gently. “Your
father had his good points, Portia. How much of his
sad history do you know?”
“I know he had his faults,” she replied doggedly, “and
that he was very badly treated by that beast Morley. I'm
glad Morley is dead.”
“How do you know he is?” asked Giles sharply.
“Father got a telegram yesterday from Steel. Steel
promised to let him know if Morley was caught, as father
hated him so. When the telegram came saying that Mor-
ley was drowned, father said that he had nothing left to
live for, and that he was quite pleased to die. Then he
sent me out of the room and took poison. I came back in
an hour,” sobbed Portia, “and found him dead. He
looked so handsome as a corpse.”
Giles shivered at this morbid speech, but made no com-
ment thereon. He saw that Portia knew very little, and
was determined in her own mind to know no more. She
had elevated her dead father to the rank of a hero, and
would not listen to a word against him. Ware thought
there must have been a great deal of good in Denham,
despite his evil career, seeing that he had gained the good
will of both Portia and Anne. But he had no time to talk
further to Portia on these points, as a card was brought
in to him, and he learned that Mrs. Morley was waiting to
see him. He said a few final words to Portia.
“How do you stand?” he asked.
“Anne will look after me,” she answered. “I don't
suppose you'll be mean enough to put her against me.”
“Why should I?” said Giles mildly. “I am only too
glad to help you in any way I can. But this money your
father—”
“That is all right. Father saw Mr. Asher, the lawyer,
and has left his money to Anne, every penny of it. I get


276 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
nothing,” cried Portia, with a fresh burst of grief; “but
I do hope Anne will help me. I'm sure I've always been
very good to her, even though she isn't my sister.”
“Did your father tell you she wasn't?”
“Yes. He said she was an adopted child. Though why
he should have left her all, and me nothing—”
Here Portia wept again.
Ware saw that Denham had arranged with Asher that
her father's money should pass to Anne. No doubt he
had told the lawyer the whole history of the imposture,
and Asher would now take steps to place Anne in posses-
sion of her fortune. But Denham had deceived Portia,
probably because he wished the girl to think well of him
after he was dead. Giles resolved that he would not un-
deceive the girl.
“I’ll see that things are made easy for you,” he said.
“Are you still at the Priory?”
“There's nowhere else for me to go till I hear from
Anne.”
“Anne is in town. I'll write to her, and we'll see what
can be done.”
Portia rose to go, but she expressed no thanks for his
kindness. “So you are to marry Anne,” she said. “Well,
I hope you'll be good to her.”
“Don’t you think I shall?”
Portia, in spite of her grief, tossed her head. “I don't
know,” she said; “all men are bad, except my father,
who was very, very good,” and she looked defiantly at
Giles as though challenging contradiction.
But Ware was too sorry for the girl to make any harsh
remark. He walked with her to the outer door, and sent
her away in a much more cheerful mood. Then he re-
turned to his study, and found Mrs. Morley already seated
near his desk. She looked ill and worn, but, in strange


THE END OF THE TROUBLE 277
contrast to her usual custom, wore a colored gown, and
evidently had been trying to dress herself as gaily as
possible. She saw the surprised look on Giles's face, and
guessed its meaning.
“Yes, Mr. Ware,” she said, plucking at her dress, “you
see I have my holiday clothes on. Even though Oliver
has left me, there is no need for me to go into mourning.
No. He has deserted me basely. I am determined to
show the world that I don’t care.”
“Mrs. Morley, your husband is dead.” -
“Dead l’” She half started from her chair, but sat down
again with a white face. Then to Giles's horror she be-
gan to laugh. He knew that Morley had been a bad hus-
band to the woman before him, but that she should laugh
on hearing of his death, made him shiver. He hastily
explained how Morley had met with his fate, and Mrs.
Morley not only laughed again, but clapped her gloved
hands.
“Dead!” she said quite gleefully. “Ah! he was lucky
to the last.”
Ware thought that the widow must be off her head
to talk like this; but Mrs. Morley was perfectly sane,
and her exclamation was perfectly natural, as he soon
learned. She enlightened him in her next speech.
“Don’t you call a man lucky,” she said quietly, “who
died like my husband in the clean waves of the sea, in-
stead of being hanged as he deserved?”
“What do you mean?” asked the startled Giles.
“Can't you guess?” She drew a paper out of her
pocket. “I came here to give you that, Mr. Ware. The
confession of my wicked husband.”
“Confession P”
“Yes. You will find it particularly interesting, Mr.


278 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
Ware. It was my miserable husband who murdered
Daisy.”
“Never!” gasped Giles, rising aghast. “He was in the
library all the time. You told ->
“I know what I told,” she answered quickly. “I did
so to save my name from shame; for the sake of my
children I lied. Oliver did not deserve the mercy I
showed him. Base to the last he deserted me. Now he is
dead. I am glad to hear it.” She paused and laughed.
“I shall not change my dress, Mr. Ware.”
“Don’t, Mrs. Morley,” he said, with a shudder.
“Not that name, if you please,” she said, and noting
her card on the desk she tore it in two. Then opening
her case she tore the other cards and scattered them on
the floor. “Mrs. Morley is no more. I am Mrs. War-
ton. That is the name of my first husband—my true
husband—the father of my three children. Yes, Mr.
Ware, I have sold my furniture, and let The Elms. To-
morrow I leave for the south of France with my children.
I land in France as Mrs. Warton, and the old life is gone
for ever. Can you blame me?”
“From what I know of Morley I cannot,” he stam-
mered. “But what do you know, Mrs. Mor—I mean Mrs.
Warton P”
“I know everything. Listen, Mr. Ware. When Oliver
married me I was in love with him. I thought he loved
me for myself. But it was my money he was after. Some
time after our marriage I found that he was a gambler.
He lost all my money at cards. Fortunately there was a
sum of a thousand a year settled on me which he could
not touch, nor was he able to touch the money left to
my children. All the rest (and there was a great deal)
he wheedled out of me and spent.”
“I wonder you did not put an end to him long ago. I


28o A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
have been too late, as she would hear about the money and
leave the house. Morley took the stiletto and went to the
church in the hope of killing her when she came out and
was amidst the crowd of people. He hoped to escape un-
observed.”
“A rash ideaſ” observed Giles.
“Oh, its safety lay in its rashness,” said the widow
coldly. “Well, it happened that Denham lured Daisy out
of the church and did not follow for some time. Morley
looking at the door saw her come out. She waited for a
moment and then walked to her father's grave. Morley
followed and killed her by stabbing her in the back as
she knelt in the snow by the grave. She fell forward
with a cry. He would have repeated the blow but that
he saw Denham coming. He fled back to the house. I
was in the library when he arrived. He made some ex-
cuse, and I never thought anything was wrong.”
“Had he the stiletto with him P”
“I believe he had, but I did not see it. Afterwards he
took the stiletto back to the churchyard and pretended to
find it, so that Anne might be accused. Denham never
suspected Morley of the crime. Why, I don't know, as
any one who knew what I have told you about his offers
to Denham and Dane must have guessed that Morley was
guilty.”
“How did you learn all this?” asked Giles, glancing at
the confession which was in Morley's own handwriting.
“At various times. I did not suspect him at first. But
one thing led to another and I watched him. I got at his
papers and discovered all about the Scarlet Cross,
and—”
“Wait, Mrs. Morley—I mean Warton. Did Morley
write that anonymous letter which accused Anne?”
“Yes. He did so, in case it was necessary to kill Daisy.


THE END OF THE TROUBLE 28I
He hoped by hinting beforehand that Anne would be ac-
cused. It was Anne's foolish speech to Daisy, saying she
would kill her, that gave him the idea. But she meant
nothing by it. It was only a few hot words. However,
Morley used them to his own end. Well, Mr. Ware, I
found out about the thieving gang, and then learned for
the first time the kind of man I had married. My love
died out of my heart at once. I took to thinking how I
could get away from him. He used to mutter in his
sleep, having an uneasy conscience.”
“I should think he was too strong a man to have a
conscience.”
“Well, he muttered in his sleep at all events. From
what he said I discovered that he had something to do
with the death of Daisy. I accused him, and told him
that I knew all about his Scarlet Cross wickedness. He
denied the truth of this at first. Afterwards, little by
little, I got the truth out of him. I then made him write
out that confession and sign it, so that I could save Anne
should she be caught. I promised for the sake of my
own name and my children not to use the confession un-
less Anne was taken. That is why Morley ran away with
Anne. He fancied that she would continue to bear the
blame, and also’—here Mrs. Wharton hesitated and
glanced at Giles—“I fancy that Oliver was in love with
Miss Denham.”
“The scoundrel !” cried Giles furiously.
Mrs. Wharton—as she now called herself—laughed
coldly and rose to depart. “I don’t think it matters much
now,” she said. “Anne was not drowned also, was she?”
“No,” replied Ware, shuddering; “she is in London,
and I hope shortly to make her my wife.”
“I wish her all happiness,” said Mrs. Wharton, without
emotion. “I always liked Anne, and for her sake I se-


THE END OF THE TROUBLE 283
soon be put in possession of her money, and asked me to
give you the reward. It is half from her and half from
me.”
“And I believed her guilty,” said Steel regretfully; “but
I'll make amends, Mr. Ware. I’ll keep her name out of
this business as much as I can, consistently with the evi-
dence.”
Steel was as good as his word. The thieves were tried,
but Anne was not mentioned in connection with their rob-
beries. As regards the murder, the confession of Mor-
ley was made public and every one knew that Anne was
guiltless. In fact, she was applauded for the way in
which she had helped her supposed father to escape. The
papers called the whole episode romantic, but the papers
never knew the entire truth, nor that Anne was the daugh-
ter of the Princess Karacsay. Not even Mrs. Parry
learned as much as she should have liked to learn. But
what scraps of information she did become possessed of,
she wove into a thrilling story which fully maintained her
reputation as a scandal-monger. And she was always
Anne's friend, being particularly triumphant over the fact
that she had never believed her to be guilty.
“And I hope,” said Mrs. Parry generally, “that every :
one will believe what I say in the future;” which every
one afraid of her tongue pretended to do.
Giles and Anne were married from the castle of Prince
Karacsay, in Styria. The Prince took a great fancy to
Anne Franklin, and learned the truth about her paren-
tage. But this was not made public. It was simply sup-
posed that she was a young English lady who was the
intimate friend of Princess Olga. But every one was
surprised when the elder Princess at the wedding threw
over Anne's neck a magnificent necklace of uncut em-


284 A COIN OF EDWARD VII.
erald. “It belonged to your father's mother, dear,”
whispered the Princess as she kissed the bride.
Olga married Count Taroc, and settled down into the
meekest of wives. Giles and Anne heard of the marriage
while on their honeymoon in Italy. They had taken a
villa at Sorrento and were seated out on the terrace when
the letter came, Anne expressed herself glad.
“And you are pleased too, dear,” she said to Giles.
“Very pleased,” he replied, with emphasis, whereat she
laughed.
“I know why you are pleased,” she said, in answer to
his look. “Olga told me how deeply she was in love with
you. But her cure was as quick as her disease was viru-
lent. She never would have harmed me, my dear. Olga
was always fond of me—and of you.”
Giles flushed and laughed.
“Well, it's all over now,” he said, “and I am glad she
is married. But let us talk about yourself. Are you
happy after all your troubles, dearest?”
“Very happy, Giles. I regret nothing. Portia, thanks
to you, is in a good home. But my...poor father—”
“Don’t call Denham that, Anne,” he said, with a frown.
She kissed it away.
“He was always very good to me,” she said. “I tried
to save him, as you know. I believed that he had killed
Daisy by some mistake. But really, Giles, I did not stop to
think. I knew that my—I mean Denham—was in dan-
ger of his life, and I could not rest until I had placed
him in safety.”
“And you defended him afterwards, Anne—that time
we met in the churchyard. You quite endorsed his story
of the invented Walter Franklin.”
“Don’t reproach me, Giles. I had promised Denham
to say what I did; and not even for your dear sake could
-


THE END OF THE TROUBLE 285
I break my word. He was a good man in many ways;
but, as you say yourself, it is all over. Let us forget
him and his tragic end.”
“And Morley’s.”
Anne shivered. “He was the worst. Oh, what a ter-
rible time I had on board that boat, when I found he was
deceiving me. I thought he was taking me to Denham,
and I wanted to see what he-I mean Denham—would
say to my mother's statement. I thought he might be
able to show that he was not so bad as she—"
“Not another word,” said Ware, taking her in his arms.
“Let us leave the old bad past alone, and live in the pres-
ent. See”—he took a parcel out of his pocket—“I have
had this made for you.”
Anne opened the package, and found therein the coin
of Edward VII. set as a brooch and surrounded by bril-
liants.
“Oh, how delightful!” she said, with a true woman's
appreciation of pretty things.
“It is the dearest thing in the world to me, save you,
Anne,” he said. “Twice that coin brought me to you.
But for it I should never have been by your side now.”
“No 1"
She kissed the coin again and fastened it at her throat,
where it glittered a pretty, odd ornament.
“You waste your kisses,” cried Giles, and took her to
his breast.
THE END,
-


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