The mystery of the the shadowFergus Hume


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THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW






"ONLY FOR A MOMENT DID THEY SEE THIS
SHADOW" (P. 23).


JHE MYSTERY OF
THE SHADOW
'
BY
FERGUS HUME
Author of "The Mystery of a,
Hansom Cab'
etc., etc.
AUTHORIZED EDITION
WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS
BY *4. T. SMITH
B. W. DODGE AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
1906 :.::.*


THE NEW YCRK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
596869A
ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS
R


t_
*
s
C O N T E N T S.
CHAPTER I.
AN ILL-MATCHED Couple -
CHAPTER II.
THE SHADow - - e
CHAPTER III.
HUNTING A GHost .
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT MRs. ALLISON SAw
CHAPTER V.
A DISCovery .
CHAPTER VI.
THE WILL. e
THE PAGE-Boy
OLD BARNACLEs. e - e
CHAPTER IX.
UNExPECTED INTELLIGENCE
CHAPTER X.
A PUzzling LETTER. e º
CHAPTER XI.
ALIx Gives HER REASON - -
CHAPTER XII.
AN AMAziNG REVELATION
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
Pacº
I3
26
36
46
56
67
77
88
98
Io9
I IQ


vi CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE MissiNG RING .
CHAPTER XIV.
THE PHOTOGRAPH - -
CHAPTER XV.
CAPTAIN RUG . -
CHAPTER XVI.
THE UNExPECTED HAPPENs
CHAPTER XVII.
FACE TO FACE .
AN ACCUSATION.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CAPTAIN's Evidence . -
CHAPTER XX.
DR. PARsons' AccusATIONs .
CHAPTER XXI.
A DARK DEED .
CHAPTER XXII.
Alix AND MRs. BRADy -
A NEw CLUE .
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END .
CHAPTER XXV.
A CoNFEssion
FiRE | . -
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Page
I3o
I4o
I51
I61
171
I82
I94
2O4
2I6
226
236
246
256
269


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
-ººº-
“Only for a moment did they see this shadow” . . Frontis.
“Breaking through the blind the horrified man
dashed into the room” . . . . . To face p. 24
“Although he wrenched violently at the door it
would not open’ . e - - - e 99 26
“‘Was it for this that you murdered my wife 2'". op 66
“Tuckle pulled out a photograph and thrust it
into the hands of Alix" . - º - e 90 76
“It contained a hood of white serge” . e - 09 86
“‘Why do you think it was a woman, Harold P’” 99 92
“‘I am engaged to Gilbert Ainsleigh’” - • * II8
“‘Dr. Parsons killed her,’ replied Tuckle coolly,
‘and I can prove it” . - - º - n 128
“‘And his face isn't improved by a scar on the
right temple’” º e - - e - 2, I50
“Grasped a chair and swung it over his head” . ,, 162
“Then pay me the cheque, Miss Parsons. Robert
Ainsleigh strangled her’” . - e sº IQ2
“‘Out with it—he told you who strangled Mrs.
Ainsleigh'” . - - -
“‘I got it from this girl. It proves that
Ainsleigh killed his wife’” . e e - ps 244
“‘I have come to pay you a visit, Youle,” said
Gilbert Ainsleigh '' . - - • 1, 254
“Lowering the unconscious form of Harold” . 2, 274
9, 2I4





THE MYSTERY
OF THE SHADOW.
CHAPTER I.
AN ILL-MATCHED COUPLE.
UNDER a gnarled hawthorn, white with April blossom,
sat Mrs. Ainsleigh of Tudor Grange. Before her stood
a bamboo table, bearing a dainty array of silver and
china, ready for the agreeable ceremony of five o'clock
tea. Basket-work lounge chairs with fat cushions, bright
hued and comfortable, were placed invitingly near the
table, but Mrs. Ainsleigh sat bolt upright in a stiff,
high-back seat, regal and uneasy. She was stiff herself,
and matched the chair.
A thin, aristocratic nose dividing sharp grey eyes set
in an ivory-tinted face, silvery white hair worn after
the fashion set by Marie Antoinette, slender feet and
hands, and a slim figure of the buckram kind. Such was
the appearance of Mrs. Ainsleigh at sixty-five. A casual
observer would have taken her to be a high-born spin-
ster, somewhat dried up and acidulated; but she was
really a wife of twelve months' standing, married to a
handsome scamp, and he was now making her pay for
the folly of matching her December with his May. Ex-
B


2 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
ternally the marriage was a happy one, but Mrs. Ains-
leigh knew better, although she never imparted her
knowledge to the world at large. It was not her nature
to accuse the stars of her own foolishness. But at this
moment she was alone, and the mask of self-possession
had slipped a trifle. Therefore did she look grimly at
the worldly goods with which, reversing the marriage
service, she had endowed her husband, thinking bitterly
at the same time of the many sorrows he had brought
upon her.
If gratitude counted for anything, Gilbert Ainsleigh
should have devoted his life to the woman who had
made that life so easy. His elderly wife had brought him
the stately old Grange, old-world and luxurious: she had
provided him with all the delights for which his very
material nature longed: she had given him a fine posi-
tion and an ample income. His return for these gifts
was truly human. He pleased himself and neglected
her. Truly Mrs. Ainsleigh had married in haste to re-
pent at leisure: but no one ever heard her quote so
appropriate a proverb. Yet the secret sorrow soured
her kindly nature, and alone in the quaint old garden,
amidst the blossoms of spring, she looked even older
than she was, sadly faded and woefully disappointed.
The fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, upon which she
had lived for the last year, was indeed dust and ashes
to the taste.
The grey, ivy-covered mansion had been a priory
in the reign of that arch-iconoclast the eighth Henry.
Having been given to a favourite courtier, the new owner
had expelled the monks, and had founded a respectable
county family. In spite of a curse said to have been
pronounced by the last prior on those who dispossessed
him and his, and a rumour that the said prior haunted


AN ILL-MATCHED COUPLE. 3
his late abode to see the fulfilment of the curse, the
Blastornes had lived very comfortably, handing on the
ecclesiastical house and income from father to son.
Now the line was extinct, save for Miss Barbara Blas-
torne, and she had changed her name for that of Ains-
leigh, only to learn that she had made a mistake. The
lordly mansion with its oriel windows, its broad terraces,
its delightful gardens, its fish-ponds and closely-clipped
yew-tree walks, were all her own. But Barbara Ainsleigh
would rather have dwelt in a hovel, where love existed,
than in this fair domain where sorrow ruled. The gods
had given her many desirable gifts, but the crowning
one was withheld
.
A light step warned her to resume her mask, and
the face she turned towards the man who descended
the shallow terrace steps was calm and impassive.
Watching him approach, she might have been carved
from stone for all the emotion she displayed. Had the
newcomer been her husband she might have been more
human: but her greeting to Harold Youle was that of
a stranger, although she had known him all the thirty
years of his life. And she now saw him for the first
time this year.
"It is good of you to come," said Mrs. Ainsleigh,
pointing to a seat, "as I have much to say to you. I
hope you had a pleasant journey."
"It was dull, but short," replied Youle, in his level
voice, which was almost as unemotional as her own.
"It is good of you to have me down, Mrs. Ainsleigh."
"So Alix thinks. Have you seen her?"
"Fancy asking a lover so unnecessary a,question.
She came to meet me at the lodge, and we walked up
the avenue together."
"Why did you not come sooner to tea," said Mrs.


4 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Ainsleigh, handing him a cup, "and bring Alix with
you."
Harold made a grimace.
"We met her father when we got inside," said he,
shrugging. "Dr. Parsons has some new fad about
living for one hundred years—as though anyone could
put up with him for that time."
'" You are not fond of him, Harold."
"He wearies me with his fancies. I wonder how so
charming a girl as Alix came to have such a dull father.
And I wonder still more that you keep him here."
"My health is none of the best," said Mrs. Ainsleigh
indifferently, "and he really is a good doctor. Besides,
Alix is my god-daughter, and I am as fond of her as
you are."
"That is impossible," protested the lover. "I wor-
ship her. As to your health "—he ran his eyes over
her—" you look very well."
"All the same, 1 suffer from heart-disease," she re-
plied abruptly.
Youle looked shocked, and uttered all the sympa-
thetic remarks he could think of on the spur of the
moment. "You will live for many a long day yet, Mrs.
Ainsleigh," he finished, "if you keep quiet and do not
worry. Not that you ever do."
"Because I do not show it. But I have my troubles
the same as other people. No one is spared worry."
"Ah! Even in this Paradise the serpent exists,
then?"
"I admitted the serpent myself," said Mrs. Ains-
leigh coldly. "He goes by the name of my husband."
"I am sorry"
"Oh, spare me these banal regrets." She raised her
hand impatiently. "What is the use of crying over


AN ILL-MATCHED COUPLE. 5
spilt milk. Gilbert is, what he is. I believe you know
him?"
"In a general sort of way. Last time I was in
England, some four years ago, I met him at dinner.
He is a handsome man."
"A handsome scoundrel. Don't look shocked. I
can say to you what I would not to anyone else."
"Surely. You have always been kind to me. When
my parents died, ten years ago, you were a second
mother to me."
"It would have been better had I adopted you, and
made my will in your favour," said Mrs. Ainsleigh,
looking round idly, "especially as you are to marry
Alix. But I was a fool, and now I am paying for my
folly. Have you seen Gilbert to-day?"
"You forget, I have just arrived."
"When you do see him you will be surprised at the
alteration in his appearance."
"He was a handsome fellow."
"He is handsome still," said Mrs. Ainsleigh regret-
fully; "but he is sadly altered. What can you expect
from a morphia-maniac?"
"What!"
"Don't look shocked," she said again. "I have
known of his failing for the last six months. I asked
you down to see if anything could be done. Gilbert is
killing himself, and is killing me. I don't know what
morphia does as a rule, Harold, but it has turned my
husband into a devil."
"Oh, but surely"
"Please, no." She flung up her hand once more.
"When he comes out you can judge for yourself. And
with my health, too," she went on almost to herself—
"with my weak heart, it is killing me. Oh, and I loved


6 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
him so—I believe I love him still; yet he treats me
cruelly. He neglects me, he squanders my money, he
is abusive, and "—she hesitated, but the word had to
come out—" and brutal."
Harold frowned.
"Do you mean to say that he has"
"Not yet—not yet; but he will some day. And if
he ever did strike me, I would die of shame and the
shock." She clenched her fist, and her face grew
peaked. "Yes, Harold; he is a slave to morphia, and
my life is one long round of misery. Day after day he
doses himself with that accursed drug. Even to-night,
although you and Alix and her father are in the house,
he will behave as usual, and go to the summer-house
at the end of the Dutch garden to sleep off the effects
of the morphia."
Harold looked distressed and angry.
"Why not insist that he should go to his room,
where the servants will not see him."
"I have done so, but for some reason he prefers to
sleep in the summer-house for a few hours after dinner.
He comes back to the house about eleven, and I see
nothing of him till he appears, haggard and worn out,
the next morning. Oh, what a life—what a life!"
"Would you like me to speak to him?"
"What good would that do? These fools who take
morphia heed no warning. Harold, I believe Gilbert
hates me. Yet he once loved me."
"The drug, perhaps"
"Yes, the drug—the accursed drug!" She moaned
and hid her face. "But we can talk of this later.
Meanwhile, here is Alix and her father." With an effort
she again resumed her mask and laughed coldly, as
though amused at some remark. "How ridiculous,


AN ILL-MATCHED COUPLE. 7
Harold!" she said, for the benefit of the approaching
father and daughter.
"What is ridiculous?" asked Alix, taking a seat.
"Harold has been describing to me the manners and
customs of some African natives," said Mrs. Ainsleigh
promptly.
"On the Shire River," added Youle, taking his cue.
"Tell me all about them."
Alix spoke with a pretty imperiousness which suited
her very well, as she was but twenty-one years of age
and extremely spoilt. Even Mrs. Ainsleigh, cold and
self-contained as she was, could not resist the coaxing
ways of her god-daughter. Yet she was not what would
be called beautiful. Her charm lay in her manner and
in the sweetness of her disposition. Other women who
admired Youle wondered that a man who had seen
the beauties of all nations should fall in love with what
they termed a bread-and-butter miss. But Harold was
very contented with his choice, and was as deeply in
love as a reserved man well could be. All the same, he
saw the faults of Alix, and did not spoil 'her, as others
did. This she remarked upon frequently, and did so
now, when he declined to describe the Shire River
natives.
"You never do anything I ask," said Alix, plain-
tively.
"Everybody else does, my dear," replied the young
man, "and too much honey is not good for any-
one."
"I am not so sure of that, Youle," remarked Dr.
Parsons, who was stout and heavy. "According to the
Greeks, oil without and honey within are necessary to
health."
"Along with deep breathing," said Alix mischiev-


8 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
ously. She knew all about the latest fancy of her re-
spected father.
"Quite so," he assented gravely. "You have never
given your attention to breathing, Youle."
"I do so every moment I live," said Harold, smiling.
"Ah, but you breathe all wrong, as do the majority
of people. Now I breathe deeply and so oxygenate the
lungs. Observe." And Dr. Parsons began to heave
up and down like a bellows. "I hope to live one hun-
dred years on this system," he ended triumphantly.
"Life isn't worth living for a century," said Mrs.
Ainsleigh bitterly.
"Oh, I think so, dear lady. Look what an object-
lesson I can be to those who laugh at my theories!
Tea? Well, I am not very sure if I ought to take tea
—it is deleterious."
"Try a whisky and soda, papa."
"Poison! Simply poison!" exclaimed Parsons with
horror. "One might as well exist on morphia."
Mrs. Ainsleigh glanced rapidly at Harold, and he
gathered from her look that the doctor knew all about
Gilbert's weakness. He began to see that Parsons was
retained as a medical adviser at Tudor Grange less for
the benefit of Mrs. Ainsleigh than for that of her hus-
band. It was at this moment that the man himself
arrived on the scene, stumbling down the terrace steps
like one under the influence of drink.
"I say, Barbara, there's someone wants to see you,"
he giggled in a silly kind of way.
Harold was shocked at the change in the man's
looks. Four years ago he had been a fresh-coloured,
fair Saxon, athletic and breezy in his manner. Now his
frame was bowed, his skin yellow, his blue eyes looked
like those of a fish, and he had a loose mouth, the lips


AN ILL-MATCHED COUPLE. 9
of which were perpetually parted in a silly smile. Ap-
parently the man's will and self-respect had been taken
away by the drug. And yet Harold, always a close ob-
server, thought he saw determination in those dull eyes,
and a firmness about the chin which was belied by the
foolish, gaping mouth.
Mrs. Ainsleigh cast a pained look on her husband
and one at Youle, but spoke calmly enough.
"Who is it, Gilbert?"
"I don't know. He won't give his name," giggled
Gilbert, taking a seat, into which he lurched heavily.
"A sailor chap."
Mrs. Ainsleigh, always pale, became paler than ever,
and her hands, usually firm, trembled visibly.
"A sailor?"
Gilbert shot a keen look at her, which did not suit
with his ostentatious giggle.
"Yes, a sailor," he spluttered; "a rough, bearded
man with a scar on his right temple."
Mrs. Ainsleigh gave a slight exclamation, and rose,
trying to control her agitation with an obvious effort.
"I must see him," she said.
"Who is he?" asked Gilbert, and so sharply and
imperiously that Youle started.
"I can't say yet," she replied coldly; "when I re-
turn I may be able to satisfy your curiosity." And she
walked in her stately fashion across the lawn, disap-
pearing through the window of the library, which was
open. Gilbert's fishy eyes followed her, and there was
an angry spark in their depths. He suddenly became
aware that Youle was looking at him, and instantly the
spark went out, and the lips again parted in a weak
smile.
"Sorry I didn't see you before," he said, extending


io THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
a limp hand. "Youle, isn't it? Yes, of course. Met
you four years ago."
Youle let the limp hand drop, after a careless
shake.
"At Mrs. Brady's, the actress," said he soberly. "I
remember!"
At the mention of the actress's name Gilbert
straightened himself and darted an inquiring look at
his guest.
"I remember also," he said, suddenly becoming
bent again. "I haven't seen her since."
"Really!" Harold thought the speech was rather
unnecessary, and examined Gilbert in his turn. But
Ainsleigh, with the rudeness of a child, turned aside and
bestowed his giggling attentions on Alix in a way which
Youle disapproved of. Also he caught Dr. Parsons
looking anxiously at their mutual host.
"Is he really ill?" asked Harold in a whisper.
"Oh, yes, the effects of a chill, and"
"You can speak plainly, doctor. Mrs. Ainsleigh told
me all."
"Indeed." Dr. Parsons moved uneasily. "Then
you do not need me to explain."
It seemed to Youle that Parsons shirked talking
about Gilbert, which was perhaps natural, since he was
not aware how confidential Mrs. Ainsleigh had been.
Harold was about to speak again, but changed his mind,
thinking the less he said about the matter the better.
Besides, Alix was growing restive under Ainsleigh's
attentions, and Youle was virile enough to resent the
same jealously.
"What nonsense you talk, Mr. Ainsleigh!" said
Alix, shifting her chair impatiently; "I don't believe
a word of it."


AN ILL-MATCHED COUPLE. n
"But it's true."
"What is true?" asked Youle interposing, so as to
attract the attention of his beloved to himself.
"That the ghost of the Prior haunts the Grange,"
said Gilbert
.
"Pooh," said Youle sceptically; "ghosts went out
with gas."
"They haven't gone out of the Grange, at all events,
perhaps because we are lighted with electricity instead
of gas. I swear that the monk in his robes haunts the
house, and particularly the room where my wife prefers
to sit in the evening."
"The drawing-room?"
"No. A small room." Gilbert pointed to a large
window in the second storey towards the end of the
terrace. "It's there, and is called the Prior's Parlour.
Barbara likes it, although she's quite afraid of the
ghost."
"So am I," shivered Alix; "don't talk about him."
"About 'It,' my dear Miss Parsons," said Ainsleigh
maliciously. "' It' is a shadow, you know."
"And this is unhealthy talk," interposed Dr. Par-
sons quickly, his fat face uneasy and his limbs restless.
"There are no such things as ghosts."
"Yet you met the Prior," snapped Gilbert, looking
at him steadily.
"I certainly did see something queer in the picture
gallery," hesitated Parsons. "But then, the shadows
account for much."
"Well," said Harold scornfully, "I have travelled
over most of the world, but I have never yet seen a
ghost."
An interruption came. Down the steps hurried the
butler, moving with less than his usual dignity.


I 2 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
“Sir” he said to Gilbert anxiously, “please come
to my mistress. She has fainted.”
“I thought she was interviewing someone,” said
Gilbert irritably.
“The gentleman has gone, sir, and my mistress is in
a faint.”
Harold saw a gleam in Ainsleigh's eyes, hinting at
satisfaction, and was puzzled to know what it meant.


I3
C H A P T E R II.
THE SHADOW.
THAT same evening there were but three people to eat
a well-cooked, excellently served dinner, for the guests
had the table to themselves. Since the announcement
by the butler that Mrs. Ainsleigh had fainted after the
departure of the nautical stranger, Harold had not seen
her. She recovered sufficiently to retire to her room,
and refused admittance to everyone. Dr. Parsons, who
offered his medical services, was kept out, and even
Alix was put aside, much to her distress. Mrs. Ainsleigh
also declined to see her husband, but Gilbert asserted
himself and forced his way into the bedroom. For an
hour he remained with his wife. What took place no
one knew, but at the end of that time he went from the
house, and left word with the butler that he had gone to
London on business connected with Mrs. Ainsleigh's
sudden indisposition.
“A most mysterious affair,” said Youle to Alix, before
they retired for the night. “What does it all mean?”
“I can't say,” she replied candidly, and looking
anxious. “It might be some trouble over money that
this stranger came about. If so, Mrs. Ainsleigh has
probably lost her temper with Mr. Ainsleigh.”
“Oh, so you think that he has got into monetary
difficulties 2 ”
“He is never out of them, according to what Mrs.


I4 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Ainsleigh says," was the reply. "I wish she had never
married. Good-night."
Harold would have asked more, but Alix, saying she
was weary, in rather a petulant way, went up the stairs.
In the smoking-room Youle attempted to question Dr,
Parsons, but he flatly refused to talk about anything,
alleging that, as Mrs. Ainsleigh's medical attendant, it
would not be etiquette for him to chatter. Therefore
Harold had to listen to a disquisition on the possibility of
attaining to the age of one hundred years, while his
brain was racking itself to find a meaning for the strange
event which had happened since his arrival. But
although he turned over the matter, not only before he
retired, but after he was in bed, he could arrive at no con-
clusion. The solution suggested by Alix seemed to be
the most probable.
"The stranger was some tradesman, or money-
lender," thought Youle, " and Mrs. Ainsleigh having dis-
covered some of Gilbert's trickery, has had a row with
him. I dare say it will blow over, and he will return to
cajole her."
He prophesied correctly. In a couple of days
Gilbert, looking more haggard than ever, reappeared
early in the morning and entered the breakfast room to
greet his wife. On Monday he had gone away fuming
with anger—this was the butler's account—and on
Thursday he came smilingly to his wife's side. She
looked at him furtively, and with a flush on her cheeks,
but did not decline his kiss.
"Your trip to London has not done you any good,"
she observed, with a disparaging glance at his wan
looks.
"I was worrying about you, dear," said Gilbert, with
his usual silly giggle. "I should not have gone away
angry."


THE SHADOW. 15
"There was certainly no occasion that you should
do so. But I do not think that this conversation is
interesting to our guests. Will you not eat?"
Gilbert looked anxiously at 1ihe doctor and his
daughter, also at Harold, and then made a pretence of
eating. But he merely drank a cup of coffee and fiddled
with a rasher of bacon. When the meal was ended he
called Parsons into the library. Almost at the same
time Alix went up to get her hat, as she was going for
a walk with her lover. Harold thus found himself for
the first time for three days alone with his hostess, and
seized the opportunity.
"I wish you would tell me what is the matter?"
said he.
"There is nothing the matter," replied Mrs.
Ainsleigh. "Gilbert and I had a difference, and he
went to London in a rage. Now he has come to his
senses, and all will be well."
"He looks pretty bad."
"I expect he has been soaked in morphia ever
since he went away," said Mrs. Ainsleigh scornfully;
"but I can do nothing. Dr. Parsons may, as Gilbert
has evidently taken him to the library to ask for medical
treatment. Oh, what a life—what a life!" And she
sighed wearily.
"I hope you did not get bad news when you fainted
on the day of my arrival, after the departure of that
sailor."
"Who told you he was a sailor?" asked Mrs.
Ainsleigh sharply.
"I only guessed so from your husband's descrip-
tion."
"He described the man wrongly. Who my visitor
was does not matter either to you or Gilbert."


I6 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ainsleigh.”
She looked at him with a glimmering smile on her
thin lips. .
“I am rude, I fear, Harold; but you must admit
that I am being severely tried. I cannot help myself.”
“Let me help you.”
Mrs. Ainsleigh shook her head and rose.
“You cannot,” said she curtly, and left the room,
leaving Youle more mystified than ever. There was
some mystery at the Grange, but what it was he could
not fathom. Nor could Alix aid him. They went for
their walk, and he questioned her. All she said was
that Mr. Ainsleigh and his wife were perpetually
quarrelling, and that Gilbert was in fault. She and her
father had been at the Grange for six months, as Mrs.
Ainsleigh wished to have a medical attendant always by
her side.
“But your father's practice in Kensington 2" asked
Youle, when in possession of these facts.
“It could scarcely be called a practice,” said Alix,
shaking her head. “Papa is always taking up new fads,
and so neglected his business. He was a politician at
one time: then he turned his attention to theosophy.
Afterwards he took a craze for electricity, and later
became a faddist about foods. When he tried to get
His patients to live on five almonds a day, he lost
several. We were very poor, and as housekeeper I had
enough to do to keep things going. There were heaps
and heaps of bills. Then Mrs. Ainsleigh asked papa
down, and suggested that he should stay in the house
as her medical attendant. We sold up the house, and
came here six months ago. I believe it was Mr.
Ainsleigh's idea that papa should be in the house.”
“And suppose Mrs. Ainsleigh dies 2 ”


THE SHADOW. 17
“Well, then Mr. Ainsleigh has promised to look after
papa, and recompense him for giving up his practice.”
“Will he be able to do that 2 ”
“Papa says he will. If Mrs. Ainsleigh died, her
husband gets the Grange and all the money.”
“I don't think that is right,” said Youle, remembering
, the way in which Gilbert was behaving.
“Why not? Mrs. Ainsleigh has no relatives, and I
believe Gilbert would not have married her unless she
had made such a will. I call him Gilbert sometimes,”
added Alix confusedly, “as papa always calls him by his
first name. Papa has known Mr. Ainsleigh for a long
time.”
“It is strange I never met him at your house in
Kensington.”
“He came and went at will,” said Alix, with a shrug,
“and at one time I really thought he was going to
propose to me.”
Harold grew angry.
“You don't mean to say that he is in love with you,
Alix 2 ” he exclaimed.
“Not now, but I think he was ; but I never liked
him.”
“I am glad of that, since I should have stood a small
chance.”
“Darling, I fell deeply in love with you the very
first time I saw your black, black face.”
“It is black,” laughed Youle. “Tropical suns have
not added to my beauty. But, Alix, who is Ainsleigh 2 ”
“I don't know. Papa knows, but I never asked
questions. Papa does not like anyone to ask questions.”
“I can quite understand that,” muttered Harold, and
relapsed into silence. He knew perfectly well that Dr.
Parsons, although clever at his profession, was held to
C


THE SHADOW. 19
insisted on having dinner at seven as usual. She shifted
uneasily in her seat when Gilbert mentioned the ghost,
and noticing this he talked about it all the time during
dinner, to which they went almost immediately. Cer-
tainly the ghost had been unusually active, and Harold
himself, sceptical as he was, had heard queer noises, for
which he could not account . But then the house was
very old, and was filled with wide passages and small
rooms, and corkscrew staircases, and unexpected doors
and windows. When the wind was high—and it had
been for the last few days—it was no wonder that the
ancient mansion was alive with noises. Harold put
forward this theory, after Gilbert left the table, which he
did in the middle of the dinner. Mrs. Ainsleigh
answered.
"I wish the wind would blow Gilbert into the river,"
she said, seeing that the servants had left the dining-
room for a moment . "He has gone away to dose him-
self as usual. He'll kill himself."
"My dear lady," protested Dr. Parsons, "not while I
am here."
"Why can't you stop him ?" she demanded fiercely.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"He will have his own way, my dear lady, and"
"Hush," said Mrs. Ainsleigh; "here is Thomson
again."
Very little was said till the wine was on the table,
and Mrs. Ainsleigh with Alix had retired to the
Prior's Parlour, which was her favourite sitting-room.
Then Harold addressed himself to the doctor very
directly.
"Where is Ainsleigh?" he asked.
Parsons started.
"Probably already asleep in the pagoda," he said.


20 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"I don't approve of his sleeping there, but you know his
habits."
"But why does he sleep there?"
"I really can't say. These weak-willed people who
cannot resist drugs and drink have odd fancies."
"Can't you cure the man, and give Mrs. Ainsleigh
some pleasure in her life ?" asked Harold almost fiercely.
"No. I wish I could. I have known Ainsleigh for
many years, and he was a clever, bright young fellow.
Now he is only thirty—your age, I believe, Mr. Youle—
and see what a wreck he is."
"Do you think he will die?"
"Not while I can keep him alive," was Parsons'
reply, made with unusual vehemence.
"I see. It pays you to keep him alive."
"I have my professional reputation to think about,"
said the doctor with great stiffness.
"Then I should let it slide in this instance, and let
Ainsleigh go to kingdom come as soon as possible. He
is of no use in this world, and only worries a wife that
is much too good for him."
"He is your host," rebuked the doctor uneasily.
"And Mrs. Ainsleigh is my oldest friend," retorted
Youle sharply. "I wish the man was dead with all my
heart."
Parsons rose in a flustered manner. "I really cannot
listen to this talk," he said, and bustled out of the room,
like the sycophant and time-server he was.
Wondering how Alix ever came to have such a father,
Harold finished his glass of port and went in search of
the girl. On his way he stumbled against Gilbert, who
was walking down the stairs. Youle buttonholed him.
"See here, Ainsleigh," said he determinedly, "I'm
going to take Miss Parsons for a walk in the Dutch


THE SHADOW. 21
garden, so you find some other berth to sleep in than the
pagoda."
"My own place—shut up!" grumbled Gilbert thickly.
And brushing Youle aside, he went heavily down the
stairs.
Harold entered the parlour and found Mrs. Ainsleigh
reading by the table near a large electric light shaded
with red silk. Alix was leaning out of the window ad-
miring the beauty of the night.
"Gilbert?" questioned Mrs. Ainsleigh, as he entered
.
"He has gone into the garden, as usual," said Harold,
whereupon the neglected wife shrugged her shoulders,
and returned to her book. As she did not seem dis-
posed for conversation, Youle drew Alix outside and
challenged her to a game of billiards.
"I would rather walk in the garden," she said.
"Besides, papa is trying some hew stroke. Hark!"
They heard the click of the billiard balls faintly. "I
expect he'll go in for gambling next," ended Alix, who
apparently had small regard for her eccentric parent.
"I think it will be best for me to marry you, and take
you from him altogether," said Youle, as they emerged
into the moonlight and strolled up and down the terrace.
"I wish you would. Why don't you?"
"Dearest, I have not sufficient money."
"What about those precious stones you brought back
from Africa?"
"Oh, that scheme is knocked on the head. I saw
the jewellers about them, and while admitting that the
stone is of the order of gems, and is quite unknown, they
hold out no hope that it will become popular."
"What a shame! I think it is a pretty stone myself.
I have got on the necklace you gave me. Where is the
ring you had made of that large stone?"


22 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Harold glanced at his hand.
“Ainsleigh took a fancy to it, and I gave it to him.”
“I thought you and Mr. Ainsleigh were not friends?”
“I am friendly with him for his wife's sake,” ex-
plained Harold; “but don't let us talk of disagreeable
things, dearest. This is the kind of night that Romeo
and Juliet loved. Let us walk and talk as they did.”
“They didn't walk,” contradicted Alix, laughing.
“Juliet was on a balcony, and Romeo climbed over the
wall.”
“To find his heart.”
“And where would you look for yours, Harold * *
“In your pocket.”
“I don't carry it in so stuffy a place. Do you hide
mine in your ticket-pocket?”
“No, I carry it in my breast.”
“That's where I carry yours. What queer anatomy,
and what nonsense we are talking ! See, how lovely it
is on the lawn. I’ll race you.” And before Youle could
say a word, Alix had started off, light-footed as Atalanta.
He followed fleetly, but could not catch her. She made
much to his annoyance, for the Dutch garden, a queer,
quaint, prim place towards the far end of the grounds.
After flitting, laughing and singing, through many alleys,
Alix emerged on a wide, peaceful lawn, at the far end
of which was the pagoda-shaped summer-house. Harold
came up and drew her away.
“I wish you hadn't come here,” he said sternly.
“You know yy
“Yes, there he is,” said Alix with a shudder, and
peered into the summer-house. Ainsleigh had drawn a
form across the door, and was stretched thereon in a
Sound sleep, his head resting on his arm, and with a
cloak thrown over his evening dress. His face was up-


THE SHADOW. 23
turned, and stray pencils of moonlight rested on its
haggardness. He looked very white and lean and
wrinkled, and in the thin moonlight his appearance
asleep was uncanny, so suggestive was it of death.
After a glance of disgust Harold drew Alix away, im-
patiently.
“Leave him alone. It is not a sight for you,” said
he.
“Pooh! I am a doctor's daughter, and my nerves
are strong.”
Harold contradicted this, and Alix argued. But he
managed to get her up to the house, through the quaint
alleys, which resembled narrow passages. When they
reached the lawn before the house, a cloud passed over
the face of the moon, and all the lights in the windows
shone out still brighter for the moment. Alix cast her
eyes up towards the casement—as it really was—of the
Prior's Parlour.
“I wonder if Mrs. Ainsleigh is still there,” she said.
“If she is—Oh!—Harold—what's that?”
The two were standing immediately below the ter-
race, gazing up towards the white space of the blind
which concealed the room. The light, faintly reddish
—no doubt from the lamp-shade—made the blind one
broad shimmering lake of light. But as Alix gasped, a
shadow passed before their eyes. It was that of a
monk, if one could judge from the hooded head, and
from the outstretched hands, which held a rather large
cross. Only for a moment did they see this shadow,
and then a corner of the blind was drawn aside and a
white face peered out. The two watchers could not see
what the face looked like, for almost at once the blind
was dropped, and the shadow disappeared from the
blind.


TITILITILTTº
:
.


/ /...'yr. LANttl


THE SHADOW. 25
on the floor dead—strangled. Through the door was re-
treating a tall man dressed in monkish weeds. He gave
a low laugh as Youle sprang into the room, and passed
through the door. Harold flung himself forward, only to
have the door shut in his face as his fingers touched it
.


CHAPTER III.
HUNTING A GHOST.
HAROLD did not pause to look after the murdered
woman, since such attention would avail little for one
who had passed beyond human aid. His predominant
idea was to capture the assassin, who had so cleverly
slipped through the door. Even as Youle laid his
fingers on the handle, he heard the sharp click of the
turning key, and, although he wrenched violently at the
door, it would not open. And as the creature on the
other side laughed softly, the clock on the mantelpiece
chimed half-past nine. Even in that moment of excite-
ment Harold mechanically noted the hour, and rapidly
reflected that here, at least, was the time of the crime
precisely fixed.
What could he do? After a final effort to open the
door, Youle dashed back to the window, and slipped
out of it, alighting swiftly amongst an excited crowd
of grooms, stablemen, and indoor servants who were
gathered round Alix. She was explaining as well as
she could, but in her alarm bungled the story in the tell-
ing. All that those around her could gather was that
Mrs. Ainsleigh was being done to death by a ghost—by
the ghost—the ghost of the dead Prior who was said to
haunt the house, and especially that parlour wherein
Mrs. Ainsleigh sat every evening. The very mention
of the spectre made all who listened, quail. Had they
not been told by their fathers and mothers about the


, I1

'ALTHOUGH HE WRENCHED VIOLENTLY AT THE
DOOR IT WOULD NOT OPEN " (f- 26).


º º Ll
** a
|


HUNTING A GHOST. 27
haunted Grange, and had not several seen the flutter
of monkish robes in the twilight? Absurd as it may
seem, not one of those men but hesitated to climb into
the room where the ghost might be. And into this
startled group dropped Youle.
"Follow me!" he gasped, dashing through the
crowd, and, since the library door which opened on to
the terrace was locked, he ran round to the front en.
trance, followed by the amazed men. The women
stopped behind, with Alix in their midst.
Into the entrance hall sped the young man, who
raced up the wide staircase. On the landing he stum-
bled over a page-boy who was descending, and flung
him out of the way. In'another moment he was before
the parlour door. It was still locked, but the key was
there. Youle opened the door, and there saw the par-
lour, with the furniture in disorder, and near the over-
turned table the body of Mrs. Ainsleigh, with her hands
gripping the loose edges of the Persian praying-mat.
The crowd of men at the back of Harold blocked the
entrance and peered past him at the sight of their dead
mistress lying, still and gruesome, in the red light which
filtered through the lamp shade. And even as they
looked, the wind, which had ceased for a few minutes,
rose in a wild moan, as though the spirit of the dead was
lamenting for the violent loss of its body. Some of the
younger servants drew back.
"The ghost! the ghost!" they murmured.
Youle turned on them furiously. "You fools!" he
cried, stamping his foot. "Why do you talk rubbish?
There are no such things as ghosts."
"Miss Parsons said "began the shaking butler.
"Pah! What matter what she said, unstrung and
unnerved as she is. I am ashamed of you, Thomson.


28 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
A man of your sense and years should be wiser than to
believe nonsense. Mrs. Ainsleigh has been murdered,
and by a man masquerading in a monk's dress."
"The Prior"
"Flesh and blood, you ass. Can a ghost strangle a
human being? Here, get out of the way. Call up Dr.
Parsons; he is in the billiard room. Come and search
for the assassin. He is in"
"What is the matter—what is the matter?" de-
manded the heavy voice of Parsons, and he bustled
through the crowd round the door. Youle wheeled to
face him, and noticed that his face looked drawn and
white.
"Mrs. Ainsleigh has been murdered."
"Murdered! Great heavens!" The doctor hesi-
tated, then came forward . "I see-—strangled." He
knelt beside the body and placed his hand over the
heart. "Not a sign of life," he murmured; "she is
dead. Who killed her, Youle?" he demanded, looking
up, with a face now positively ghastly in its pallor.
"I'm going to find out," said Harold abruptly, and
pushed out of the door. In the corridor he met Alix
hurrying towards the parlour, and panting with terror
and haste.
"Oh, what has happened—what has"
"Go back, dear," said Harold kindly; "this is no
sight for your eyes."
"Mrs. Ainsleigh. Is she—is she"
"Yes—quite dead!"
At this moment the doctor stepped out of the room,
and Alix hurried towards him with outstretched arms.
"Is she dead?" was her cry. "Oh, father, is
she"
Then suddenly she seemed to see something in her


HUNTING A GHOST. 29
father's face which startled her, for, with a sudden jerk,
she evaded his embrace, and flew along the corridor in
the direction of her own room. Parsons staggered
against the wall, and placed his hand on his heart, ap-
parently trying to control himself. Youle, who had
scarcely recovered his wits, so sudden and terrible had
been the catastrophe, looked at his intended father-in-
law suspiciously. Why had Alix fled? What had she
seen in her father's face?
"Where have you been just now?" asked Youle
sharply.
"In the billiard room. I went there after dinner and
have been knocking the balls about," said Parsons
glibly, although the perspiration was standing on his
high, bald forehead. "I heard the sound of running
feet and Alix shrieking. Poor Mrs. Ainsleigh—oh, my
dear friend! Why do we stand here, doing nothing?"
he demanded, with a weak attempt at anger. "Who
killed her?"
"You asked that before," said Youle curtly. "I
told you that I was going to find out. Thomson "—he
turned to the stout butler, who had also emerged from
the parlour—" send someone down to the village for
the constable. Doctor, you stop beside the body."
"No! I can do nothing; I am not fit," stammered
the medical man, recoiling.
Youle laughed shortly. "You should be used to
dead bodies by this time. Thomson, clear all the men
out of the parlour. Tuckle "—Harold stretched out his
hand and collared the small page over whom he had
stumbled at the head of the stairs—" you go in and
watch."
"Yes, sir," said Tuckle, with ghoulish delight, and
darted into the room. Youle frowned at the boy's


30 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
pleasure, which was horrible and unnatural. Then a
sudden thought struck him, and he walked again into
the parlour, to find Tuckle bending over the body of
his mistress.
"You were at the head of the stairs when I came
up," he said, seizing the lad by the shoulders and turn-
ing him sharply round. "You must have seen the man
leave this room?"
"What man?" asked Tuckle, forgetting his manners
in his interest.
"The man who killed Mrs. Ainsleigh. He was
dressed as a monk. He came out of this room over
ten minutes ago." Harold glanced at the clock as he
spoke, and saw that the long hand now pointed twenty
minutes to ten. And the half-hour, he remembered, had
chimed just as he laid his hand on the locked door.
"I didn't see anyone, sir."
"Yet the door of the parlour is visible from the
stair-head?"
"I was coming along the other corridor from the
back of the house, and never thought of looking in
this direction," said Tuckle. "I didn't see no one, I
didn't."
"What were you doing upstairs at this time?"
"I came to get a cigar-holder for Dr. Parsons. It
was in his bedroom."
"Oh!" Harold recalled the look of Alix and his
own sudden suspicion of the doctor's behaviour. "And
where was Dr. Parsons?"
"In the billiard-room, sir."
"When did you come up?"
"About twenty minutes ago, sir. He rang the bell
and I went to the billiard-room. Then he asked me to
get his cigar-holder from his bedroom. I ran up by


HUNTING A GHOST. 31
the front stairs, and couldn't find it for a bit. Then you
come up, sir, and knocked me over!"
"The corridors are lighted by electricity. You must
have seen the man coming out of this room," insisted
Harold, nonplussed.
"No, sir," rejoined Tuckle in an injured tone. "I
didn't think of looking. If I'd seen anyone coming out,
I'd have asked his business."
"Even had it been the ghost?" inquired Youle sar-
castically.
Tuckle grinned all over his pasty-white face, and a
derisive look came into his shrewd grey eyes. "I don't
believe there ain't no such thing as them," said he con-
temptuously. "I heard them"—he jerked his head
towards the corridor where the scared servants still lin-
gered—" I heard them say as the ghost did for missus,
but I don't believe—oh, no, not much. Gummy"
"Hold your tongue, Tuckle. Tell me. Did you
hear any noise?"
"No, sir. I was at the back, in Dr. Parsons's room."
"When you came up for the cigar-holder did you
meet anyone?"
"No, sir."
"And you saw nothing."
"No, sir."
Tuckle leered as he spoke, and although Harold
could not think that the boy was deceiving him, yet the
sight of the grin made him break out into a rage. His
nerves were quivering like aspens.
"You young devil," he said, giving the boy a shake;
"if you're playing the fool with me, I'll thrash the life
out of you."
Tuckle whimpered. "Lor, sir, whatever do you
mean? I can't say I saw what I didn't see."


32 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"No." Harold released his hold, feeling convinced
that the boy was ignorant. "Remain here till the con-
stable comes, and don't touch the body."
Tuckle seated himself in a chair, and nodded; so
Harold left him in that weird room, the reddish hue of
which seemed to be in keeping with the crime. Look-
ing back at the door, Youle saw that the boy, with his
hands between his knees, was bending forward to look
at the dead woman. And on his wizen face was a grin
of delight. He had half a mind to turn the boy out and
send one of the other servants; but he knew that they
were all country-bred and superstitious, whereas Tuckle,
coming from the slums of London, was matter-of-fact
and shrewd in spite of his mere fifteen years. More-
over, too much time had been lost already in not search-
ing the house, and Youle regretted bitterly he had not
ordered a search to be made at once. But no man,
however clear-headed, could have regained his faculties
at once after the excitement of the past half-hour.
Of course, the whole house was in commotion.
Frightened female servants were loitering about the
corridors and clustering in groups to discuss the crime.
Harold looked on this disorder with displeasure, and,
coming on Parsons at the foot of the great stairs, he
told him to send them all to the kitchen. Thomson had
already dispatched a groom to the village for the con-
stable, and until he arrived, nothing much could be done.
It was at this juncture that Alix returned from her
room.
"I felt faint," she explained to Harold, and he
noticed that her face was pale and her eyes remarkably
bright; "so I went to take a dose of red lavender. I
am all right now. What can I do?"
"Take the female servants to the kitchen," said


HUNTING A GHOST. 33
Youle promptly, "and keep them there. Doctor, come
with me, and get the men. We must hunt the house."
"For the ghost?" asked Alix.
"For the assassin," said Youle testily. "My dear
child, how can you be so foolish?"
"We saw the hooded head," she protested, with a
shiver.
"Oh, I grant that someone was masquerading, prob-
ably knowing that such a dress would enable him to
escape questioning by these fools of servants. But
ghosts cannot strangle, Alix, and ghosts cannot cast
shadows, so"
"Then, who killed Mrs. Ainsleigh?" she asked sud-
denly and abruptly.
"I can't say. Go, my dear girl, and make these
women obey you."
"We ought to seek Mr. Ainsleigh," said Parsons,
who was now quite composed, and who had evidently
recovered from his fright.
"He's in the pagoda," said Youle shortly. "We'll
go there at once and then search the house. This mas-
querading assassin must be here, as he cannot have left
the house in those robes."
Parsons nodded, and the two men went into the
garden. In the summer-house they found Gilbert
asleep, as Alix and Harold had left him, stretched out
on the form, with his head resting on his arm. The
younger man shook him roughly.
"Ainsleigh, wake up," he shouted in a brusque man-
ner. "Your wife"
"Hullo!" murmured Gilbert lazily, and opened his
eyes with an effort; "what's the matter? My wife—
my "His voice died away, and he again closed his
eyes, breathing heavily.


CHAPTER IV.
WHAT MRS. ALLISON SAW.
WHEN Gilbert recovered his senses and was informed
of the terrible event which had taken place while he
was unconscious, his distress was painful to witness.
Harold told him the truth bluntly enough about mid-
night, and in the parlour where the crime had taken
place. By this time the police had arrived, and the body
had been taken to the bedroom. Alix and her father
were there with some of the women, and the village
constable was making inquiries amongst the other ser-
vants in the kitchen. Thus Harold and his host were
alone in the parlour, and Gilbert was sobbing like a
child . It was rather surprising that the scamp should
thus lament his elderly wife, seeing how badly he had
treated her; but Youle fancied that the tears were those
of remorse, and thought the better of the man for shed-
ding the same.
"I'll never forgive myself—never," lamented Gil-
bert, who was huddled up on the sofa in a heap. "If
I'd only kept straight this night, I'd have stopped with
Barbara here, and then she would not have been mur-
dered."
"It is too late to think of that, Ainsleigh. All you
can do is to find out who killed her, and punish the
man."
"I can do more," said Ainsleigh in a low voice. "I
can overcome my weakness. Oh, what a fool I have


WHAT MRS. ALLISON SAW. 37
been!" He rose and began to pace the room in an
agitated manner. "Barbara was a good wife to me,
and we would have been happy, but that I gave way to
that infernal morphia."
"Why did you, then?"
"Because I was a fool," retorted the other passion-
ately. "I knew nothing about morphia when I mar-
ried Barbara a year ago. But I had a touch of sciatica,
and Parsons gave me morphia to relieve the pain. I
took to the drug with delight, as many another person
has done, and so everything went wrong. Ah, these
doctors, they have much to answer for!"
"Don't blame Parsons for your own weakness, Ains-
leigh."
"No, I suppose I should not, and yet, had he not
given me the taste for the drug, all would have been
well . Barbara would at least have been alive. But I
swear "—he dropped theatrically on his knees—" that
I'll never, never touch morphia again."
"Don't swear an oath you may not be able to
keep," said Youle drily, for he had not much faith in
Ainsleigh's professions.
The man leaped to his feet and pressed his hands
together passionately. "I mean to keep it," he declared
earnestly. "I will never, never put that drug to my
lips again."
"It will be a struggle, Ainsleigh."
"It will be hell," said Gilbert between his teeth.
"You don't know, Youle, what morphia means to those
who take it. Drink—pah! that is nothing! It is easier
to leave off strong drink than drugs. But I owe some-
thing to Barbara, seeing that my weakness has in-
directly brought about her death. I'll conquer—I'll con-
quer. Barbara shall not have died in vain. Youle "—


38 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
he held out his hand entreatingly—“say that you be-
lieve in my determination.”
Harold clasped the extended hand at once. Since
the damage was done, and out of evil good was likely
to come, he could not coldly refuse to encourage the
man. “Yes, I believe you will succeed.” He looked at
Ainsleigh's firm jaw. “The wonder to me is that a
fellow so determined as yourself ever gave way to such
a weakness.”
Ainsleigh cast a lightning glance at him, and then
lowered his eyes.
“There is a joint in every armour,” he said listlessly,
for the effects of the drug had not quite worn off, and
he alternated between agitation and indifference.
“But never again—oh, never again. Poor Barbara!
Youle, I have not been a good husband.”
Harold knew that well enough from the few con-
versations he had had with the dead woman, but he did
not feel inclined at the moment to discuss Ainsleigh's
marital shortcomings.
“We can talk of that later,” said he, abruptly.
“Meanwhile, what's to be done towards securing the
assassin P”
Ainsleigh spread out his hands with a despairing
gesture. “Can we do anything more than we are
doing?” he inquired; then passed his hand across his
lined forehead. “I don't feel myself yet,” he mur-
mured; “my wits won't work. If I can only sleep for a
few hours, then I may be able to form some plan. What
is being done now, exactly?”
“The women are laying out the body,” said Youle
quickly, “and Dr. Parsons is assisting them. The
policeman Wiggins from the village is making in-
quiries. Also, he has sent to Helstone for the inspector


WHAT MRS. ALLISON SAW. 39
of the district. To-morrow we can examine into the
matter.”
“And meantime the murderer will have time to
escape,” said Gilbert irritably.
Youle shrugged his shoulders. “I fancy he is far
away by this time, Ainsleigh. By locking the door, he
gave himself time to escape, and, though I was in the
house by the front door within ten minutes after the
crime was committed, yet I could see nothing of him.
He must have known the house well, to have got away
so speedily.”
“It is not an easy house to know,” said Ainsleigh.
“The man must have been in it before, if he knew all
the twistings and turnings of the place.”
“Yes, that is probable. Also he must have known
of the legend of the Prior's ghost, and possibly your
wife's dread of it.”
“Barbara was foolishly superstitious,” said Ains-
leigh half angrily ; then, recollecting that the woman was
dead, he softened his voice. “Poor soul! her nerves
were not in good order, and I was partly to blame for
that, seeing how she worried over my folly.” And he
covered his face with his hands, sobbing bitterly.
Youle was glad to see that the man was so remorse-
ful, for he would not have given him credit for such a
display of emotion.
“Don’t worry over things any more, Ainsleigh,"
said he impulsively. “What you must do is to find out
who is the assassin.”
Gilbert dashed the tears from his eyes and straight-
ened his figure in a manly way. “I’ll go up to-morrow
morning after I have seen the inspector,” he said; “yes,
to London, and there I'll find the best detective procur-
able. All that money can do to avenge the death of


40 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
my poor wife will be done. Youle, can you not guess
who killed her?"
Harold shook his head. "No, although that letter
may throw some light on the subject. It talks of
threats on the part of a man called Orlando. Do you
know anyone of that name?"
"I do not." Gilbert pondered. "I wonder if Or-
lando is the first name of that sailor who called the
other day."
"Did your wife say nothing?"
"Nothing. I went to her room the next morning,
and found that she was still suffering from the effects
of the interview. She fainted, as you remember, after
the man left. She refused to explain everything, and
we quarrelled over the matter. Then I went to town,
as things were so unpleasant."
"Did she say anything to you about the man?"
asked Youle.
"She did not; not even that her visitor was a
sailor."
"But it appears clear to me, Ainsleigh, that in-
quiries should be made as to the whereabouts of the
man, and he should be made to state what he said to
your poor wife likely to cause her to faint . And if his
name proves to be Orlando, why, then"
"Why, then, if we go by the letter, he threatened
to kill her."
"Not necessarily. He may have threatened in
another way."
Ainsleigh's face took on a determined expression
quite at variance with its usual inanity. "We can only
judge by what we know," he said quickly. "From the
few words left by Barbara we know that this man
threatened her. Now she is dead. He killed her."


WHAT MRS. ALLISON SAW. 4!
"I don't agree with you, Ainsleigh. We must give
him the benefit of the doubt; and, indeed, we do not
know if the letter was written to the sailor, or even if
he was a sailor."
Gilbert did not reply, but shook his head and went
out pondering. After a few minutes spent in weeping
beside his dead wife, he retired to bed in a weak and
tearful state of mind. Next morning, however, he was
better, and, although he apparently suffered from not
taking his matutinal dose of the drug, yet his wits were
alert, and he was firmly bent upon discovering the vil-
lain who had killed Mrs. Ainsleigh.
At the outset this appeared as hopeless as search-
ing for a needle in a haystack. Inspector Unwin, of
Helstone, a neighbouring town some five miles away,
duly arrived with several underlings, and got to work at
once. But in spite of all possible questions being asked,
and a minute search being made both within and without
the Grange, nothing could be discovered likely to lead
to the detection of the criminal. The wretch had stolen
into the house in some mysterious way, had executed
his dastardly crime, and had departed equally mysteri-
ously and expeditiously. How he had entered, and
how he had escaped, could not be found out. And the
odd thing was, that although a good number of vil-
lagers were about on the previous night between seven
and ten—during which hours the crime had been com-
mitted—yet no one had set eyes on any stranger. Out
of the night the man had come; into the night he had
gone, and that was all that could be discovered.
"It's the hardest crime I ever tackled," said the in-
spector, much vexed, for he found himself, so to speak,
before a brick wall over which he was unable to climb.
His wits were not equal to the emergency, so he very


42 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
wisely approved of Gilbert's suggested detective from
London, and even went so far as to mention a friend of
his own. “A clever man,” said Unwin; “he's sure to
spot a clue.”
“Give me his name and address,” said Ainsleigh,
wasting no time in asking about the qualifications of this
treasure. “I’ll go up by the mid-day train and bring
him down this evening.”
“Better wait till this evening, sir,” suggested Unwin,
apparently jealous that his suggestion should be
accepted so readily, and the case taken out of his hands.
“We may learn something in the meantime.”
“I would rather lose no time,” said Ainsleigh.
“What do you think, Youle?”
“Better wait,” said Harold curtly, and Gilbert, after
some hesitation, accepted this delay.
But the master of the Grange might as well have
gone up, as his remaining was but waste of time. In-
spector Unwin did his best, without success. He
inspected the corpse, questioned Parsons and the country
doctor who had also been called in, made a plan of the
parlour, explored the house, and finally confessed him-
self beaten. Yet he was by no means a stupid man, and
had considerable experience in criminal matters. But
this mystery of a shadow, as he called it, was more like a
case out of a story-book than a matter-of-fact crime
which had actually taken place.
“Sparrow will find that man, if anyone will,” he said,
alluding to his detective friend.
“What man 2 ” questioned Harold.
“That Orlando chap. He's the murderer. In the
merchant service, maybe,” mused Unwin, nursing his
chin. “Humph! I expect after killing the poor lady he
slipped off by rail, and got aboard his ship. He may be


44 THE MYSTERY Of THE SHADOW.
"Some in the kitchen, one in the parlour, and two at
the front door."
"Why don't some of them walk about the park?"
"I'll see to that after you have gone, sir."
"Humph!" Gilbert was apparently irritated by the
oversight . "You should have set them to watch the
park gates. Are you sure that none of them are about?"
"They are placed where I stated, Mr. Ainsleigh,"
said the inspector stiffly. "I hope I know my business,
sir."
"I never said you didn't," replied Ainsleigh rudely.
"I'm going up to town now, and will bring back your
friend Sparrow to-morrow at noon. I can't get down
earlier, as I have to see my lawyer."
He nodded and went out, leaving Unwin rather
ruffled. Harold apologised.
"You must excuse Mr. Ainsleigh, Inspector. He
is not well."
"So Dr. Parsons told me," said Unwin drily.
Youle guessed that the doctor had been indiscreet.
"He should not have done that," said he quickly.
"You mean he should not have told me about
Mr. Ainsleigh's drug-taking," said Unwin easily.
"Oh, that's all right, sir. I had to learn what Mr.
Ainsleigh was doing about the time the crime was
committed, and asked him. He told me himself that
he had been lying in a drugged sleep in the summer-
house, and called upon Dr. Parsons to confirm his story.
I know that Mr. Ainsleigh has left off the morphia, so I
make every allowance for his being irritable."
They heard the brougham which was taking
Ainsleigh to the station drive away. He had to go to
Helstone, five miles distant, as the village of Blastorne
—it took its name from the family—was an isolated


CHAPTER V.
A DISCOVERY.
NEEDLESS to say, neither Inspector Unwin nor Youle
found any trace of the supposed ghost seen by Mrs.
Allison. They searched in the vicinity of the lodge,
and ultimately the whole park surrounding the Grange,
but without success. An examination of the woman
only resulted in a repetition of her extraordinary story.
"I was taking in my washing, it being late, gentle-
men," said Mrs. Allison, quite flustered, "and I saw it
coming down the avenue, eight feet high and dressed
in petticoats, as you might say. I just gave one screech
and ran into the house, where I shut the door and
fainted. Oh!" she turned pale again at the memory
of the experience. "I've seen a ghost—give me some-
thing pious to read."
"Rubbish!" said Unwin sharply; "there are no
such things as ghosts."
"Oh, ain't there," almost shouted the woman; "as
if I hadn't heard that story of the old Prior being seen
about the Grange whenever misfortune came to the
Blastornes. My mother told it to me heaps and heaps
of times, and now I've seen it . And say what you like,"
added Mrs. Allison obstinately, "the ghost killed old
Madam."
"Nothing of the sort, Mrs."
"What! Ain't I heard what Thomson have to say,
and what everyone's talking about? Why, you, sir," she


A DISCOVERY. 47
appealed to Harold, "you saw that old Prior killing
Madam."
"I saw the shadow of someone masquerading as a
monk," replied Youle dryly. "I quite believe you saw
the Prior, but"
"There ain't no 'buts,'" said the woman energetic-
ally; "see him I did!"
"You saw someone masquerading as the Prior, and
that someone killed Mrs. Ainsleigh. Did you see the
face?"
"Me?" screeched Mrs. Allison; "why, I was lying
in a faint with my head amongst the fire-irons. I see
it a-coming eight feet high and "Here Mrs.
Allison told her story again, being very badly shaken.
"What do you make of it all?" asked Youle, when
the lodge-keeper had been dismissed.
Unwin pinched his chin. "Oh, the case is clear
enough. You say that the late Mrs. Ainsleigh suffered
from heart disease?"
"So she told me, shortly before her death."
"And she believed in this absurd legend of the
Prior?"
"I understand that she did. And all the servants
do, together with the villagers."
"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Youle?"
"No, I don't," replied Harold decisively. "I have
been all over the world, and I have seen no spectre.
But in these country places old superstitions cling to
the people. Nearly all the servants are born and bred
on the Blastorne estates, and know the legend as well
as they know the scandal of the village."
"Humph!" The inspector again pinched his chin.
"It's a made-up thing."
"What do you mean?"


48 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Mrs. Ainsleigh suffered from heart disease, and
believed in this legend," explained Unwin; "therefore,
if anyone masqueraded as the Prior and came upon her
suddenly, it was to be expected that the shock would
kill her."
"But it didn't. If Miss Parsons and I can believe
from the shadow on the blind, the figure assuredly
came into the parlour where Mrs. Ainsleigh was sitting,
and which it was supposed to haunt. But she rose and
struggled with it, and then"
"And then it strangled her," ended Unwin; "merely
a variation of the original intention, Mr. Youle. Some-
one for some reason desired to kill Mrs. Ainsleigh, and
masqueraded as the ghost so as to give her diseased
heart the necessary shock to finish her. But in spite
of her reported belief in the apparition, she apparently
did not faint or die, but flung herself on the masquer-
ader. Then he strangled her, as the shortest way out
of the difficulty. A clever man, whomsoever he may
be," added the inspector, "seeing how he escaped you,
by locking the door."
"The library door, which leads out on to the
terrace, was locked also, Unwin. When Miss Parsons
and myself went out for our stroll it was open."
"Then you think that the assassin closed that
door?"
"Who else could have done so? He might have
closed the front door also, for all I know."
"But you entered by that way."
"I entered by the window at first. It was only
after the assassin escaped me that I slipped down and
made for the front door. It was certainly open, but then
by that time the servants had gathered, and may have
opened the front door. But at the time the crime took


A DISCOVERY. 49
place the terrace door was certainly locked. I tried it,
and failing to gain admission, I climbed up to the
window by the ivy, as Miss Parsons suggested."
"Queer," soliloquised the inspector. "The person
who perpetrated the crime must know the house ex-
tremely well."
Youle assented with alacrity. "I think so, else how
could he have escaped so easily? Certainly, all the
servants were out of doors on the terrace with Miss
Parsons, and the assassin had time to conceal himself
in the house until such time as he could escape."
"But if the alarm was given"
"It was, but everyone was too upset to watch at
every entrance. This is a rambling old place, and
there may be all kinds of secret exits and entrances.
Besides, the constable did not arrive for at least half an
hour. Ample time was given to the man to escape.
All I can say is, that the assassin must have known the
house extremely well, and that he knows the legend.
Failing his attempt to bring about the death of Mrs.
Ainsleigh from a shock to her weak heart, he killed her."
"But his object?" asked the inspector.
Youle shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say. The
reason may be found in Mrs. Ainsleigh's past life. It
is in that direction that you must make inquiries,
Unwin."
"There is that letter, of course, Mr. Youle."
"I have been thinking over that, Unwin, and
frankly speaking, I do not believe that it refers to the
criminal."
"But the hinted threat?"
"Probably was some trivial one. Mrs. Ainsleigh
would scarcely begin a letter ' My dear Orlando' to one
who designed her death."


A DISCOVERY. 51
woman," he said to the explorer, " and so far as I know,
had not an enemy."
"So far as you know," echoed Harold; "then she
might have had one."
"We all have," replied the old lawyer sententiously;
"however well-meaning a person may be, there is
always someone who feels aggrieved. Yet I cannot
think of anyone who hated Mrs. Ainsleigh sufficiently
to bring about her death."
"I don't think it was intentional—at all events, at
first," explained Youle; and then told Quail what the
inspector had said as to Mrs. Ainsleigh being fright-
ened to death by working on the superstitious side of
her nature. "But as her heart proved to be stronger
than the assassin thought," said Youle, "there was
nothing left for him but to murder her."
"But his reason?" asked Quail doubtfully.
"If you as her lawyer, and knowing her secrets,
cannot tell, how can you expect me to know, Mr,
Quail?"
"My late respected client had no secrets," said
Quail indignantly; "a most estimable lady she was,
Mr. Youle, and charitable to the poor!"
"She was all that was good and kind," assented
Youle readily. "All the same, there may have been
something in her life which she wished to conceal, and
which brought about her death. There was the visit
of the sailor, for instance. She refused to explain that,
even to her husband."
"Who was the sailor?" asked the lawyer.
Youle told him, and showed him the unfinished
letter. Quail professed his inability to understand the
matter, although he tried to explain.
"Probably this sailor was one of those poor people


52 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
whom Mrs. Ainsleigh assisted out of charity. She was
a very kind-hearted woman, and did much good of
which she said nothing.”
“Do you know the name Orlando?”
“No ; I never heard it. Nor did I know that she
was acquainted with any sailor. The thing is a mystery
to me, Mr. Youle.”
“And to everyone,” replied Harold, who was at his
wits' end. During the time which had elapsed since the
death, every inquiry had been made, but a deep dark-
ness still brooded over the identity of the assassin, over
his motive for committing the crime, and over the way
in which he had managed to escape.
Nor did the inquest forward matters in any degree.
The district coroner selected a jury from the farmers
and tenants of the Ainsleigh property, and the body was
inspected. Youle gave evidence as to what he had seen,
and the same was corroborated by Alix. Dr. Parsons
deposed as to examining the body, and stated the cause
of death. The country doctor who had been called in
made the same statement. Then Unwin detailed all
that he had learned, and mentioned the legend. It
might have been expected that commonsense men would
scout the idea of the ghost; but the jury, all being
slow-thinking people, who lived in the neighbourhood,
and were well acquainted with the Blastorne legend,
did nothing of the sort. All Unwin's scepticism and the
coroner's scorn could not shake the jury's belief that
the Prior did walk, and did appear, when misfortune
threatened the old family. All the same, the jury quite
saw that the legend had been made use of by the assas-
sin to bring about Mrs. Ainsleigh's death from sudden
shock, and admitted that, failing this result, the woman
had been strangled. It was suggested by an intelligent


A DISCOVERY. 53
farmer that the assassin must have known of the
legend, of the fact that Mrs. Ainsleigh suffered from
heart disease; and also he must have been well ac-
quainted with the topography of the Grange to escape
so readily. Yet, with all this, no one could think who
had killed the woman.
Gilbert Ainsleigh, who looked much better, and who
was visibly affected when he gave his evidence, came
in for much sympathy. Mrs. Ainsleigh had always kept
ner troubles to herself, and no one save Youle knew
what anxiety her husband had caused her. There were
certainly rumours that Gilbert did something queer, but
when he faced the jury, looking pale and subdued, and
fairly well in his deep mourning, no one believed but
that he was an estimable young man bitterly afflicted
because of his wife's death. Moreover, his good looks
told in his favour.
There was a great deal of discussion over the in-
quest, and many things were said as to how the crime
might be cleared up. But the coroner, who had great
commonsense, pointed out that there was absolutely no
evidence to identify the assassin. Everyone in the
house at the time the crime was committed could prove
an alibi, and there was no evidence before the jury
likely to implicate any outside person. Under these
circumstances the coroner advised that an open verdict
should be given, which was accordingly done. “Wilful
murder against some person or persons unknown" was
the determination of the jury, and then the meeting
broke up, everyone being more or less puzzled by the
whole inexplicable affair.
The detective Sparrow, who was a sharp-looking
little man, not unlike the bird he was named after, lis-
tened very attentively to all that was said by those who


54 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
gave evidence. Then, without saying a word to any-
one, he left the house, and began to make inquiries
about the neighbourhood. Gilbert missed him, but did
not go in search of him. In fact, he could not do so,
as he was busy arranging for the burial of his wife, which
was to take place the next day. When Mrs. Ainsleigh
was safely bestowed in the Blastorne vault, Mr. Quail
intimated that he would read the will of the deceased
lady.
"A mere matter of form, I suppose," said Youle to
his host . "I expect your wife has left everything to
you."
To Youle's surprise Ainsleigh seemed by no means
sure. "Barbara was very bitter against me at the last,"
he said gloomily; "and, if you remember, we quarrelled
over the secret she was keeping from me about that
sailor. It is just as likely as not that she has revenged
herself for my sharp words by leaving the money away
from me."
"But Quail never came down between the time the
sailor called and your wife's death," argued Youle. "She
certainly did not alter her will then, and I presume it
was made by her, after your marriage, in your favour."
"She said something about it," replied Gilbert care-
lessly; "but she was an odd woman, and might just as
well have changed her mind early as late. Besides,
Youle, I certainly behaved badly."
"Don't say anything more on that point, Ainsleigh.
If you made mistakes, you are now sorry, and no one
can do more than repent. But I do not think Mrs. Ains-
leigh would leave you a pauper because of your weak-
ness."
Gilbert still shook his head. "Quail will tell me
nothing," he said, "but I should not be surprised to hear


A DISCOVERY. 55
that I was left out of the will. Barbara was jealous, you
know."
"Had she any cause to be?"
"No. All the same, she fancied she had . But we'll
hear the will to-morrow, and then I'll know the best
or the worst. Hullo, here's Sparrow with a bundle.
What have you got there, Sparrow?"
The little detective hopped into the room like a
bird. He was undersized and lean, and dried-up in
looks, not unlike Tuckle the page, who was likewise of
the Cockney species at its worst. Sparrow wiped his
sharp little face and plumped the bundle down on the
table.
"I've been asking the lodge-keeper about that ap-
parition," said he; "she declares it was eight feet high.
That is ridiculous, as she was probably deceived by
the twilight and her own fears."
"Then you think what she saw was a real person?"
asked Ainsleigh.
"I know it was, sir; and, moreover, she saw the
assassin."
"How can you be sure of that?" demanded Youle
sceptically.
Sparrow laid his hand on the bundle. "I made in-
quiries," he said, "and then I searched. No one could
have left the park in that dress without being spotted,
so the chances were that the dress was hidden in the
park. I hunted round, and finally I picked up this
bundle, which was concealed in the fork of a tree some
distance above the ground."
With this introduction Sparrow opened the brown
paper parcel. There Gilbert and Youle beheld a monk's
dress of white serge, much soiled. Only the hood was
lacking: that had been torn off.


CHAPTER VI.
THE WILL.
"WHAT do you think of it all, Mr. Youle?"
It was Dr. Parsons who was making this inquiry.
The funeral of the late mistress of the Grange had
taken place, and the mourners had returned to the
house. Quail had arranged to read the will within an
hour, and the drawing-room was chosen as the place
where it would be read. Gilbert, who had exhibited
much grief at the funeral, had retired to his study.
Harold thought that in his despair he might again take
to morphia, and was about to follow him to his retreat
when he was stopped by the doctor in the hall.
The man looked decidedly ill. As a rule, he was a
stout, red-faced, well-preserved man of over fifty; but
now his figure seemed to have shrunk, and his cheeks
hung flabby. Even his ruddy colour had departed, and
his skin looked yellow, and much more wrinkled than
usual. Also his dress was untidy. Youle would have
thought the man had been drinking but that he knew
intemperance was not a vice of the doctor's. But he
guessed that the cause of this changed appearance was
a selfish grief lest he should be forced to depart from
the flesh-pots of Egypt now that his patroness was
dead.
"What do you think of it all, Mr. Youle?" he re-
iterated, while Harold was examining the outward ap-
pearance of his questioner.


THE WILL. 57
Youle sauntered to a side bench which was near the
door, and sat down. "I can only spare you a few
minutes, Doctor," he said, glancing at his watch. "I
wish to go to Ainsleigh. He is so down in the mouth
that I fear lest he should take to that drug again."
"He might—he might," murmured Parsons, fiddling
with his slack mouth. "He is not a man likely to deny
himself anything which would make his life easier.
But," he asked the question for the third time, "what
do you think of it all?"
"Are you talking of the murder?"
"Not exactly. I don't believe anything will ever be
discovered, Mr. Youle. Inspector Unwin, who seems
to be a zealous and clever officer, can learn nothing,
and, as we know, the police of Helstone have practically
given up the case. There is that detective, of course.
But beyond finding that robe he has made no progress."
"The finding of the robe is most important," said
Youle drily, "as we now know that the assassin re-
mained in the house for more than four-and-twenty
hours after the crime was discovered. Sparrow, who
seems sharp enough, may hit on the trail yet."
"I wish he would," cried the doctor, the veins in his
bald forehead swelling and his face becoming purple.
"I hope he'll catch the man and hang him—hang him
for ruining my life."
"What do you mean by that exactly?" asked Youle
quietly.
"Mean?" Parsons wiped his bald head and spoke
with great excitement . "Surely you can see—surely
you can understand. I am to be your father-in-law, if
you truly love Alix!"
"Of course I do. There is no question of that."
"Well, then, can you stand by and see me ruined?"


58 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Ruined!" Youle raised his eyebrows.
"Of course—of course," said Parsons testily. "I
gave up my practice in Kensington to come here and
be the private medical attendant of Mrs. Ainsleigh.
She is dead, and I am again thrown on the world."
"Perhaps the will makes some provision for you."
"No. There is no reason why Mrs. Ainsleigh should
leave me anything beyond an annuity, seeing that I
gave up my practice at her request. But she might
intimate in her will that Ainsleigh should look after me.
Yes, she certainly might do that. And Ainsleigh pro-
mised several times to see that I did not lose in the
event of Mrs. Ainsleigh's death. Of course, he will
get the property."
"Of course, since, so far as I know, there are no
relatives."
"Are you sure of that?" asked Parsons quickly.
"Quite sure. Mrs. Ainsleigh, whom I knew for
many years, was the last of the Blastornes."
"Yes, quite so. Still, I heard her talk of some rela-
tive."
Youle sat up quickly. "The deuce you did. When?"
"Oh, several times. You see, Youle, she was open
with me about her husband, as I knew of his failing, and,
really, it was as much on his account that I was here
as on Mrs. Ainsleigh's. The poor lady was very angry
with her husband, who certainly did behave badly."
"He could not help his failing."
"Mrs. Ainsleigh thought that he could, and once
or twice she said that she would leave the money away
from him to some relative."
Harold thought of Gilbert's doubts, and wondered
if he would be left a pauper after all. "Did Mrs. Ains-
leigh ever mention the relative's name, Parsons?"


THE WILL. 59
"Well, what she said was this," explained the
doctor. "One day a few months ago she was angry
with Ainsleigh, who had been unusually trying with
his way of sleeping in the pagoda, to which Mrs. Ains-
leigh—and very rightly—objected, on account of the
servants. Ainsleigh had words with her, and walked
out. She called me in to give her something, as her
heart was beating so fast, and she felt faint. Then she
said these words"—Parsons paused to give effect to
what he was about to say—-"' Don't let Gilbert be too
sure he will reap his reward for tricking me into mar-
riage. There is always Orlando.'"
Youle jumped up and gave vent to his feelings in
Hindustani, aloud and shamelessly. He always did
swear in Hindustani—Tamil for choice—when he was
astonished.
"Orlando," he repeated. "That's the name in the
unfinished letter. And threats—humph!—a relative."
He thought swiftly for one minute, then faced round on
Parsons. "Why didn't you say this at the inquest ?" he
demanded.
"What was the use?" grumbled Parsons. "I know
no more than the few words Mrs. Ainsleigh spoke,
which I have repeated . You don't suppose this Orlando
relative killed her."
"I don't know what to think," muttered Youle, with
his eye on the chequered pavement ox the hall. And,
truly, he did not. The explanation of the doctor had
imported a new element into what was already a suf-
ficiently complicated case. Orlando—whatever his
other name might be—had uttered threats; Orlando
was a relation; Orlando, according to the few words
dropped by the dead woman, might inherit. These
things were strange, and opened up theories,


60 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"But we'll wait till the will is read," decided Youle
aloud, and Parsons overheard him.
"What about me?" he demanded, with the egotism
of the selfish.
"Wait till the will is read," said Youle impatiently.
"If Ainsleigh inherits, as he probably will, your future
is all right . If Orlando, whosoever he is, gets the
money, we'll have to learn what he thinks of the unfin-
ished letter. You're all right."
"It is not myself that I am thinking of," explained
Parsons elaborately, "but Alix."
This was a patent lie, but Youle feigned to take it
for gospel truth.
"You needn't bother about Alix," he said abruptly.
"I'll marry her whenever she likes."
"But I may not like," quavered Parsons unsteadily.
He did not care to stand up to the young man, being
somewhat afraid of his virility.
"What do you mean by that?" snapped out Harold,
surprised. It was the first time that the doctor had
given any intimation that he disapproved of the engage-
ment.
"Alix is a beautiful girl," said the anxious father,
"and I look upon her as one likely to make a good
match."
Youle stared at him with a scornful face. "You
need have no fear, Doctor," said he contemptuously;
"I'll see that you have enough to live on."
"But I don't mean"
"I know what you mean. We'll talk of this later.
Whether Ainsleigh looks after you or not, I'll see that
you have enough to live on. I am not rich, but Alix
is worth spending money on, by pensioning you."
"You insult me," stuttered Parsons.


THE WILL. 61
Youle shrugged his shoulders and went towards
Ainsleigh's study. On the way he met Alix, who had her
hat on. She drew him aside. "Come into the garden,"
she said quickly. "i wish to get a breath of fresh air.
What have you been saying to papa? He looks quite
angry."
"We have been talking about you," said Youle,
hesitating at the door of the study. He did not know
whether to go in, or depart with Alix. Ultimately love
carried the day, and he went out with her through the
library on to the terrace. Gilbert could wait, thought
the lover, and, if he did choose to take the drug just then,
he would not be in a fit state to hear the will. Knowing
how anxious Ainsleigh was to hear about his future,
Youle thought that he would keep his head clear until
Quail read the legal document. Therefore Harold
accompanied Alix with a quiet mind, and answered her
questions guardedly. He did not wish to give her a
bad opinion of her father.
"We'll have to go in a short time," said Alix, as the
two passed down the steps and across the lawn towards
a garden seat under a sycamore. "Why did you talk
about me, Harold?"
"It's a pleasant subject," he said with a smile.
"Not when papa discusses it," said Alix, flushing.
"He looks upon me as something saleable, Harold . I
know quite well that he has been trying to break our
engagement."
"Humph!" said Youle, glancing swiftly at her.
Some such thought had crossed his own mind. "Has
he ever said as much to you?"
"He has hinted several times that I could do better
than marry you, Harold. You see, papa has no money,
and now that Mrs. Ainsleigh is dead, his position will


62 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
not be pleasant. He has no practice to go back to,
small as was the one he had in Kensington. He has
no money, and unless Mrs. Ainsleigh has remem-
bered him in her will, I really don't know what he
will do."
"I see. And therefore he proposes that you should
marry a rich man, in order to supply him with an in-
come."
"Yes, that is exactly his idea, although he has not
told me so in as many words."
"I thought as much, and hinted as much. Well,
my dear one, you need have no fear. I am not wealthy,
but I can allow your father at least two hundred a year,
and on that he can live while we marry."
"He may not think that enough, Harold."
"Oh, I daresay he will consider it poverty. But it
is not what he thinks, Alix, but what you determine.
While Mrs. Ainsleigh was alive I thought it best that
you should remain with her. Now I think we ought to
marry as soon as I return from South America."
"Are you really going there, dear?"
"Yes ; you see, there is a chance of my getting money
out of a silver mine in Bolivia. I have not enough
money to keep you in the position to which you are ac-
customed."
"Oh, I am used to very little. Don't go, Harold."
She placed her arms round his neck, and leaned her
head on his shoulder. "Stop here and marry me at
once. Now that Mrs. Ainsleigh is dead, I'll be miser-
able if I go away with papa. He is very kind, but"—
she hesitated, then came out with what she meant to
say—" I have no respect for him."
"Dear "—Harold stroked her hair—" your father is
well enough as men go, and he certainly might be worse.


THE WILL. 63
I would like to stop and marry you ?t once, but I am
not rich enough to do so."
"We could live on very little."
"I have no idea of grubbing, or of seeing my wife
lack those things she ought to have. No, my darling,
this mine is very rich, and in a year or two I'll be worth
a lot of money. Then I can return and make you my
wife. I have no fear but what you will be true."
"Of course. I love you with all my heart," she said
vehemently, "and whatever papa may say, I'll never
think of anyone else. But I am afraid that when you
go away, something may come between us."
"Another man?" questioned Youle, jealously.
"Oh, no—how can you think so? But one never
knows what will happen. Of course, we'll always be
true to one another. Still—Harold, Harold, I feel that
if you go, something will part us."
"My dear," he took her hands, and holding them
between his own, looked into her brown eyes, "you
must not be fanciful. I love you and you love me, so
nothing can possibly come between us. I have arranged
to go to America about this mine, and go I must, within
the month."
"That is only ten days," mourned Alix. "Darling,"
she added coaxingly, "marry me, and I'll come also."
Youle laughed, and strained her to his breast.
"Don't tempt me, my dearest girl," said he earnestly;
"you could not bear the hardships. Only wait for a
year, and then I'll come back to make you my wife."
"You said two years," she whispered, with fear in
her eyes.
"I'll try and make it one," he replied softly, "and
before I go, I'll see that you and your father have
enough to live on."


64 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
“No! No, I would die of shame.”
“Alix, how foolish you are.”
She sprang to her feet. “Foolish 2 I am not
foolish, but I am very much ashamed. How can any
girl respect herself when she has a father such as I
have 2 You know what he is, and how he is willing to
do anything for money, how he—ohl” she covered her
face with her hands. “I should not talk like this, since
he is my father after all.”
Harold drew away her hands. “Alix,” he asked,
“why were you so disturbed when you met your
father after the crime 2"
The girl flushed crimson, and apparently evaded
the question. “I was much upset at the idea of poor
Mrs. Ainsleigh being killed. I went to my room to get
some red lavender.”
“Was there nothing else?” he asked in a low voice.
“I don't—” she faltered, and broke down, draw-
ing herself away with a shiver. What she would have
said, what Harold Youle would have asked, must
remain for ever unknown, as the voice of Gilbert
Ainsleigh was heard calling to the pair.
“Youle! Miss Parsons !” he shouted from the
terrace. “Where are you? I want you to come in and
hear the will read.”
Harold would have detained Alix to ask her another
question, for he felt sure that she was keeping some-
thing back from him. But she broke away, and passing
swiftly through the shrubbery, across the lawn, entered
the library with Gilbert. Harold followed slowly. He
thought it strange that Alix should speak of her father
as she did, and the girl seemed to think him a very
unscrupulous man. It occurred to Youle that Dr.
Parsons might know much more about Mrs. Ainsleigh's


THE WILL, 65
death than he chose to say. Still, he could not be
certain on this point, and could only learn any con-
firmation of his suspicions from observation. Alix
certainly would say nothing against her father, little as
she respected him.
Quail was already in the library, placed behind the
large oak table near the window, with a legal blue
envelope in his hand. Gilbert, who looked pale and
rather worried, was in a corner away from the light, and
Alix had seated herself beside her father near the
fireplace. Youle sauntered in and seated himself with
his back to the light. The others faced the window,
and he wished to observe the changes of expression on
the face of Dr. Parsons when the will was being read.
The lawyer lost no time. After a few observations
about the esteem in which he held his late client, he
opened the blue envelope, and took out a sheet of
parchment. “It is not a long will,” said Quail, “as my
esteemed friend knew her own mind. This will was
executed three months ago.”
Gilbert stared and grew even paler. Harold, watch-
ing him, wondered why he did so, and was soon
enlightened. Quail read the will slowly, glancing every
now and then at his audience. When he finished he
turned to Alix in a fatherly manner.
“And so, my dear,” said he, folding up the will,
“you hear that Mrs. Ainsleigh has left you everything.
You have now ten thousand a year and this house.”
“Oh, Harold!” Alix rushed forward and flung her.
self on her lover's breast with a burst of tears. “What
does it mean?”
“My child—my child !” said Parsons, whose face
was red with joy, “you are rich; you will be able to
support your poor old father.”
F


66 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Gilbert alone said nothing. His face was perfectly
white, and he passed his tongue over a pair of dry lips
before he could speak. Then he laughed harshly.
“You see, Youle,” said he, trying to be calm, “I
was right about my wife. She has left me a pauper.”
“Mr. Ainsleigh,” began Alix, “let me xy
“No,” he said, and went to the door of the room,
“don’t speak to me. You schemed for the money:
you have got it. Ten thousand a year—ah, and I have
—nothing—nothing. You adventuress!”
“Don't! Harold!” cried Alix, suddenly.
The young man, his eyes blazing with anger, sprang
forward to answer the insults of the disinherited
husband. Alix hung round his neck, and prevented him
assaulting Ainsleigh. Gilbert, with his face white and
drawn, stood at the door, looking not at Alix, but at
the doctor.
“Was it for this that you murdered my wife?” he
said, and left the room, shaking and ghastly.


3.g


* , .*.*, * * * *
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- ºr
* *.
* * * ----- ********* *-


67
CHAPTER VII.
THE PAGE-BOY.
WHEN Gilbert left the room, after hurling his furious
accusation at Parsons, there was an astonished silence
for quite a minute. Alix was the first to recover
presence of mind, and sprang to her feet indignantly.
"How dare Mr. Ainsleigh say that father killed his
wife!" she demanded, with an angry flush. "Everyone
knows that father was in the billiard-room at the time.
Mr. Quail—Harold, surely you do not for one moment
believe in this monstrous accusation?"
"I do not believe it, for one," said Youle, promptly;
and, indeed, it was ridiculous that the doctor should be
so crudely accused.
"Nor I," chimed in Quail, in his dry way, as he put
away the wilL "Mr. Ainsleigh is naturally annoyed at
being cut off without even the proverbial shilling, so it
is natural that he should accuse wildly anyone who
benefits."
"Then why not accuse me?" demanded Alix, still
indignant. "I am the one who takes the money. As
to my father"
"He can defend himself," interrupted Parsons
sharply. "I have refrained hitherto from offering any
remark." He rose and straightened his somewhat bent
form, and his face became more resolute in its expres-
sion. "I do not understand why Mr. Ainsleigh should
bring so terrible an accusation against me," he said


THE PAGE-BOY. 69
"You must decide that as you think," replied Youle
frankly, "and as your father approves."
"I suggest that Mr. Quail should arbitrate," said
the doctor quickly.
Gilbert, who was now perfectly composed, looked
from one to another with a faint smile.
"There is no need for anyone to arbitrate," said he
quietly. "When we were married, my wife settled on
me an income of five hundred a year. I presume, since
I behaved so badly, she thought I was not worthy of
more at her death. I thank you, Miss Parsons, for your
generous offer, but I refuse to accept one penny. And,
Youle," he added, turning to the young man, "do you
remember how I said that my wife would probably leave
me penniless? I don't exactly mean that," he con-
tinued, "since at our marriage she gave me enough
money to live on with due economy. But, I mean, you
remember that I told you how Barbara would probably
disinherit me."
Youle nodded. "I remember," said he, "and I am
very sorry"
Ainsleigh waved his hand. "There is no need for
sorrow," said he. "I have reaped what I have sown.
All we have to do is to look at things as they are. My
wife is dead and buried, and Miss Parsons "—he bowed
to Alix—" is now the mistress of the Grange. I shall
leave here to-morrow, and take up my abode in London."
"But you will come here again, I hope?" demanded
Alix impulsively.
Ainsleigh looked at her so directly that she flushed,
and her eyes fell.
"I shall come, if you ask me," he said, and departed.
Harold noted with some uneasiness that his last look
was at Alix


70 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Quail nodded as the door closed for the second time
on Gilbert.
"He has taken it very well," he declared ap-
provingly; "very well indeed. Few people would have
borne the loss of a large income so well."
"I agree with you," said Youle warmly, although that
last look at Alix still lingered uncomfortably in his
mind. "There is much good in Ainsleigh."
"Alas!" Parsons shook his head "The good
that is in him is being slowly destroyed by that fatal
drug."
"He has given that up for ever," observed Harold
quickly.
"It is not so easy to give up, Mr. Youle."
"I grant you that. But Ainsleigh is a much stronger
man than we think. He has been a slave to morphia,
but he will be one no longer. Upon my word, I admire
the chap," he ended emphatically.
All this time Alix had said nothing. After that
intense look from Gilbert she had moved to the window,
and now stood looking out at the garden, so fair in its
robe of delicate spring green. Suddenly, and while
Quail and her father walked towards the door, she spoke
loudly.
"I don't think I shall accept this money," she de-
clared; then, seeing them pause with astonishment, she
continued: "I have no right to Mrs. Ainsleigh's money.
I am not a relative, and her husband ought to have the
money; so you see"
"I see nothing," cried the doctor aggressively.
"What are you thinking of, my child? Providence
pours wealth into your lap, by which you can make my
old age comfortable, and you would reject it?"
"Your old age," said Alix, looking at him with some-


THE PAGE-BOY. 71
thing like scorn. "Ah, you think only of yourself,
and "Here she became aware that her feelings
were hurrying her into saying too much, and checked
her tongue with an effort of control rare in so young a
girl. "I mean that one must be just," she ended quietly.
"To yourself," said Parsons violently, "to me."
"To Mr. Ainsleigh, father. At least let him take
half the money."
"Five thousand a year! Are you mad, child?"
"I am just, father."
Harold interposed to end this disagreeable scene, as
he was disgusted at the egotism of Parsons, and filled
with admiration at the determination of Alix to act with
strict honour.
"You forget, dear," he said gently, "that Mr.
Ainsleigh has rejected any offer of money. I think
you can enjoy your good fortune without any qualms of
conscience."
"Certainly, certainly," said Quail. "Let things
stand as they are, my fair young client. Mr. Ainsleigh
will leave here to-morrow, and then you will see the
advisability of settling down and carrying on the late
Mrs. Ainsleigh's good works."
"I shall certainly do that," said Alix emphatically;
"and I also intend to offer a reward in order to solve
the mystery of her death."
"I approve of that—I approve of that," cried the
doctor bluffly. "We must do all we can with our
money. Quail"—he turned to the lawyer, quite pre-
pared to act as the master of a house which did not
belong to him—" make yourself at home, I beg. It is
the time for my breathing exercise, and even good
fortune must not be allowed to interfere with the well-
being of the body." After which speech he fussed out


7* THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
of the room, leaving a disagreeable mpression behind.
Mr. Quail, after a glance at the annoyed look of
Alix, followed, with a shrug of his legal shoulders.
Harold and his beloved were left alone in the splendid
room.
"My father seems to think that he is master here,"
said Alix, turning to Harold with a faint smile; "but
he is wrong. I am master and mistress both."
Youle stared at her with some astonishment . It
seemed strange of Alix to assert herself so firmly, when
hitherto she had given in to her father in every way.
The girl saw his amazement in his eyes.
"You think that I am weak," she said quietly; "in
that you are quite wrong. Hitherto, because I was
dependent on my father, I have not asserted myself."
"And towards me?" blurted out Youle.
She smiled expressively. "There is no assertion
possible in love, my dear. I love you and look upon
you as my master, as a husband should be. Besides,
you are just and honourable, and do not expect a woman
to be a slave."
"I certainly do not," said Youle slowly, and mar-
velling, as well he might, at this sudden change.
"And," she continued, "you must see, as I do, that
my father is weak. No man worthy of manhood would
have given up his practice to be at the beck and call of
anyone, even of Mrs. Ainsleigh, kind as she was. I
believe in a man being independent and fearing no one;
but my father is full of fears and of fancies. We must
excuse his shortcomings, as he was born weak. But I am
firm, and I know my own mind. Now I have money,
and I can assert myself; therefore my father shall no
longer be allowed by me to dictate in any way. He
shall stay here, and have what money he wants; but I


THE PAGE-BOY. 73
shall not allow him to take any part in the conduct of the
house. And when we marry, Harold, my father must
go away. We can allow him an income, and"
"You can," said Youle sharply. "I have very little
money; but I hope to have more when"
"Ah!" She wreathed her arms round his neck.
"You will not go now to South America in search of
that silver mine. I am rich."
"I am not the man to live on my wife's money,"
said Youle stiffly.
"Who knows that better than I? Yet, since I have
come unexpectedly into a large income, why not marry
me at once and take your place as the master of the
Grange?"
Harold put her decidedly from him. "No, darling
heart. You are all that is good and kind," he said
calmly; "but I want your respect as well as your love.
You talk about a man being independent. I cannot be
that if I become your husband on my present income. I
shall go away and make my fortune. When I return
in a year—for in a year, after all, I shall come back—
then we can marry without loss of self-respect on either
side."
"But I wish it," cried Alix anxiously.
Harold looked at her very directly. "My dear," he
said, with a quiet laugh, " I am not your father."
Alix knew that Youle was her master, and did not
fight further—at least, on the old ground. Still, she
tried a woman's wiles.
"If you go away," she said, "something will prevent
our marriage."
"That is impossible," said Youle firmly. "You no
longer need be coerced by your father, seeing that you
are over age and rich."


76 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"He's an ungrateful young whelp," said Gilbert, his
fresh-coloured face looking gloomy. "I picked him up
in London for my wife to try her hand on, as he was a
street arab of the worst."
"I wasn't," yelped Tuckle.
"You were. I'll clout you over the head if you
contradict. Your mother is one of the most notorious
drunkards in London."
"Takes five police to git her to the station," said
Tuckle proudly.
"Hold your tongue. I promised Barbara always to
look after the boy, and I want to take him away with
me. Under Derry he'll have to mind his manners."
"Let him stop on here," said Alix urgently. "Since
Mrs. Ainsleigh took an interest in him, I'll see that he is
brought up properly."
"You'll have trouble with him, Miss Parsons. He is
the son of a drunkard and a thief."
"I'll take the risk," said Alix, and looked at Harold.
"Certainly," he smiled; "by all means."
"I can refuse you nothing, Miss Parsons," said
Ainsleigh, with another look which she did not like.
"Keep the brat." And he left the room.
Tuckle executed a war-dance. "I'm to stop!
Hurray! hurrah!" he chanted like a Red Indian. "And
look at this, miss, since you're so kind."
Tuckle pulled out a photograph and thrust it into
the hands of Alix. It was the photograph of a sailor.


THE PAGE-BOY. 7:
clutched her dress. Harold caught him by the scruff
of the neck and swung him clear of the girl.
“What do you mean?” demanded the young man
sternly. “You entered without knocking. Do you for-
get what you are 2"
Tuckle howled. “I’m a miserable cove,” said the
boy, putting his knuckles into his red-rimmed eyes.
“I’ve heard as she "—he pointed a grimy finger at Alix
—“is the new mistress, and I want to stop on, I do.”
“Then stop on,” said Alix smiling. “No one wants
you to go, Tuckle.”
“He does,” bellowed the boy. “Mr. Ainsleigh
does. 'Cause he took me from mother, who used to
wallop me down Whitechapel way, he says as I ought
to go with him to London. And I don't want to.” He
broke out crying afresh. “I’ve a good 'ome here, and
grub, and company, and I don't want to go back to
London, I don't. Mr. Ainsleigh's a hard cove, he is,
and clips me over the head proper, he do.”
“Does Mr. Ainsleigh want you to go with him 2 ”
“Yus—as his servant, when he's got one already,
and a beast he is—that Derry, who calls hisself a valley,
which he ain't.”
“You would rather stay here?”
“Lor, miss, in course I would, and be a good boy
and learn from the parson, as says I’m sharp,” said
Tuckle glibly.
“Then you shall stay,” said Alix, smiling. “That is,
if you are a good boy and behave yourself. But here is
Mr. Ainsleigh.”
“Come to collar me,” sobbed Tuckle, slipping behind
his mistress as Gilbert entered the room.
“Mr. Ainsleigh,” said Alix gently, “Tuckle wants to
stop at the Grange.”


76 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
“He’s an ungrateful young whelp,” said Gilbert, his
fresh-coloured face looking gloomy. “I picked him up
in London for my wife to try her hand on, as he was a
street arab of the worst.”
“I wasn't,” yelped Tuckle.
“You were. I'll clout you over the head if you
contradict. Your mother is one of the most notorious
drunkards in London.”
“Takes five police to git her to the station,” said
Tuckle proudly.
“Hold your tongue. I promised Barbara always to
look after the boy, and I want to take him away with
me. Under Derry he'll have to mind his manners.”
“Let him stop on here,” said Alix urgently. “Since
Mrs. Ainsleigh took an interest in him, I’ll see that he is
brought up properly.”
“You’ll have trouble with him, Miss Parsons. He is
the son of a drunkard and a thief.”
“I’ll take the risk,” said Alix, and looked at Harold.
“Certainly,” he smiled; “by all means.”
“I can refuse you nothing, Miss Parsons,” said
Ainsleigh, with another look which she did not like.
“Keep the brat.” And he left the room.
Tuckle executed a war-dance. “I’m to stop !
Hurray! hurrah!” he chanted like a Red Indian. “And
look at this, miss, since you're so kind.”
Tuckle pulled out a photograph and thrust it into
the hands of Alix. It was the photograph of a sailor.


:
E
;
.


CI
\ :1.


78 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
and missus—the living one"—he leered at Alix—“is as
kind as ever was.”
The lovers looked at one another; then Harold
turned to the boy. “You can go, Tuckle,” said he,
“and say nothing about this.” He tapped the portrait.
“Not me. I'm fly,” said the imp, and danced out of
the room, singing, “I’m to stop—hurray! I'm to doss
here—hurray! Oh, my eye—hurray!”
When Tuckle had gone from the room, Alix looked
again at Harold.
“I thought Mr. Ainsleigh did not know this man
who called P’’
“I thought so, too; and he said that his wife re-
fused to tell him what the man's business was. Yet the
picture of the sailor is in his box. We know now *—
Harold tapped the photograph again—“that the man
who called is a sailor, for here he is in the dress of an
officer of the merchant service—a captain, I should
think. Bearded, with a scar on the right temple,” he
added. “You remember the description Ainsleigh gave
at the time, Alix.”
“Yes; but he can't know anything about the man.”
“I’ll see about that,” said Youle, and went in search
of Ainsleigh.
The late master of the Grange was quite willing to
afford every information in his power. After a glance
at the portrait, he handed it back to Youle.
“You are quite right,” said he, with a black look.
“It's the picture of the man who called. I found that
amongst some papers of my late wife ages ago. I asked
who the man was, and she declined to say. Also she
turned pale and seemed disturbed, when she refused
to speak. I kept the portrait, saying I would not give
it to her again until she told me all about him. Then


OLD BARNACLES. 79
I threw it into a box with some other rubbish, and, now
that I decide to leave, I set Tuckle, under the super-
vision of Derry, to tidy up. I expect the boy, recognis-
ing the man, kept the portrait to get me into trouble.
He certainly showed it to you and Miss Parsons so that
there might be trouble, the young imp. I've done him
nothing but good, and he hates me.”
“I quite see the malicious side of the boy's charac-
ter,” replied Youle drily; “but what I don't see is why
he should think that the production of this portrait
should trouble you?”
“Because he knew that the sailor was wanted, and
I said nothing about it at the inquest.”
“That may be. No doubt he fancied that I should
show it to the police, and that you might be ques-
tioned.”
Ainsleigh, who was packing in his own room, rose
to his full height and faced the young man.
“You speak in a way I do not like,” said he tartly.
“Show that to the police, if you like. I am quite will-
ing to speak. But I know nothing about the man.
When I found the picture by chance, the man had not
called. I merely asked my wife casually who her sailor
friend was. She was so disturbed when asked, and re-
fused so firmly to reply, that I grew jealous, and said
that she should not have the portrait back till she told
me the man's name.”
“And she did not?”
“She did not. When he called I recognised the
man from the photograph, of which I had a faint
memory, as you see the sailor is somewhat noticeable.
Then I asked her again, and demanded to know why
she fainted. She refused to speak, and then I went to
town. I explained all this before.”


8o THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Yes. I see. And then you forgot that the photo-
graph was in your box?"
"Of course. I could not remember where I put it,
and so said nothing about it at the inquest. Tuckle, as
I said, found it by chance, and has tried to make trouble.
Young imp! I'll clout him."
"No! He's not your servant now, remember."
"You needn't remind me of what I have lost," said
Ainsleigh bitterly. "I know that you are engaged to
Miss Parsons, and will be master here."
"Not for some time. I go to South America for a
year."
"What? When a lovely girl with money wants to
marry you?"
"I am not a man who lives on any woman," said
Youle sharply.
Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. "That's a hit at
me, I suppose," he said good-humouredly. "But we
needn't argue. As to that portrait, your best plan is
to show it to the police. I am as anxious as you to
learn who killed my wife, seeing what I have lost by
her death."
"Then you think that this sailor"
"Oh, I don't say that he killed her," interrupted
Gilbert easily; "but certainly in some way he was
connected with her past life, and seemed to cherish
some grudge against her, if one can judge from that
unfinished letter which she left, and from the fact
that she not only fainted, but refused to tell me any-
thing about the man. He may have uttered threats,
as she said, and he may have killed her. But, as
you know, I was insensible at the time, so I know
nothing. What will you do? Show that to the
police?"


OLD BARNACLES. 81
"Not just now," said Youle, pondering. "I'll do a
little detective business on my own account."
"Would you like me to help you?"
"No. I merely intend to make inquiries at the vil-
lage as to when this man came and went. Then I'll
ask at the railway station, and perhaps I may learn from
the ticket collector or booking clerk where he jour-
neyed to."
Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. "Seems to me that
you are embarking on a wild-goose chase," he said.
"However, I can do nothing. My life here is at an end,
so I go away to-morrow from this place for ever."
"For ever?" Harold wheeled at the door and
looked back inquiringly.
"Yes; unless I have to come down and help to
trace out the assassin of my wife."
"Have you any idea"
"No. I think the sailor might have—but there,
what do you expect me to know or say? I saw nothing
of what took place. I'll probably leave you and Miss
Parsons to find out who killed Barbara, seeing that you
benefit by the will."
Youle said no more, but went away. Gilbert could
not possibly know anything of the circumstances of his
wife's death, seeing—as he very correctly stated—he
had been insensible when the crime took place. As to
the suspected sailor, he had given a perfectly frank and
fair explanation as to how the photograph had come
into his possession, and how Tuckle had gained posses-
sion of it. Also, it was plain to see that the page,
hating Ainsleigh, had wished to make trouble by giving
the photograph into the hands of Alix. Harold, con-
necting the visit of the sailor with Mrs. Ainsleigh's re-
fusal to explain to her husband, with her fainting, and
G


82 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
with the unfinished letter she had left behind her, began
to think that the man really was the criminal. It only
remained to learn if he had been in the neighbourhood
on the fatal Sunday, and to find out how he had entered
the house. Also it was necessary to discover how he
came to know the passages of the rambling old Grange
so well that he was easily enabled to escape.
"The man must have been well acquainted with Mrs.
Ainsleigh," said Harold to himself, as he set out on a
voyage of discovery, "since he knew the house, and the
legend; and also he must have known that she had
heart disease, and was likely to fall dead if she saw the
ghost, in which she believed. But why did the man
want to kill her? What was the secret between him-
self and his victim? Can it be that she was married
before and to this man? Or "Here Youle's
imagination came to a full stop. After all, it was useless
to build up theories without any foundation. All that
he could do was to search for the sailor, who was prob-
ably called Orlando. When he was found, the truth
might come to light. Until then everything was ob-
scure.
But Youle's detective business proved to be far less
successful than his exploring. He first of all went to
Helstone, five miles away, which was the nearest rail-
way station to Blastorne, and inquired about the notice-
able man who had arrived and left the district on the
Monday preceding the date of Mrs. Ainsleigh's tragic
death. He found, however, that Inspector Unwin had
been beforehand with him, and had learned nothing.
Sparrow, the detective engaged by Gilbert, had inquired
also. But no man at all resembling the sailor had ar-
rived on that date, as porters and station-master and
ticket-collectors and booking clerks insisted; and no


OLD BARNACLES. 83
man had left either. The bearded sailor with the scar
on his right temple had never been seen in the district,
so Harold tramped back to Blastorne, wondering how
the stranger had entered the neighbourhood. On the
way back, and near the village, he met the lean little
detective, looking sour and angry.
"Mr. Ainsleigh's dismissed me," said Sparrow, who
seemed annoyed. "He said as his wife had left him
nothing, he didn't see why he should pay to find out who
killed her. I saw Miss Parsons, who has the money,
and she referred me to you."
Harold thought for a few minutes. "I can say
nothing at present," he said. "I have your address in
town, as Inspector Unwin gave it to me, so I'll write if
I wish you to proceed in the case."
"You can't do without me, sir," said Sparrow plain-
tively.
"Probably not, since I am an amateur. Have you
found out anything as it is?"
"Well, sir, I found that that sailor who came on the
Monday was seen talking to an old fellow called Bar-
nacles, who is also a sailor. He lives near the Grange,
just outside the park wall, in a little cottage, and"
"Yes," interrupted Youle. "I remember. He is a
poor prottgt of Mrs. Ainsleigh. She allows him a pen-
sion—or rather did allow it to him—poor woman!—
seeing she is dead. Well?"
Sparrow turned sulky. "I don't say any more till
I know where I stand, sir," said he defiantly. "Mr.
Ainsleigh has paid me very badly for my trouble, and
if Miss Parsons won't give me the job, I'll shut up.
Come, sir, you seem to be the gentleman that the young
lady takes the advice of. Let me see this thing
through."


84 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
“Not at present, Sparrow. I must think it over.”
The detective looked annoyed. “But why?”
“I can't explain just now. Wait till you hear from
me.”
“Very good, sir.” A glance at Youle's face showed
that he was not a man to be trifled with, so Sparrow
accepted the inevitable. “You know my address, so
I'll wait till I hear.” And he tramped off, still looking
sour and disappointed.
Had he known what was passing in Youle's mind
he would not have been so despondent. Youle had
every intention of advising Alix to engage the man's
services, only he wished to speak with her on the sub-
ject before coming to a final decision. Meanwhile, he
pursued his way to the village with the determination
of calling on Old Barnacles, who evidently knew the
mysterious sailor.
No one knew the real name of Old Barnacles. The
nickname, given to him ten years before in the village,
stuck to him, and no one called him anything else. He
did not seem to mind, but responded with slow sullen-
ness to the appellation. Certainly, he was a queer old
man, and his unpopularity in the village was due to the
fact that he never would gossip. He had been a sailor
in one of the ships owned by Mrs. Ainsleigh's father,
who had been somewhat of a speculator, and she had
pensioned him off in a small cottage when he grew too
old for the sea. Usually she called to see him every
week, and took a great interest in him. This was put
down to her kind philanthropic heart; but now that it
seemed Old Barnacles knew the sailor who was being
inquired for, and whom Youle, for one, suspected of
committing the crime, it seemed to the young man that
Mrs. Ainsleigh's visits were concerned with more than


OLD BARNACLES. 85
philanthropy. However, a few minutes' conversation
with the old shellback might throw some light on the
identity of the man called Orlando.
The cottage was but a stone’s-throw away from the
red brick wall which girdled the Grange park. From
the gate Harold could see a small postern in the wall,
wherefrom Mrs. Ainsleigh had usually issued to pay her
visits to the old sailor. There was quite a path worn
by the feet which were now still for ever. The path
led through a small meadow golden with buttercups,
and came directly to the white gate which was set in a
fence of green-painted palings. Within the fence the
ground was filled with flowers, for Old Barnacles was a
notable gardener, and possessed an antique cart and a
slow, aged pony, with which he drove to Helstone and
the surrounding villages to dispose of plants.
When Youle reached the gate, the twilight was
closing in, and Old Barnacles was in the garden at-
tending to some rose trees. He raised his head as
Youle approached, and the young man saw that he was
old and bent, rugged and tanned, with one eye and a
wooden leg. For the reason also that he had lost a
limb did the old man make his journeys in the cart
drawn by the ancient pony. The kindness of Mrs. Ains-
leigh had supplied him with the vehicle. The pony had
been bought by Old Barnacles himself out of his sav-
ings, and was quite a Derby winner in the proud eyes
of the ancient sailor turned gardener.
“Good day, Barnacles,” said Harold, who knew him
very well, since, as boy and man, he had frequently
visited the man in the company of Mrs. Ainsleigh,
then Miss Blastorne, and had listened to his sea
tales.
Old Barnacles, who hated Harold a degree less than


86 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
he usually did his fellow creatures as a whole, hobbled
to the fence and extended a large, horny hand.
"Muster Youle, sir, I hope you be well," said he.
"Very well, but rather sad, Barnacles."
"Ah, sir, she was a good lady," sighed the old sailor.
"She was. We shall all miss her."
"I more nor anyone. The business don't pay, Mus-
ter Youle, and my little bit of yearly money"
"You'll still have that, Barnacles. Miss Parsons has
inherited the estates, and she will continue the pension."
Old Barnacles opened his one fishy eye wide.
"What about Muster Ainsleigh, the husband of she?"
he demanded, with a growl. "Ain't he"
"No," interrupted Harold. "He has been left
nothing."
"And a good job too, sir. I niver liked he nohow.
An' the young lady is as sweet as a daisy, she is, being
your good lady some day, I do hear, Muster Youle."
"Yes. So you can rely on your pension being paid.
By the way, Barnacles," went on Youle, in any easy con-
versational tone, so as not to arouse the man's sus-
picions, "there was a sailor called to see Mrs. Ains-
leigh on the Monday before she died."
Old Barnacles searched his memory. "Ah, now I
mind, sir," said he in his slow way. "A skipper of sorts,
I mind. He come here, to where you be, Muster Youle,
and he asks me the way to the Grange, being a fool
like and not seeing it afore him. I p'inted, and he
went."
"Was he a stranger here, Barnacles?"
"Not knowing the Grange and it being afore him, I
think as he was, Muster Youle."
"Did you ever see him before?"
"I never clapped eyes on he, sir. But sailor he was


“IT contal NED A HooD of white SERGE” (p. 87).


|--→
! . . . , C LIBRARY


OLD BARNACLES. 87
by the cut of his jib, and a skipper from the quarter-
deck way he commanded."
"Have you seen him since?"
"No, Muster Youle, I niver have. I saw him but
that once, and he asked me for the Grange, it being
afore him, and"
"Then you know nothing about him?" said Youle,
disappointed.
"No, Muster Youle, that I do not. He asked but
the one question, and went round to the big gates."
"Not by the postern"
"Oh!" Old Barnacles opened his eye wide. "He
niver knowed anything of it, being a stranger like."
This was all that could be got out of Old Barnacles,
who was willing enough to give information, but ap-
parently could not. Youle nodded a good-bye and went
away slowly round by the park gates. Old Barnacles
watched him depart, then went into his house. Youle
walked to the village and made further inquiries, but
could learn nothing. It was an hour later that he re-
turned, entering the park by the great gates, and the
day was now drawing rapidly to night. As he entered
and closed the small gate which was let into the big
one a package was thrown over. Youle picked it up,
and found it was a brown paper parcel, rather small,
and containing something soft. He glanced through the
gate to see who had thrown it, but saw no one. Then
he opened the package and looked at its contents in the
waning light. It contained a hood of white serge. Then
he remembered how the hood of the ghostly monk's
dress had been torn off. And in that dress the murder
had been committed
.


88
CHAPTER IX.
UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE.
A STORM is invariably succeeded by a dead calm;
therefore, after the strange incident of the monk's hood,
Harold underwent no further melodramatic experiences
for at least two months. He left Alix in possession of
the house, with a subdued father in charge, and returned
to London in order to prepare for his journey to South
America. All the blandishments of Alix failed to make
him relinquish his purpose of making money out of the
Bolivian silver mine, and, in spite of the pain likely to
be caused by his absence, the girl secretly respected him
for his determination. It was sweet to think that she
was loved by such a man for herself.
Dr. Parsons was pleased that the young man should
go, as, now that Alix was rich, he did not wish her to
marry Youle. Looking upon the Grange as his own,
he attempted to exercise authority, and to dismiss
Harold without hope. But so weak a man could not
hold his own against the determination which Alix
developed. She gave her father plainly to understand
that he was not to meddle either in the house or in
her love affairs. Being of age, she was perfectly com-
petent to conduct both without paternal interference.
Nevertheless, she rendered Parsons the obedience of a
daughter in other respects, and the doctor found him-
self in very comfortable quarters. He talked much
about the ingratitude of a child for whom he had sacri-


UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 89
ficed so much, but when called upon to detail the sacri-
fices, he was unable to give a clear account. Finally he
shed a few tears, and declared that his one object in
life was to see Alix happy. She intimated that she
would be, if he did not meddle, and with this he was
forced to be content.
Thus it was that Harold departed with the know-
ledge that Alix would remain faithful to him, unbiassed
by paternal nagging. At the end of a year he arranged
to come back and make her his wife. Then the doctor
was to be pensioned off, and Mr. and Mrs. Youle were
to reside in the Grange. Alix and her lover talked
over this and other matters before he took his depar-
ture.
"And what about the case, Harold?" she asked.
"Will you do anything towards learning who killed poor
Mrs. Ainsleigh?"
"I fear the truth will never come to light," he re-
plied, after a moment's thought. "Unwin and the Hel-
stone police have given up searching for the murderer.
Sparrow, as you know, was sent away. And now
that Ainsleigh has taken himself off, I don't suppose
he will bother anything more about the matter. He is
not likely to get any more money, and will be content
to live on his five hundred a year. He is not the
man to trouble himself about so complicated a case,
unless he sees a fortune to be made out of it, and you
have the fortune."
"He might wish to earn the reward," suggested Alix
thoughtfully. "I think of offering the amount of one
thousand pounds."
"Humph! A good many people will wish to earn
that. It is a large sum, my dear girl."
"Not too large, if poor Mrs. Ainsleigh's death can


UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 91
science, Alix. The Blastorne family died with Mrs.
Ainsleigh, and apparently there was no one she thought
so worthy to have the old house as yourself.”
The girl's eyes filled with tears.
“I loved her,” she sob Jed: “she was always kind
and good. How terrible to think that she should meet
with such a horrible death! We must learn who killed
her.”
“Then engage Sparrow, although I doubt if he will
succeed. We have no clue, my dear Alix.”
“There is the monk's hood.”
Harold nodded. “That is very strange, I admit. I
can't understand, in the first place, why the hood should
have been torn from the gown, and, in the second, why
the parcel should have come into my possession in so
strange a manner.”
“You saw no one throw it?”
“No one. I cast a glance through the gate when
it fell, but no person was in sight. After I learned what
the contents of the parcel were, Iran out into the road;
but the person who threw it had made himself or her-
self scarce by that time.”
“Why do you think it was a woman, Harold **
“My dear, men have not the monopoly of crimes.
I have no reason to say so, but a woman may be the
assassin. A strong woman could easily strangle a frail
creature like poor Mrs. Ainsleigh; and, again, the
monk's dress is so like petticoats that a woman would
have no difficulty in disguising herself in such a garb.
But remember, Alix, I have no reason to give for this
theory.”
Alix pondered for a few minutes. “Harold, do you
think it was the murderer who threw you the package P.”
“No. Why should the assassin be so foolish P He


92 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
or she—if indeed a woman has anything to do with
the matter—would not put evidence into my hands
likely to solve the mystery."
"Then, who would"
"My dear, I cannot say; but whosoever threw that
package certainly knows the truth, and perhaps is
anxious that the assassin should be captured. Unable
to do so on his own account, the unknown places the
clue in my possession. And again I say that this un-
known may have been a woman."
"But if not the assassin, as you thought at first"
"I think nothing, because I know nothing," broke
in Youle impatiently. "All that I do know is that a clue
has come into my possession. What use to make of it I
cannot say."
"Is there no name on hood or dress?"
"None. Monks do not mark their linen, so far as
I know."
"But how do you know the dress belonged to a
monk? There are no monks now."
"Oh, yes, there are, although they are not much in
evidence in this country. The dress is that of a monk of
the Cistercian order, and may have belonged to a real
monastic person."
Alix shook her head. "That is impossible. No
religious person would lend himself, or his dress, to such
a wicked deed. The dress was made to order of the
assassin, so that the trick on Mrs. Ainsleigh might be
carried out. Therefore the name of the firm who made
the dress would be on the garment."
Harold was struck by this reasoning.
"Well, you may be right," he said, pondering.
"Certainly it would seem that the dress was manu-
factured on purpose. But there is no name on it, either



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UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 93
of possessor or firm of makers. Humph! I wonder if
Sparrow could trace the firm who made the dress? It
is so rare a costume to be made by any London firm,
that it would not be difficult to trace."
"Why not see Mr. Sparrow and tell him what to do?"
"I'll see him when I get to town. I don't see much
chance of the truth coming to light, and I fear Mrs.
Ainsleigh's murder will have to be relegated to the
limbo of undiscovered crime. Also I am going in a
month—or say two months, as there is much to do—to
South America, so I shall not be able to search. I'll see
Sparrow, Alix, and give the case into his hands on your
behalf. With a salary and a prospect of earning a
thousand pounds extra, he will certainly do his best
to run down the assassin, man or woman. As for
myself, I wash my hands of it. An untrained person
like me cannot hope to succeed where the police have
failed."
In this way the matter was arranged. Harold re-
turned to his chambers in Half Moon Street, Piccadilly,
and sent for Sparrow. The lean little detective obeyed
the summons eagerly, as business had been bad with him
of late and he wished to earn money. Moreover, the
mystery of the crime attracted him, and he foresaw that
its solution would give him a widespread fame. With a
puckered brow he listened to the story of the recovered
hood. At its conclusion he shook his head.
"It is a difficult case," was his verdict. "I thought
there was only one person concerned it it. Now it
seems that there are two."
"Two?" Harold looked surprised. "Myself and
Miss Parsons saw only one shadow—that of the pre-
sumed ghost."
"Quite so; but the supposed ghost, who was really


94 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
the assassin, assuredly would not place evidence against
himself in your hands. There is a woman in the matter.”
“Who murdered Mrs. Ainsleigh 2"
“No, I don't say that. But the assassin may have a
woman friend, or, perhaps, she may be his wife. At all
events, if there is a woman, she hates the assassin for
some reason, or is horribly jealous, and therefore places
this clue in your hands.”
“Can you make anything of it?”
Sparrow examined the soiled white robe, which Youle
had brought with him to hand over to the detective.
“It is common white serge with no lining,” said he dis-
contentedly, “and there is no name on it of the firm
who made it. But this—” He pointed to a thin
piping of purple silk, which ran round the hood. “Do
monks wear silk?”
“By Jupiter! I never noticed that particularly,
Sparrow. Monks never wear silk, so far as I know. It's
a fake dress.”
“Perhaps a theatrical dress—”
“Might be.” Harold tossed the robe across the
room. “However, go round and see what you can
learn. How will you proceed 2 ”
“I’ll try and find out who made this robe,” said
Sparrow, rolling the dress up in brown paper. “Then
we'll see who bought it, and when we find the person
who did—”
“Well ?”
Sparrow shrugged his spare shoulders. “We may
learn the truth.”
“You don't seem to be very hopeful.”
“I am not. The assassin of Mrs. Ainsleigh is smart,
else the trail would not have been so cleverly con-
cealed. The fact that this "–he pointed to the parcel—


UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 97
Youle laughed. "That means you are in love."
Brady grew crimson. "She is an angel," he de-
clared with conviction.
"She always is, my dear lad. And what are you
going to live on?"
"Oh, I do very well in black-and-white illustrations.
Then my mother will help. She is well off, as you know,
and now that she has retired from the stage saves lots of
money, since she is not likely to lose it in producing
plays. Oh, yes, mother will help."
"Who is the girl?"
"Her name is Mary Jane Rug," said Tony fondly.
"What an unromantic name."
"Yes," admitted the lover reluctantly. "Her father
—she has no mother—couldn't have known what she
would grow up, or he would have called her something
sweeter. But because she is called Mary Jane," declared
the enthusiastic lover, "I feel that the glamour of
romance is over the name. She is "—here Tony went
into a detailed description of the girl's perfections, to
which Youle listened patiently. Being in love himself
he made every allowance for the boy's passion.
"And your mother will help you with money when
you marry?"
Tony nodded. "I think so," he said rather uneasily.
"In fact, I don't think she'll mind my marrying."
"I thought you were the stay and comfort of her old
age?"
"Mother would be mad if she heard you call her old,"
said Brady, with a laugh; "besides, she's going to do
without me and take a husband."
"The deuce! And the lucky man?"
"Oh, a fellow called Gilbert Ainsleigh."


98
CHAPTER X.
A PUZZLING LETTER.
WHEN Youle left Brady's rooms he felt that his head
was in a whirl. It was scarcely two months since the
death of Mrs. Ainsleigh, yet here was her scamp of a
husband engaged to marry another woman, and one
older than himself.
“Mrs. Brady. She must be—let me see,” mused
Harold, as he walked back to Half Moon Street, “why
she must be over fifty. I remember my father talking
about her. Humph! She's got money, same as the
first Mrs. Ainsleigh. I'd like to see Mrs. Brady and her
dear one. She must know that Ainsleigh's first wife
died by violence, as it was in all the papers two months
ago. I wonder she cares to marry the man; and then
it's positively indecent of Ainsleigh to marry again with
his first wife scarcely cold in her grave. I'll call and
see how she came to fix up with him so quickly.”
Harold could easily do this. He had known Mrs.
Brady for years, and Tony since that clever young
artist was a mere lad. It was his liking for Tony that
led him to offer the chance of illustrating the book of
travel to him, since Tony always had a desire to circum-
navigate the globe. Besides, Mrs. Brady was a
celebrity, and for some twenty years had been famous
in the dramatic world. For a long time she had owned
a theatre, and there had produced poetic plays by
modern playwrights, alternating with grand productions
of Shakespeare's dramas. Being quite a tragedy queen,


A PUZZLING LETTER. 99
Mrs. Brady had never condescended to modern comedy,
and had always looked upon herself as a second
Siddons. The public admired her greatly, and had
patronised her theatre largely.
Still handsome and popular, Mrs. Brady had retired
twelve months ago—about the time of Gilbert Ains-
leigh's marriage—and now occupied a bijou house at
Campden Hill, furnished like a palace, and with far
more taste. According to rumour, which is sometimes
correct, she had a fine income, as she had always been
a thrifty woman. Whosoever lost by the Elizabethan
Theatre—that was the high-sounding name of the play-
house lately owned by the popular tragedy queen—
Mrs. Brady never squandered her money. Yet no one
had ever breathed a word against her fair fame. The
late Mr. Brady had been a low comedian, but had long
since departed this life, leaving Mrs. Brady with one
child, the boy Tony, who had early shown great talents
as an artist. To Tony, Mrs. Brady had devoted her
life, as she was a fond mother. It was therefore
strange that she should permit Tony to marry, and
stranger still that after five years of widowhood she
herself should marry. Especially a scamp like Gilbert
Ainsleigh, for she could have taken a much more
respectable husband, and at one time could even have
married a baronet. That she should decide to become
the second Mrs. Ainsleigh, seeing how the first wife had
died, seemed strange to Harold. Therefore, out of
sheer curiosity, did he pay an afternoon visit to the bijou
house on Campden Hill. Mrs. Brady was at home at
five o'clock, seated before a tea equipage, and alone.
When she saw Harold she sailed forward with both
hands outstretched, and greeted him in her best
theatrical style.
59.6869 A


TOO THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"My dear boy "—everyone up to fifty was a dear
boy to Mrs. Brady—" I am delighted to see you. Sit
down, and tell all about yourself."
The retired actress was, as has been said, a trifle
over fifty, and was a remarkably fine woman, large and
tall and finely shaped, with an inclination to fleshy
fulness. Her head was like that of Faustine the Roman
Empress, and, indeed, in her looks and gait and stately
manner there was something imperial. She was still on
the stage in private life, and never lost the chance of
making a dramatic point, or an effective entrance. Her
brows and hair were still black, although this was prob-
ably due to art, and the contour of her face was cut
like a cameo. Her figure also was splendid, although
she inclined to stoutness. With the artfulness of a
woman who had dressed for years to please a critical
public, she wore a simple gown of bronze-coloured
velvet, without any trimmings to spoil the superb cut.
Brazilian diamond rings flashed on her shapely hands,
but she wore no other jewels, and looked a remarkably
refined and handsome woman as she sank back into a
deep chair. Far too good for Gilbert Ainsleigh was
Mrs. Brady, as Youle decided, for he knew her kind
heart and life of hard work.
"I should think you knew all about me," said
Harold, sitting down and glancing round the comfort-
able, dainty room, at the numerous photographs of
celebrities, which were signed every one with handsome
compliments to their present owner.
"And why should you think so, Youle?" asked Mrs.
Brady, who addressed all her male friends in this
unceremonious way, from the habit of thus speaking
to her company and managers.
"Humph! I saw Tony yesterday."


A PUZZLING LETTER. 101
"The dear boy! He's in love."
"Are you pleased?"
Mrs. Brady passed him a cup of tea with the air of
Queen Eleanor handing the poison to Rosamund
.
"Oh, yes; why shouldn't the boy amuse himself? He
is but a child, and children will play."
"But isn't it rather risky for children to play with
fire?"
"Fire?" Mrs. Brady lifted her thick black brows.
"In this case, Tony wants to marry this girl."
"Oh, Tony has wanted to marry half the women in
the world since he came to years of indiscretion. But
I'll see that he does not go too far, my dear boy. Don't
alarm yourself."
"But Tony said that you approved."
"I neither approve nor disapprove. Let the boy
play. I have never seen the girl . She lives at Pitsea,
I believe, amongst the marshes. Tony saw her when
he went down to Canvey Island to sketch. He has
been raving about her since."
"Then he may marry her?"
"Oh, dear, no. Tony is not yet clever enough to
earn money by his black-and-white drawings, and if he
made this girl his wife I should not give him a penny."
"But he said you would be pleased."
"Really!" Mrs. Brady calmly filled another cup.
"Silly boy! I shall make him give up his rooms and
come back here. I wanted him to be independent, and
so let him set up in Bloomsbury as a bachelor; but if
he wishes to marry this Pitsea creature, he will have to
shelter again under my protecting wing."
"Won't three in this house be inconvenient?"
blurted out Youle.
Mrs. Brady raised her eyebrows again. "Three?"


1oz THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
“Yourself and Tony and his stepfather!”
This time she frowned, and drew herself up in a
most stately manner to rebuke Harold. “Who told you
that I was about to give Tony a stepfather, may I ask?”
“Tony himself.”
“The brat!” cried Mrs. Brady, with less than her
usual dignity. “I’ll give him a good slapping.”
“It is not true, then P”
Mrs. Brady did not reply at once. She rose and
walked to the window with the air of Lady Macbeth
ascending her bloodstained throne. “I don't see why
I should answer that question,” she said, turning.
“I do, since I am your very good friend, and since
I know Gilbert.”
“Gilbert! Are you sufficiently friendly with him to
call him by his Christian name 2"
“No. I got into the habit of calling him so, because
Mrs. Ainsleigh at the Grange always did.”
“Ah, you knew the late Mrs. Ainsleigh 2"
“I should think Gilbert told you so.”
“He did.” Mrs. Brady hesitated, then slowly re-
turned to her seat. “A terrible death, that of Mrs.
Ainsleigh,” said she in a conversational tone. “Tell me
all about it.”
“Has not Ainsleigh told you?”
“Oh, yes, and I have heard what the papers said.
But as you are hunting for the assassin I thought you
might have some interesting details to give me.”
“Who said that I was hunting for the assassin 2"
“Gilbert py
“Oh!” interrupted Youle quickly, “so you call him
Gilbert too.”
“Yes. Because I have known him for many years.
Nearly as long as I have known you, in fact.”


A PUZZLING LETTER. Io3
“I am aware of that. But do you call him Gilbert
because you are engaged to him 2 ”
Mrs. Brady's colour rose in her fair cheeks, and she
shot a defiant look at the young man. “Why should I
not be engaged 2 ” she asked. “I am still handsome,
and I have plenty of money. I never had a happy life
with Brady, and I expect that Tony will marry some
day. I want to be comfortable in my old age, and have
someone to look after me.”
Youle shrugged his shoulders. “I scarcely think
that Ainsleigh is the man to act as a nurse.”
“Ah! You don't like him 2 ”
“I don't—candidly speaking, I don't. He's not
good enough for you.”
“In what way?” inquired Mrs. Brady calmly.
“Well, he's a bit of an adventurer, and also he takes
morphia. I hate talking of a fellow like this, Mrs.
Brady, and you know that it is not my custom to speak
so of those I know.” -
“Why not say of your friends?”
“Because Mr. Ainsleigh is no friend of mine.”
“Indeed! he speaks very well of you, Youle.”
“I mean that I am not a friend of Ainsleigh's.”
“Because he took morphia at one time 2"
“No. Not that exactly. But he did not—he did
not ”—Harold was about to mention that Gilbert had
neglected his first wife; but, being an honourable man,
he could not bring himself to say so. “Well, I can't
speak freely. All I want to know is this. Are you
going to marry Gilbert Ainsleigh 2 ”
“Nothing is settled, but I might.”
“But his first wife died so—”
“So terribly.” Mrs. Brady rose with a flushed face.
“I know that. I know all about that case. You are


104 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
engaged to that Miss Parsons who got the money, and
you are hunting down the assassin. Do you expect to
find him in Gilbert?"
"Oh, no." Harold hastened to dispel this idea.
"I myself saw him asleep in a summer-house at the end
of the garden when the crime was committed. He is
innocent."
"Then who is guilty?"
Harold shrugged his shoulders. "I really can't say."
"Have you found out nothing?"
"Nothing. So far as I have gone the case stands
thus "—and he explained everything, even to the find-
ing of the monk's dress and the recovery of the hood.
"What do you make of it?" he asked Mrs. Brady,
when his recital was ended.
She had kept her eyes on him the whole time he
was speaking in a most embarrassing manner, but had
not said one word likely to reveal what she thought.
When he ended, she threw herself back in her chair and
produced a cigarette. "Will you have one?" she
asked, passing the case. "They are Turkish."
Youle mechanically took the little roll of paper, and
struck a match to light Mrs. Brady's cigarette and his
own. "What do you think of it all?" he repeated,
when the smoke was perfuming the air.
"I think that you will never learn the truth," she
said slowly.
"I think so myself," he confessed. "Yet this Spar-
row seems to be a clever detective."
"Even the cleverest detectives are not superhuman,"
she retorted. "I advise you to give up searching."
"Personally, I have no intention of searching. I go
to South America next week, and will probably remain
absent for a year. At the end of that time I return to


io6 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Let me advise you not to," said Youle emphatic-
ally. "I don't trust Ainsleigh's reformation. He may
return to the drug yet, and then what would your life
be?"
"What I made it," she exclaimed impetuously.
"You must think me a very feeble woman, Youle. I
know how to deal with this man, and—I—I—well, I
like him."
"Do you love him? for without love there can be
no happiness."
Mrs. Brady flung her half-smoked cigarette away,
and struck her hands pettishly together. "Yes, I do
love him," she said. "I know that he is not a good
man and all the rest of it, but I love him. Are you
answered?"
"Yes," said Youle, rising and taking up his silk
hat, " and I like you sufficiently to be very sorry to hear
it."
"Would you say that to Gilbert himself?"
"I would, and much more into the bargain. You
don't suppose for one moment that I would not?"
"No." She looked at him with admiration. "You
are a man, Youle—quite a real, true man. I hope you'll
be happy in your marriage. I am not yet engaged, you
see, and perhaps never may be, although on the whole
I think I shall. Don't let us talk any more about the
matter. Leave Gilbert to me. I know how to deal
with him. As to Tony—we may as well end the con-
versation where we began—I don't want him to marry
this Pitsea girl. He's a fool. Can't you make him give
up this girl?"
"What influence have I with Tony?" asked Harold
carelessly. "All I can do is to take Tony with me to
South America next week. I want someone to illustrate


A PUZZLING LETTER. 107
a projected book of travels, and I think he is good
enough to do what I require. But he won't come."
"He will come," said Mrs. Brady firmly. "I'll see
to that. Call again in a few days, and I'll talk to you
about Tony. Also I should like you to meet Gilbert."
"Very well, only"
"You'll be rude to him. No, I won't have it."
"I'll be civil enough," said Youle drily, "but if he
is going to engage himself to you, I really think he
might wait for a few months. The late Mrs. Ains-
leigh"
"I hate the late Mrs. Ainsleigh," flashed out Mrs.
Brady, her face clouding. "Don't talk to me about that
woman."
"Ah, I see now that you love Gilbert," said Youle
with a shrug, " and in that case there is nothing left for
me to say. Who can argue with a woman who thinks
her goose a swan?"
"It is none of your business," Mrs. Brady reminded
him haughtily.
"No—only I am sorry." And with that he took
his leave.
It did not seem to Youle that he had gained much
by his visit. He had certainly learned that Mrs. Brady
loved Gilbert and intended to marry him, although the
pair were not yet engaged. But he was quite sure that,
fine woman as Mrs. Brady was, Gilbert did not love her.
He had lost the money of his first wife, and now he
was trying to get a fortune with the second. Youle
assuredly did not suspect Gilbert of having anything
to do with the murder of Mrs. Ainsleigh, and yet he
wondered that Mrs. Brady could have the courage to
marry him. Moreover, she seemed very certain that
nothing would be discovered regarding the murder. It


109
CHAPTER XL
ALIX GIVES HER REASON.
THE inexplicable letter from Alix made Youle as angry
as a usually self-controlled man well could be. Two
months previously he had left her with the understand-
ing that she would remain true to him, and that nothing
would come between them during his absence. Yet
even before he had gone to South America, she sud-
denly broke the engagement and without assigning any
reason. Such a thing was not to be borne by a high-
spirited man, and the next morning Harold was on his
way to Blastorne, with the full determination to learn
why Alix acted in so strange a manner. Seeing that she
was now rich and had developed a firm character, he
did not think that her father had influenced her in any
way. And since that she loved him truly, Harold could
not think that mere caprice had dictated the refusal to
marry him. The affair, as he decided, must be sifted
thoroughly; therefore did he make up his mind to de-
mand an explanation.
On alighting at Helstone, he stepped out of the
railway station, only to meet Old Barnacles face to face.
The cart of the ancient, a queer vehicle with a hood,
and drawn by an old white pony, was close at hand, and
near this stood the sailor handing out potted plants
to a porter. Doubtless he was on business at the
station, and was disposing of the goods in which he


IIo THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
dealt. On seeing Harold, his dull, wrinkled face lighted
up, and he touched his hat.
“Muster Youle,” said Old Barnacles, “this is a sight
for sore eyes, to be sure. And how may you be finding
yourself, sir?”
“Quite well. And you, Barnacles?”
The ancient salt scratched what remained of his
hair. “I be vexed, Muster Youle, because of our young
lady.”
“Miss Parsons?” asked Harold, wondering what
had happened.
“Surely. A fine handsome young lady, and as bright
as the dawn. She comes to see me, and talk of old
Madam as is dead and gone, saying I shall have my bit
of money till I goes to the churchyard. Aye, Muster
Youle, these two months have she come, always gay
and merry-like—till a week ago.”
“What do you mean?”
“She's sad-like now, Muster Youle, and sits in my
cabin a-crying her pretty eyes as red as herrings. What
have you been doing, Master Youle 7"
“I?—why, nothing, Barnacles.”
“Aye, but there's something she's vexed about,
Muster Youle, and you being going to marry her.
'Tis a quarrel of lovers, if I may make bold to say
so.”
“Nothing of the sort, Barnacles. I have not seen
her for two months.”
Old Barnacles feebly slapped his thigh. “And that's
why she cried, Muster Youle. What for should you
leave the sweet rose, Muster Youle, and let him as mar-
ried old Madam foller her here, there, and all over the
place, as her swain P”
Harold started. “I am engaged to Miss Parsons,


ii2 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Some un as I knows," said Barnacles sullenly, and
suddenly contrived to slip the letter into the box.
"Then you know someone called Captain Orlando,"
cried Youle excitedly. "I saw that much of the address
when the letter was on the ground; but the last name,
the surname—what is it?"
"I ain't a-goin' to tell, Muster Youle."
"You must tell, Barnacles. Mrs. Ainsleigh said in
an unfinished letter that someone called Orlando uttered
threats. He was the sailor who visited her, as Unwin
thinks. You saw that man, as you told me, and you
denied knowing him. Now you send a letter to him."
"It was given to me to send, Muster Youle."
"Who gave it to you?"
"I shan't say," retorted the old sailor, climbing into
his cart. "You ain't got no right to ask questions."
"I have. I mean to learn who killed Mrs. Ainsleigh,
and you know."
"I dunno—I dunno."
"You do. This Orlando, if not guilty himself, knows
who murdered the poor woman. Give me his address."
"I dunno. I can't read nor write, Muster Youle."
"The person who gave you the letter to post must
have told you the name of Captain Orlando—his last
name, I mean. Also the person might have mentioned
the address."
"No, sir! I niver heard naught, I didn't. Post this
letter, was the order, and posted it I have, so good day
to you, Muster Youle."
Old Barnacles shook the reins, and the aged pony
started away at a slow amble. Harold did not seek to
detain the man, as now all his aim was to learn the
address on the letter. Could Captain Orlando—as
Youle called him, because he did not know his surname


ALIX GIVES HER REASON. 113
—be found, he might be able to explain why he had
called during that fatal week, and perhaps might be
able to throw some light on the execution of what
seemed to be a purposeless crime. Harold tried to open
the pillar-box, but, needless to say, did not succeed.
Then he walked rapidly to see the station-master. This
individual proved to be a grumpy person, who had no
power to give up the letter.
"Nothing as is put in, comes out," said the stern
official, "but if the post-mistress as is in Blastorne
village says as you can look at the letter, why, that's
her business, and not mine."
"But I tell you the production of this letter may
lead to the detection of the man who killed Mrs. Ains-
leigh."
"That's got to do with the authorities," snapped the
man, and with this Harold was forced to be content.
He knew well that the postal authorities would not pass
over any letter to a stranger, but under the circum-
stances he thought that a point might be stretched.
Without another word, he walked to Blastorne, and
interviewed the post-mistress. She was a cheery, bright
little woman, and her sympathies were quite with Youle.
"But I don't see what I can do, sir," said she
brightly. "We have nothing to do with the station
posting here. You must ask at the Helstone post
office"
Harold struck his hands together angrily. It was
five miles to Helstone, and having walked that distance
once he did not feel inclined to return. However, the
post-mistress of Blastorne was right. The Helstone
authorities were the people to apply to, if he wanted a
sight of the letter. He went to the "Blastorne Arms,"
and hired a horse, then rode under whip and spur to
I


U4 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
the town. Here, on making inquiries, he found that he
had lost his fish. The postal bag had been made up,
and was on its way to town. "If I only had driven that
five miles at first," thought Youle, much vexed, " or had
thought of going to the Helstone office! Now there is
no chance unless the London postal authorities will
show me the letter. Shall I go to town?"
After some reflection, he decided that he would not,
and indeed it seemed to be something of a wild-goose
chase. By the time he reached London the letter would
probably have been sent out along with the others to
whatever district it was directed. Then there would
be all manner of red-tape officialism likely to prevent
his attaining his object. On the whole, it seemed best
to question Old Barnacles. True, the old man said that
he could not read, and therefore would not be able to
say what address or n?.me was on the envelope of the
mysterious letter; but at least he might be forced to
state who had given it to him to post, and the person
who had written it might be compelled to repeat the
contents, and also reveal the whereabouts of this mys-
terious Captain Orlando. Having made up his mind
to this course, Harold rode back to Blastorne. He did
not consult Inspector Unwin at Helstone, as he wished
to keep the matter, for the present at all events, in his
own hands. It just struck him that Alix might have
written the letter, and have given it to Barnacles to post
at Helstone, so that gossip might be avoided at Blas-
torne. So far as Youle knew, Alix was not acquainted
with Captain Orlando, but the fact of her having been
lately tearful in Barnacles' house, along with the post-
ing of the letter and her refusal to marry him, hinted
that she had learned of something connected with the
crime while he was absent which had altered her atti-


ALIX GIVES HER REASON. 115
tude towards him. The case was becoming more diffi-
cult at each discovery, and Harold tried to puzzle out
the affair as he raced for Blastorne. Needless to say,
under existing circumstances he could gain no clue.
At the "Blastorne Arms" he put up his horse, and
engaged a room for the night. He wished to remain
in the village and again see Old Barnacles, to learn if
possible whether Alix had given him the letter to post.
Alix herself certainly would not confess that she had
done so, even to her lover, since Youle felt certain that
her breaking of the engagement was connected with
the crime in some way. However, he could come to no
conclusion until he saw her, and walked to the Grange
as soon as he hadt made his arrangement for a night's
lodging with Mrs. Push, the landlady of the " Blastorne
Arms." As he walked, he felt his brain whirling with
the multiplicity of thoughts therein, and small wonder.
The present aspect of the case would have puzzled
Solomon himself.
Harold had not intimated that he would come to
Blastorne, and Alix was surprised to see him. The foot-
man conducted him to the parlour wherein Mrs. Ains-
leigh had met with her tragic death, and here Youle
found the girl looking pale and ill. According to cus-
tom, he had sent up his card, and this lay on the floor
torn into two pieces. He pointed to them with a stern
face. "Does that show your present state of mind?" he
said, without preamble.
"Why have you come—oh, why have you come?"
This was all she could say, clasping and unclasping her
hands meanwhile. Youle was shocked to see how ill
she looked. Formerly she was inclined to be plump,
but now her clothes hung loosely upon her. Her face was
perfectly white with emotion, her eyes were red, and


I 16 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
her mouth quivered as she tried to control her feelings.
All the man in Harold rose up to protect and soothe
her, in the inexplicable sorrow which seemed to possess
her.
“Dear,” he said, coming towards her and trying to
take her hand.
She drew back and waved him aside. “No 1 No!
You must not.”
“Alix, I do not understand.”
“There is no need that you should You will never
understand.”
Youle's face grew stern again. “I shall understand,
and you must explain, my dear,” he said, keeping his
eyes on her changing face.
“I cannot—I dare not.”
“Has this new attitude of yours to do with the
murder P”
She made no reply, but sank into a chair and covered
her face with two shaking white hands. Then again
came the cry of her heart, “Oh, why have you come
—why have you come P”
“I came to ask for an explanation.”
“I cannot give you one,” she replied, in muffled
tones.
“You must reply.”
“No | No | *
“Alix,” Harold's voice was hard and unsympathetic
as he spoke, “when I left you two months ago, you pro-
mised that nothing should come between us. Now you
break our engagement. I demand to know why.”
“I cannot tell you.”
Youle sprang forward, and taking her hands, re-
moved them forcibly from her face. “Look me in the
eyes,” he said roughly. “Tell me the truth. Your re-


ALIX GIVES HER REASON. 117
fusal to complete our engagement has to do with the
death of Mrs. Ainsleigh P”
“I can't tell you.” She breathed again faintly.
“Perhaps I can tell you,” he said angrily. “You
have learned in some way who this Captain Orlando is,
and know that he has to do with the death of Mrs. Ains-
leigh. Therefore did you write that letter and give it
to Old Barnacles to post.”
Alix took away her hand in a gust of passion. “I
don't know what you mean by that,” she said loudly.
“I know nothing about the man you call Captain Or-
lando, and I wrote no letter.”
“Then who did? One was posted by Old Bar-
nacles.” And Harold detailed the episode of the after-
noon. She listened with every appearance of surprise,
but made no comment. “Has this to do with your re-
fusal to marry me?” he asked, finding that she remained
silent.
Alix shook her head. “I cannot marry you. But
I know nothing of this man, nor did I write any
letter.”
“Well, then, we'll dismiss that,” said Harold quietly,
“but you must have some reason for your refusal.”
“It is one I cannot tell you.”
“You shall.”
“I shall not.”
The two faced one another, both pale, both ex-
tremely angry. Youle was a strong man, and hitherto
had always controlled Alix easily. But now he found
that she was as determined as himself. From being a
gentle, timid girl, she had suddenly developed into a
stern, hard woman. “I shall not!” she reiterated firmly,
and met his piercing gaze with defiance, born of being
driven into a corner.


n8 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Youle tried another tack. "Gilbert Ainsleigh has
been here!"
"He has been stopping at the 'Blastorne Arms,'"
said Alix coldly, "and he has every right to stop here
if he chooses."
"But he has not every right to walk with you, seeing
that you are engaged to me," cried Youle, white to the
lips with passion, but controlling himself in a most
praiseworthy manner.
"Who said that he did?"
"Old Barnacles. You went to his cottage; you
walked with Ainsleigh constantly. You were, as the old
man said, lover-like."
"It is not true. I hate Gilbert Ainsleigh."
"Then why walk with him? Come, Alix "—he tried
again to take her hand, and again she avoided him—
"tell me the meaning of this mysterious change on your
part."
"I tell you I cannot," she cried, and wrung her hands.
"Then I will seek an explanation from Gilbert Ains-
leigh."
"He will give you none."
"Then the explanation has to do with him?"
"I don't see what business that is of yours, Mr.
Youle," said the girl doggedly. "I am not engaged to
you now."
"You are. I decline to give you up."
"I am not," she insisted . "I am engaged to"
"Engaged to What do you mean?"
"I am engaged to Gilbert Ainsleigh."


--
------- - --
-- *-------


119
CHAPTER XII.
AN AMAZING REVELATION.
YoULE recoiled, and stared at her. Before his fiery
gaze Alix shrank back, trying to steel herself to endure
it, but without success; for after a few moments she
again sat down and concealed her face.
"You must be mad," said Harold at last. "Gilbert
Ainsleigh! Why, his wife has only been dead two
months."
"We will not marry for a year."
Harold burst out into a torrent of passionate words
"Shameless!" he cried vehemently. "How can you
speak in this way? Mrs. Ainsleigh was good to you—
she was your best friend; she left you her money, and
yet, before she is cold in her grave, you propose to
marry her husband—the man who broke her heart.
Oh, Alix, how bitterly I have been deceived in you!"
She shrank again before his righteous anger. "I
cannot defend myself, Harold," she muttered faintly.
"That means you will not trust me?"
"I cannot." She made an effort to assert herself.
"There is nothing to tell you."
"There are many things. Why have you broken
our engagement? Why are you engaged to Ainsleigh?
Why will you not tell me the truth? Alix," he went on
vehemently, " there is something strange about all this—
something wicked if it has to do with Gilbert Ainsleigh,
and"


AN AMAZING REVELATION. 121
"Because I choose to," she said, defiantly.
"We are working round to the beginning of our con-
versation, Alix. I do not know the meaning of all these
things; but I mean to learn."
"You know that I cannot marry you, and that I
intend to become the wife of Gilbert, when the period
of mourning has expired," said Alix obstinately.
"You dare to tell me this?"
"Yes!"
The word dropped curtly from her lips, and Harold
looked more puzzled than ever. He could not believe
that this stern, defiant woman was the gentle girl he
loved, and who hitherto had said that she loved him.
"Your father is forcing you to do this?"
"No. My father does not know that my engage-
ment is broken. He does not know that I am to marry
Gilbert."
"You shall never marry him."
"I must—I must—I must."
"Alix," Harold had hitherto kept himself well in
hand, but now all the love of his heart surged to his
lips, "my dearest, surely you will not ruin my life by
casting me aside? You do not even give a reason.
You love me—I know you love me. Even while you
speak so coldly, so cruelly, I know that you love me.
Love sits in your eyes, try as you may to drive him
away. You dare not look me in the face and say that
you do not love me."
Alix tried to meet his eyes, but failed. Twice she
tried to speak, then dashed forward her hands with a
passionate gesture. "Go! Go!" she cried faintly.
"You are killing me—you are "she broke off and
ran to the door. Before he could intercept her she
had opened it and passed through. In a moment


122 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Harold was in the passage following her, but she sped
as rapidly as her failing strength would let her in the
direction of her bedroom. Youle halted some way
down the corridor, and heard the door slam. It sounded
like the knell of his doom. He stood fixed where he
was for quite five minutes in the hope that a revulsion
of feeling would make her rejoin him. Then he turned
away with a heavy sigh. The sunshine of life had
vanished, and he could see no reason why the clouds
had come. Yet there they were overhead, growing
darker and more menacing every moment.
Like a man in a dream he took his way down the
stairs, and in the hall brushed against Tuckle. The
boy, more pasty-faced and shrewd than ever, looked
at him keenly. "Ain't you well, sir?" he asked
boldly.
Youle put the lad aside and opened the front door
himself, as the footman was not within hearing. Then
he suddenly recollected that he might learn something
from the father of the woman who had thrown him over.
"Where is Dr. Parsons ?" he asked Tuckle.
"He went to the village, sir," said the boy, " and may
be back at any minute, Mr. Youle."
"Ask him to call at the ' Blastorne Arms ' this even-
ing," said Youle, descending the steps. "I wish to see
him." Then, without waiting for a reply, he walked
down the avenue.
Tuckle stared after him with a cunning expression.
Then he took out a half sheet of paper from his pocket
upon which some words were scrawled in pencil. After
reading this, the lad nodded his head twice in a satisfied
manner, and slipped the paper again into his pocket,
with a shrill whistle. Afterwards he proceeded to the
kitchen with so gleeful a face that he was rebuked by


AN AMAZING REVELATION. 123
Thomson the butler, who had no love for the too-clever
London lad.
Youle was fortunate enough to meet Dr. Parsons at
the gate. The old man was trotting along, doing his
breathing exercise, and counting aloud at the conclusion
of every breath. He seemed surprised to meet Youle,
but welcomed him with a smile.
"I have found out a new thing," he said confi-
dentially, and without any preliminary greeting; "we
are made of atoms, and the spirit body controls those
atoms. I really am a spirit walking about in an over-
coat, and therefore I can never be ill."
Youle stared at him, not comprehending this lucid
address. Parsons, seeing that he did not understand,
was about to begin again, when he noticed the haggard
looks of the visitor. "You look ill, Youle. I hope
you and Alix have not quarrelled?"
"That would please you, I should think," said Youle
sarcastically.
"No, no!" replied the doctor briskly. "I have had
time to reconsider my determination regarding the well-
being of Alix. I am now quite content that she should
marry you."
"She is not content, however, Dr. Parsons. As she
has not told you herself, I can tell you"
"Tell me what?"
"That the engagement you disapprove of is at an
end."
"You are not going to marry Alix?" asked Parsons,
turning red.
"I can scarcely do that, seeing she has engaged
herself to your friend, Gilbert Ainsleigh."
The doctor turned so white that Harold thought he
was about to faint. He staggered against the iron gates


124 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
and seemed to collapse. "That is the price," he mut-
tered under his breath, but not so low that Youle did
not hear him.
"It is the price of something, which Alix refuses to
describe. Perhaps you can enlighten me."
"No! I know nothing. Ainsleigh has been here,
and certainly he has always been attracted by Alix.
But why he should ask her to marry him I cannot
say."
"Humph! Can you say why she, who loves me,
should accept Ainsleigh?"
"No, no!" said the doctor, wiping his bald forehead.
"Then what about the article for which the price
you mention, has to be paid?"
Parsons looked confused, then suddenly rallied under
the influence of a new thought. "Ainsleigh intended to
dispute the will," he said briskly, "but instead of going
to law he and Alix have made up their minds to marry,
and so settle the matter. She never told me anything of
this, however."
"So she said."
"I am very sorry for you, Youle," went on the doctor
pompously, " but you can see for yourself that it is better
Alix should marry and avoid litigation."
"I can see that she is marrying the husband of the
woman who loved her," cried Youle vehemently, "and
when that woman is not yet cold in her grave. You are
selling your daughter to a dishonourable marriage, so as
to keep this money."
"I have nothing to do with the matter," stammered
the doctor, uneasily.
"According to Alix you have not," responded Harold
bitterly. "All the same, I do not believe in your ex-
planatioa You may call the retention of the money by


126 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
she might explain the behaviour of Old Barnacles, and,
since Gilbert had stopped at the inn, she might tell
Youle more about him than Mr. Ainsleigh would choose
to have known. And this she did, touching on a topic
which Youle had forgotten.
"I never did like Mr. Ainsleigh," chatted the plump
landlady, when Harold was sipping his coffee. "Old
Madam was foolish to marry him."
"It was a love-match, Mrs. Push."
The landlady tossed her head . "Folks may call it so,
Mr. Harold"—so she called Youle, remembering his
boyhood—" but it's my opinion that he loves no one but
himself—and perhaps another woman," she added.
"Another woman?" Harold suddenly thought of
Mrs. Brady, and wondered why he had forgotten to tell
Alix that Ainsleigh was practically engaged to that lady.
"Of course, I have no right to say anything, and I
wouldn't say it to anyone but you, Master Harold. But
old Madam is now in her vault, poor soul, so no harm can
come of my saying that Mr. Ainsleigh met here a very
fine lady—yes, he did, look as you may, Master Harold.
And he met her on the very Sunday when his poor wife
was killed."
"What was the lady's name?" asked Youle quickly.
"I can't tell you that, sir," said Mrs. Push. "I tried
to find out, but she was too clever for me. She drove
over here on that Sunday afternoon in a motor-car from
Gravesend—about five o'clock it was. Mr. Ainsleigh,
who looked very ill"
"The drug," murmured Youle. "Go on, Mrs. Push."
"Well, he was evidently watching for her, for he
was having drinks here for an hour before she came.
He helped her down and took her into the parlour—yes,
into this very room, Master Harold. There they talked


AN AMAZING REVELATION. 127
for quite an hour. Then the lady went away in the car,
and Mr. Ainsleigh returned to the Grange with a
parcel."
"What kind of a parcel?"
"It was done up in brown paper. I don't know what
it was. I expect the lady brought it, as he had no parcel
when he was waiting."
"Humph!" said Harold, wondering what the parcel
contained, but not attaching much importance to it.
"Can you describe the lady?"
"I didn't see her face, Master Harold, as she wore a
very thick veil, which didn't make me think any the more
of her, I can tell you. What right had a married man
like Mr. Ainsleigh to meet a strange lady secretly, as you
might say, when his lawful wife was crying her heart out
at home? Oh, I know well Mr. Ainsleigh was wicked to
old Madam. I know a great deal that goes on, I can tell
you, Master Harold."
Harold passed this speech over. "Was the lady
tall?"
"Tall, and with a fine figure—rather stout, too.
Beautifully dressed and with a rich, soft voice. Her
hair was black, and I think she was older than she
looked, as there was dye on her hair. And she had
bright eyes, too," babbled Mrs. Push, "for I saw them
sparkling through her veil, and What's the mat-
ter?" she broke off as the waiter looked in at the door.
"Beg pardon, mum, but that boy Tuckle wants to see
Mr. Youle."
"Will you see him?" asked the landlady, looking at
her guest.
"Oh, yes," replied Youle, wondering why the boy
had come. "Perhaps he may have a message for me
from Miss Parsons."


128 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Bless her heart," said Mrs. Push, and walked out to
send in Tuckle.
While waiting, Harold rapidly turned over in his
mind what she had said. Without doubt, from the vivid
description given by the landlady, it was Mrs. Brady who
had called at the inn, and who had given a parcel to
Gilbert Ainsleigh. And on the very day of the murder,
too. Why had she come? What were the contents of
the parcel? Before Harold could find an answer to these
questions, Tuckle, smartly dressed and with a flower in
his buttonhole, appeared.
"What's the matter?" asked Youle when the door
was closed.
"I've come to see you," said the lad coolly.
"With a message from Dr. Parsons?"
"No, sir. I never gave him your message."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because—well, sir, I've come to tell you that."
Tuckle looked so cunning as he spoke that Youle
longed to box his ears. But apparently he had some-
thing important to say, since he was swelling his little
body like that of the frog in the fable. Harold nodded
assent, thinking that he might learn something helpful
regarding the murder. Tuckle was so shrewd a lad that
he well might have taken note of some circumstances
likely to have escaped the dull country servants who
formed the Grange establishment
.
"Well?"
"I want money, sir," said Tuckle, slapping his leg
with a smart cane.
"Why do you come to me for it?" demanded Youle
sharply.
"I don't come to you exactly, sir. It's that thousand
pounds I want you to help me to get."


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AN AMAZING REVELATION. 129
"Do you mean the reward for the detection of Mrs.
Ainsleigh's assassin?"
Tuckle nodded. "I can earn it," he declared, leering.
Harold, who had been lounging back in a comfortable
chair, looked up and sat up with great vivacity. "Do
you mean to say that"
"That I know who killed missus? Yes, I do, sir."
"Why didn't you say so at the inquest?"
"I wasn't certain. And," added the boy with a grin,
"there wasn't no money offered."
"Oh, you waited for that, did you?"
"In part, sir; but I wasn't quite certain. Now I am,
and I've come to tell you, if you'll promise to get me the
thousand pounds."
"Miss Parsons offers that reward. Why not tell
her?"
Tuckle leered again, and looked more cunning than
ever. "She wouldn't like it, Mr. Youle—not she."
"I don't understand your meaning."
"Promise me that I'll get the thousand pounds, and
I'll tell you, sir."
"If you can tell me the name of the man who mur-
dered Mrs. Ainsleigh I can certainly promise that you
will get the reward. Miss Parsons wishes to learn who
killed her friend."
"She'll be sorry when she does, sir, and then
mightn't pay the money; so that's why I come to you,
Mr. Youle."
"Come to the point," commanded Harold sharply,
and with a vague feeling of uneasiness. "You shall
have the money as soon as the murderer is convicted
Now, who killed Mrs. Ainsleigh?"
"Dr. Parsons killed her," said Tuckle coolly, "and
I can prove it."
J


CHAPTER XIII.
THE MISSING RING.
"YOU young liar," said Harold, after a moment's pause
of sheer astonishment. "You made this story of the
doctor's guilt up out of your head, so as to get the
reward."
"Well, sir," replied Tuckle insolently, "if it ain't
true I don't get the reward—see?"
Youle took the boy by the shoulders and looked into
his sharp grey eyes. Tuckle met the young man's look
fairly and squarely. Whatever trickery he might be up
to, Harold judged that the boy was fully persuaded of
Parsons' guilt. He neither cast down his eyes nor red-
dened, but met Youle's gaze with the innocent look ol
a cherub. After a minute Youle pushed the lad roughly
into a chair, and sat down opposite to him, with his eyes
on his face. "Tell me all about it."
"Wouldn't it be better to tell the police, sir?" said
Tuckle significantly, and leering again. "I might get
the reward quicker."
"You won't get it at all, unless you tell me every-
thing."
"Oh, my eye, what a jolly shame! But I think, Mr.
Youle, that the young missus would give more than a
thousand pounds for me to hold my tongue, sir."
"You're a blackmailer in embryo, Tuckle. Go on.
On what grounds do you accuse Dr. Parsons?"
"The dead missus was killed at half-past nine, sir."
Harold nodded, remembering how he had heard the


THE MISSING RING. 131
clock strike while he was trying to open the door.
"Half-past nine," he admitted.
"And Dr. Parsons was then supposed to be in the
billiard-room, sir?"
"He was in the billiard-room. Miss Parsons and
myself heard him knocking the balls about when we went
into the garden."
"Oh, yes, sir, he was there right enough then," went
on Tuckle, leering impudently; "both before and after
the murder he was there, so as he'd have an excuse
when questions were asked. But he left the billiard-
room to strangle the dead missus, and asked me to get
his cigar-holder, so as to make it right."
"If I remember rightly," said Harold, recalling the
conversation he had with this imp immediately after the
committal of the crime, " he asked you to get the cigar-
holder at twenty minutes past nine?"
"You might say a quarter-past, sir. I mistook the
time by five minutes, as I was looking for the cigar-
cutter"
"Well, let us say a quarter-past nine. Mrs. Ainsleigh
was killed at half-past. I met you at twenty to ten. In
the interval, so you say, Dr. Parsons murdered your
mistress."
"He did, sir. Twasn't a long time, sir. But say he
had the monk's dress in the bflliard-room: all the ser-
vants were at supper in the hall, so all Dr. Parsons had
to do was to slip on the dress immediately I went for the
cigar-cutter at a quarter-past nine. He got to the
parlour say at twenty-five past, and killed the missus at
half-past."
"Humph! It is not improbable. Miss Parsons and
myself saw the struggle taking place some five minutes
before the half-hour. Well?"


132 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Well, then, sir, he locked the door on you, slipped
down to the billiard-room, and was knocking the balls
about once more when I met you on the stairs at twenty
to ten."
"But the dress—how could he dispose of the dress
meanwhile?"
"I believe he shoved that outside the window of the
billiard-room, and when you set him to watch Mr.
Ainsleigh sleeping, sir, he could come back and get it.
Then he hid it up a tree. It was found up a tree, if you
remember, sir."
"Yes. But this is all theory, Tuckle. You might
have explained it at the inquest."
"I wasn't sure, sir."
"And why are you sure now?"
Tuckle fumbled in his pocket and brought out a
small gold cross. "Do you know that, sir?"
Harold inspected it closely. "I think the doctor
wore some such cross at his watch-chain."
"He hasn't got it now, sir. I found that in the room,
when you set me to watch the body of dead missus. It
must have been torn off in the struggle."
"Wait a moment," said Youle coolly. "Dr. Parsons
—as you say—wore a monk's dress to commit the crime.
Therefore the dead woman could not have torn off this
cross if it hung on his watch-chain."
"Thr dress might have been open at the breast, sir.
And you saw that the struggle was a long one."
"True!" Harold thought for a moment. "Why
didn't you state this at the inquest?"
"I wasn't sure who wore the cross, sir, as I didn't
remember seeing it on Dr. Parsons' watch-chain. Then
the day after the murder, he said he had lost the cross.
Then I made sure that he was guilty."


THE MISSING RING. 133
"If guilty he would scarcely ask after the cross."
"He perhaps didn't know where he dropped it, sir.
But he did in the parlour, when he killed the missus."
"Tuckle, you learned that the cross belonged to Dr.
Parsons before the inquest, as you acknowledged just
now."
"Yes, sir," admitted the lad calmly, "but there
weren't no reward offered. You see, sir, I want to
marry," and Tuckle threw back his spare shoulders with
the air of a conquering Don Juan.
"At your age?" asked Harold sceptically.
"She's called Julianna Smithers," said Tuckle
seriously; "a fine woman of thirty, sir, and she lives at
Pitsea."
"And you are fifteen. Crabbed age and youth
indeed, Tuckle."
The boy looked sulky, not liking the chaff. "She
and me love one another, Mr. Youle, and age ain't got
nothing to do with it. I'm tired of service, so I thought
if I could get money I'd marry Julianna and start a fried-
fish shop near mother's, in Whitechapel. That's why I
waited till a reward was offered, and if you won't give it
to me I'll go to the police."
Harold saw that prompt measures must be taken with
this precocious youth, and walked to the door. "Go,"
said he, throwing it open, "and I'll see that you don't
get one shilling."
Tuckle's jaw fell. "Miss Parsons promised one
thousand pounds if the murderer was found," he whim
pered.
"But not if the murderer proved to be her father.
Well, will you go to Inspector Unwin, or wait till I
arrange the matter?"
Tuckle sat down again promptly. Harold's firmness


134 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
had a great effect on him. "I'll wait for you, Mr.
Youle."
"Very good. Now the theory you put forward as to
Dr. Parsons murdering Mrs. Ainsleigh is plausible, but
it won't hold water. To commit the crime Dr. Parsons
must have been very expeditious indeed, and in my
opinion he is too old and indolent a man to move with
such rapidity. Then, if he lost the cross during the
struggle, he must have guessed as much, and therefore
would not inquire about it. I shall turn the matter over
in my mind, and meanwhile you can hold your tongue."
"For how long, sir?" inquired the boy gloomily.
"For as long as I please. I am returning to town,
and"
"Won't you run the doctor in first, sir?"
"No. At present, if guilty, he has no idea that he
is suspected by you or anyone. Therefore, he will not
run away. I have to see someone in town regarding the
case, and when I return in a few days I'll see what the
doctor has to say."
"He'll lie."
"Perhaps you have lied, also, Tuckle. I don't trust
you."
"And this is what a cove gets for being honest,"
grumbled the injured boy. "Oh, my eye, what's the use
of being good?"
"Good, when you are trying to hang a man on in-
sufficient evidence just because you want money; also,"
added Harold, "you would get into trouble if you went
to Unwin, for not having made this statement at the
inquest. On the whole, Tuckle, you had better let me
arrange the matter. It will be the best for you in the
long run. And you needn't tell your thirty-year-old
flame that you anticipate setting her up in a fried-fish


THE MISSING RING. 135
shop, as I am by no means sure that you will get the
money."
"I'll hold my tongue, sir, but I call it very hard"
"Shut up, you imp," said Youle sharply. "You say
this Julianna lives at Pitsea. How, then, did you come
to meet her?"
"She's servant to an old lady called Mrs. Bendea-
vour, sir. Mr. Ainsleigh sent me there several times
with messages to the old lady, and there I saw Julianna."
"What were the messages?"
"I don't know—they were letters. Why do you ask,
sir?"
"Never mind," Harold pointed to the door; "you
can go now, and mind you hold your tongue, or I'll make
things extremely hot for you. I shall take charge of
this," continued Youle, and slipped the cross into his
pocket.
"Oh, my eyes," said the disgusted Tuckle, seeing
that he had made a mistake. "I wish I'd gone to the
police, I do."
"If you had, you would now be in gaol."
"I wouldn't!"
"Clear out, and don't be insolent."
Tuckle shuffled with his feet, and drew his sleeve
across two tearful eyes. He seemed disposed to howl,
but a look at Youle's firm and slightly angry face made
him change his mind. He departed, muttering some-
thing about the fried-fish shop and Julianna, and being
tricked out of his lawful gains. When the door closed
Harold finished his now cold coffee, lighted a cigar, and
thought over what he had been told.
He was more impressed by Tuckle's information
than he chose to admit, and therefore had bluffed the
boy into thinking that the discovery of the gold crags


THE MISSING RING. 137
upon his consent; but Mrs. Brady might make Gilbert
surrender the girl. Mrs. Brady was undoubtedly in
love with Gilbert, and would not tamely give him up.
Then again, she had been with Gilbert at this very
inn on the day of the murder. What was she doing
there?
"I'll go up and see Mrs. Brady to-morrow, and be-
fore I interview Parsons," soliloquised Youle, as he
turned in that night. "Alix apparently has not spoken
to her father about the engagement with Ainsleigh, but
the old man guesses it, from his remark about the price
to be paid—the price of Ainsleigh's silence, evidently.
If I tell Mrs. Brady that Ainsleigh is to marry Alix, she
will certainly cut up rough, and perhaps may say why
she came to the ' Blastorne Arms.' Humph! I wonder
what will be the end of all this?" And he fell asleep
trying to answer his own question.
People travel nowadays with the rapidity of the
genii in the Arabian tales. By noon next day Harold
presented himself at Mrs. Brady's house, and was shown
into the library. While waiting he beguiled the time in
strolling round the room, looking at the various photo-
graphs and playbills on the walls, all of which repre-
sented the triumphant theatrical career of Mrs. Brady.
In ten minutes he heard the door open, and turned to
greet his hostess; but the new-comer proved to be Gil-
bert Ainsleigh, who did not seem pleased to see the
young man. He looked thoroughly healthy, and there
was no sign of indulgence in morphia about him.
Harold thought what a fine animal he was, as he moved
forward with a forced smile, but without holding out his
hand.
"Hullo, Youle; you here?" he said, looking at the
visitor with hawk's eyes, and very steadily.


138 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Yes. I have come to luncheon with Mrs. Brady,
She is an old friend of mine."
"I know. She has often spoken to me about you.
I am just going off myself. Have you been at the
Grange lately?"
Harold was about to say that he had just come up,
and furthermore, felt inclined to ask Gilbert what he
meant by forcing Alix into marriage with him, when
he was paying attentions to Mrs. Brady. But this he
did not do, although it was on the tip of his tongue to
speak out. He felt instinctively that if he said a word,
Ainsleigh would be placed on his guard, and, moreover,
he judged it better to have the matter thrashed out with
Mrs. Brady before bringing the scamp on the scene.
"I have not been there for some time," said he care-
lessly, and forced himself to tell a diplomatic lie,
although he did not care to do so.
"I hear Miss Parsons is well, and that the doctor is
digging his grave with his teeth," said Ainsleigh, still
observant. "I stopped at the 'Blastorne Arms' for a
few days, and saw them for an hour or so. You are not
jealous, I hope?" he added, laughing affectedly.
"By no means," responded Youle coolly; "I trust
Miss Parsons in every way. She is thoroughly devoted
to me."
"Oh, yes, of course." Ainsleigh choked back
another laugh, and stretched out his hand. "Good-bye,
I'll see you again soon, I hope."
"I hope so. I am glad to see you looking so well
.
Have you?"
"Yes, I have," interrupted the other quickly. "I
have not touched the drug since the death of my poor
wife. Good-bye!" He seemed anxious to get away,
and still held out his right hand,


THE MISSING RING. 139
Youle had to take it, although he did not care to do
so, guessing what a scamp the man was, although he
had no reason to think he was guilty of murder. "What
have you done with the ring I gave you?" asked Youle
suddenly, and noting that it was not on Ainsleigh's little
finger as usual.
"I lost it," said Gilbert, quickly withdrawing his
hand. "I can't say where. In the confusion about the
Grange after my poor wife's death I must have taken it
off, and mislaid it. At all events, it is gone. Such a
nuisance, since the stone was unique. Will you give
me another stone, since you are the only person who has
this particular gem, if it can be called so?"
"I'll think it over," said Harold gravely, and quite
accepted Ainsleigh's explanation. It was possible that
in the confusion he had lost the ring, and the inquiry
made by Youle was merely done for the sake of talk-
ing. It was so difficult to speak to Gilbert about or-
dinary things, seeing that Harold wished with all his
heart to tax him with complicity in the murder.
Gilbert nodded, and went out whistling. Harold
looked after him with disgust, as he remembered that
the man's wife had been dead only a couple of months.
Then he turned to the first play-bill he saw, and read it
mechanically. It proved to be that of a poetic drama,
The Monk's Love, and amongst the characters was
one—the hero—a Cistercian monk. Harold stared. He
remembered that the disguise of the murderer was the
white dress of a Cistercian monk. And Mrs. Brady had
brought a parcel to the inn.


I40
CHAPTER XIV.
T H E P H O TO G R A P H.
HAROLD, staring on the old play-bill, did not hear the
door open, for his brain was trying to work out the con-
nection between the hero of the play and the presumed
ghost who had murdered Mrs. Ainsleigh. He remem-
bered how he had conjectured that that dress might be
from a theatrical wardrobe, and here on the bill he found
evidence that it might be so. And Mrs. Brady! What
had she to do with the matter? Why had she come
to the “Blastorne Arms” to meet Gilbert P. On the
impulse of the moment he turned to face her, inquiringly.
“When was this play produced P” he asked quickly.
Mrs. Brady looked rather surprised at his vehemence,
and cast a glance at the play-bill. She started when she
saw the title, but years of training on the stage enabled
her to master a momentary emotion. “I think two
years ago,” she said, coming closer; then ran a white
finger along the glass under which the play-bill was
framed. “Here is the date—two years and six months
ago. It was one of the last plays I produced—a very
fine piece. The blank verse was exceptionally good.
The author died young, poor boy; such a pity, as he
would have done great things. I wonder you did not
see the play. It was the talk of London.”
“I was in Africa at the time, Mrs. Brady”; he hesi-
tated, not wishing to be too explicit, as he did not know
how far he could venture without arousing her sus-


THE PHOTOGRAPH. 141
picions, if, indeed, she had anything to do with the
matter he had in his mind. “I see the hero was a Cis-
tercian monk.”
“Is a Cistercian monk,” corrected Mrs. Brady,
calmly; “plays never grow old in my mind. Yes. It is
a fine part, and the dress is very picturesque. One scene
was a monastery, and we had fifty monks on the stage
all in white. Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking of the monk's ghost at the Grange.”
“The Grangel Oh, yes; you mean the place where
poor Mr. Ainsleigh's wife died.”
“Poor Mrs. Ainsleigh, I think. She was murdered
by a ghost—the ghost of a Cistercian prior.”
“Ridiculous! As though ghosts could strangle any-
one ! I remember—the police had a theory that the
assassin masqueraded as a ghost.”
Harold bowed his head. “I think the theory is a
correct one. It is strange,” he added, with his eyes on
Mrs. Brady, “that the monks in your play should be
Cistercian also.”
She stared. “I fail to see the connection. All the
same, there is a connection.”
“What do you mean?”
“The author of the play was a protégé of the late
Mrs. Ainsleigh; Miss Blastorne she was then. He
stopped at the Grange and heard the legend. I believe
he took the idea of the play from the ghost.” She
looked at him keenly. “But I really don't know why
you are talking like this,” she added.
Youle laughed, and strove to quieten the suspicions
which she undoubtedly entertained. “The murder
keeps running in my head,” he said in a careless way.
“Mrs. Ainsleigh was a very dear friend of mine, and
the circumstances of her murder are so peculiar, being


142 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
a mixture of the natural and supernatural, that I can't
get them out of my mind. I recall the Cistercian
ghost at the Grange whenever I set eyes on this bill.”
“It is natural, I suppose,” said Mrs. Brady, and
rubbed her plump hands together; “but I wish you
would not talk of these horrors. Did you meet Gil-
bert?” she asked, sitting down.
“He was in here for a few minutes. By the way,
I hope you do not mind my asking myself to luncheon."
“Not at all, you are always welcome. But I notice,
my dear boy,” she laid a be-ringed hand on his shoulder,
“that you do not look well”
“Can you expect me to, when the girl I am engaged
to marry has thrown me over for someone else?”
“Miss Parsons?” Mrs. Brady sat up on the sofa
on which she had sat down, and her face grew hard
“Do you mean to say that she--”
“Yes, and not of her own free will either.”
“I don't exactly know what you mean?”
Harold shrugged his shoulders. “The explanation
is easy. After I left you the other day I returned to my
rooms to find a letter from Miss Parsons, saying that
our engagement was at an end.”
“And her reason P”
“She declined to give one, although I went down to
Blastorne to learn it, Mrs. Brady. However, she sup
plied me with one piece of information, which may ac-
count for her—shall I say caprice 2"
“No, don't call it caprice, if, as you say, she has
broken the engagement not of her own free will. Well,
and the reason P’’
“She is engaged to another man.”
Mrs. Brady gave an artificial laugh, and her face
grew still more hard as she grasped Harold's hand.


THE PHOTOGRAPH. I43
“She has lost no time in being on with the new love.
And the man's name 2"
“I think you can guess,” said Youle, bluntly.
Her face lighted up fiercely. “Don’t tell me that
Gilbert—”
“But I do. Miss Parsons stated that she was about
to marry Ainsleigh. So you see, Mrs. Brady, that he
will get his former fortune again with a younger wife.”
Mrs. Brady was a born actress, and, stung by the
implied slight, her histrionic powers asserted themselves.
The situation was too good to lose, although, to do the
woman justice, she was in deadly earnest. But acting
had become a second nature with her.
“He deserts me,” she hissed, literally hissed in the
most approved fashion of the penny novelist; “me—
who love him.”
“I did not gather at our last interview that you did,”
said Harold, admiring her graceful and powerful ges-
tures as she took the stage, or, in other words, swept up
and down the room.
“Love him—of course I love him. I adore him—l
worship him, and yet I know, as you do, that he is not
a good man.”
“I think he is a scamp of the worst, and you can tell
him so. Do you mean to say that he proposed to you?”
“He would have proposed had I let him.”
“Ah, then as you were not certain of your own
mind, he evidently grew weary waiting.”
“It was all but settled,” said Mrs. Brady, her face
darkening; “but he is not going to throw me over like
this. I did not have a happy life with my first husband,
but with Gilbert py
“You would have had one still more unhappy,” inter-


i44 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
rupted Youle; "he is a fortune-hunter, if nothing
worse."
"What do you mean by—if nothing worse?"
"I decline to say."
"If you mean that he murdered his first wife you are
wrong," cried Mrs. Brady rapidly; "why should he do
so and lose the money?"
"Humph! The money has come into the posses-
sion of a younger and more beautiful woman, whom he
intends to marry."
"And you will allow him to marry her?"
"I don't see how I can prevent her doing as she
pleases," said Harold, playing his fish. "I have no
power over her save that of love, and to love, for some
reason connected with Ainsleigh, she will not respond.
Therefore I came to you, thinking you might make
Ainsleigh break this preposterous engagement."
"Of course I shall," cried Mrs. Brady, her face
colouring and her bosom heaving; "he is plec]ged to
me. He gave me to understand plainly that he would
marry me, should his wife die."
"Oh, then he paid you attentions before Mrs. Ains-
leigh was murdered?"
"Don't harp on that, Youle," cried Mrs. Brady
fiercely; "that murder is getting on my nerves. Yes,
he did pay me attentions, and I laughed at him. That
was two years ago. Then he became piqued, and mar-
ried Miss Blastorne. When it was too late I knew that
I loved him." She struck her hands together theatric-
ally. "We parted for a time. He came and saw me
again, and I again fell under the spell of his voice. He
was married then. When Mrs. Ainsleigh was—well,
when she died—he came back, and it was understood
that when I said the word, he would ask me to be his


THE PHOTOGRAPH. 145
wife. Only to-day he spoke—he looked—oh!"—she
broke off, stamping her foot—" the man is a villain."
"I agree with you, and what such an intellectual
woman as you can see in that very fine animal I fail
to understand."
"Because I am a fool," said Mrs. Brady fiercely.
"All women are fools when they love. I could have
married many clever and wealthy men. I could do so
now in spite of my years; but for some reason I fell in
love with Ainsleigh. He is an animal, as you say, a
magnificent animal, and yet—and yet "—she struck her
breast three or four times—" I love him—I adore him—
I—oh, what fools we women are! But he shall not cast
me aside. Cast me—me who have had the town at my
feet. I'll see that he does not marry this pale-faced,
puny"
"Stop!" Harold rose quickly. "Remember you
speak of the girl whom I love, Mrs. Brady."
"She must be worthy of your love to desert you,"
she sneered.
"I believe she is being coerced"
"By Ainsleigh? Well "—she gave a hard laugh—
"he shall be coerced also. I'll see him this afternoon,
and make him surrender this girl."
"You won't find that easy. Ainsleigh has the ob-
stinacy of a mule."
Mrs. Brady laughed in an evil manner. "I can
manage him. Never fear."
"Do you mean to say that"
"I mean to say nothing." She went towards the
door and wrenched it open. "I can't ask you to stay
to luncheon now. I am all broken up with this news.
But rest assured that this marriage will never, never
take place, Youle."
K


146 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Harold sprang forward as she was leaving the room.
"I insist upon knowing how you intend to stop the
marriage," he said energetically.
Mrs. Brady shook him off. She looked double her
age, and her fine face was suddenly wrinkled as though
by magic. Even her stately figure seemed to dwindle
and shrink. "I shall say nothing," she said, between
her teeth, and theatrical to the last, "until," she looked
at the young man significantly, "until the time comes."
It was no use detaining her, as she certainly could
not be forced to speak. Already Harold had learned
the obstinacy of women, from his interview with Alix
Parsons. He therefore held the door open for her to
depart. Mrs. Brady placed her hand on her heart,
heaved a sigh, cast on her visitor an unutterable look of
woe, and made a most effective exit, which, had it been
on the stage, would have brought down the curtain
amidst thunders of applause. The one member of
a possible audience who witnessed the performance
shrugged his shoulder, and went to pick up his hat. Mrs.
Brady's assumption of a heartbroken woman was too
obvious to be enjoyable.
Youle began to think, and with good reason, that in
some way Mrs. Brady was connected with the death of
Mrs. Ainsleigh. She wanted to marry Gilbert, with whom
she had apparently coquetted before his marriage.
What was more likely than that she should wish the
elderly wife out of the way? If so, the question was,
would she be prepared to commit a crime to gain her
wish? And if she was so prepared, had she joined
forces with Ainsleigh to make Parsons strangle the old
lady? Evidently she knew how to intimidate Gilbert,
or she would scarcely be so certain that the match with
Alix would be broken off. This pointed to some know-


THE PHOTOGRAPH. 147
ledge on her part of Gilbert's complicity in the death of
his wife. But if Mrs. Brady was mixed up with the
matter, Gilbert would be able to defy her, since she
could not denounce him unless she denounced herself.
Harold half-regretted that he had not accused Mrs.
Brady of having been at the " Blastorne Arms" on the
day of the committal of the crime. But, on the whole,
he decided that he had done right in withholding his
knowledge on this point. Mrs. Brady was a wonderfully
clever woman, and would be perfectly well able to
wriggle herself free, unless he possessed such intelli-
gence as would prove her presence at the inn. Youle
decided to let Mrs. Brady fight the matter out with Gil-
bert, and then if the marriage with Alix did not take
place, Dr. Parsons, if guilty, would be betrayed by the
person—presumably Ainsleigh—who wished the daugh-
ter to pay the price of the father's safety.
"But I'll go and see Tony," said Youle, as he left
the bijou house, without his luncheon; "he may be able
to tell me where his mother was two months ago."
It seemed rather shabby, to make the boy talk about
his mother and practically betray her, but Youle was too
much bent upon discovering the truth and regaining his
beloved to waste much time in consideration of minor
details or nice points of conscience. He jumped into
a hansom, and drove to Bloomsbury, where Tony had a
studio. The young artist was within doors drawing a
picture for some sea story in a magazine. He met
Harold with dishevelled hair and an eager look on his
round boyish face.
"Come in, old chap," he said, shutting the door;
"it's not everyone I would see, but you're an exception.
I'm hard at work, illustrating 'The Captain's Child.'
It's running in the Trafalgar Magazine, and is all


148 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
about the sea. Look at that ”—Tony pointed to his
drawing—“that's a crew of respectable seamen turned
pirates. Ain't the faces good?”
“First rate,” assented Youle, casting himself into a
chair, and producing a cigarette; “yet you know
nothing about the sea.”
“Oh, but I got a photograph to work upon from
Captain Rug.”
“Who is he?” asked Harold, lighting up.
“The father of Mary Jane.”
“Oh, your girl.”
“Don’t talk of her in that flippant manner. She's an
angel.”
“Of course, until she marries.”
“You're an engaged man yourself, Youle, so you
shouldn't talk in that beastly way. I'll take you down
to Pitsea some day to see Mary Jane, and then you'll
lose your heart.”
“I hope not, for your sake, Tony. I might cut you
out.”
“Not much chance of that,” said Tony with scorn;
“she loves the very ground I walk upon.”
“Humph! I thought that was always the lover's
part of the business.”
“I don't know what you're talking about. I love her,
and she loves me, and in spite of what mother says, I'll
marry her, the darling.”
“Has Mrs. Brady seen her?”
“No” Tony declaiming his wrongs unconsciously
betrayed what Youle wished to know. “Mother was
down in Kent a couple of months ago—at old Sir
George Tyke's house, you know. I wanted mother to
cut across at Gravesend, and go to Pitsea to have a look
at Mary Jane.”


THE PHOTOGRAPH. I49
“And she didn't,” said Youle quickly.
“Yes, she did. Some chap on the other side of the
river asked her to drive in his motor. I forget the
chap's name, but mother accepted, and went for a drive;
but she never went near Pitsea,” lamented Tony.
“Where did she go then P”
“I can't say. She went for a spin round, and never
got back till after midnight—some accident, she said.
I asked her if she had seen Mary Jane, and she hadn't.”
“What day was it, Tony P”
“Saturday—no, Sunday. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, for no particular reason,” said Youle carelessly.
He had ascertained all he wished to know. “Only I
was down myself at Blastorne about that time, and I
might have met your mother had she come that way,
you know.”
“I can't say if she did; I don't think so,” murmured
Tony, putting his head on one side to admire the draw-
ing. “She was jolly cross when she came back, and
nearly snapped my head off. But I say, just look over
on the mantelpiece, and see Mary Jane's picture.”
Youle heaved himself out of the chair, and examined
the photograph of a simpering minx without any sign
of brain-power in her doll-like face. She was just the
sort of girl to attract Tony. “Her father is a captain,
you say—a sea-captain, considering the photograph he
gave you to copy 2 ”
“Yes. Here's the photograph. It's faded a bit, as
it was taken about twenty years ago,” and Tony placed
in Youle's hands a remarkably bad photograph of an
entire crew standing on the deck of a ship. A group of
officers were in front, and behind the men were ranged.
Harold cast a casual look on the blurred faces. Sud-
denly his attention was attracted by the captain, who


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CHAPTER XV.
CAPTAIN RUG.
A SILENCE ensued between Tony and his visitor. The
artist became absorbed in his work, while Youle smoked
quietly, and tried to sort out the unexpected information
he had obtained. First he considered the movements
of Mrs. Brady and her possible connection with the
crime. Being in love with Ainsleigh, as she plainly con-
fessed, she had every inducement, when spurred on by
the handsome scamp, to get rid of the elderly wife. The
crime had been committed by someone in the dress of
a Cistercian monk representing a ghost. In the course
of her theatrical career Mrs. Brady had produced a
poetic drama where the hero and other characters were
arrayed in such costumes. Mrs. Brady might have re-
tained the dresses, and have taken one down to Gilbert
on that fatal Sunday. Whether she knew what use he
would put it to, Youle could not determine any more
than he could be sure of Mrs. Brady's complicity in the
crime, strong though her motive might be. But she was
certainly in the neighbourhood for several hours, seeing
that she had not returned until midnight to the house
where she was stopping. It seemed as though she had
waited to see if the crime would be consummated.
As to Captain Rug, he appeared to be connected
with Old Barnacles. The names at the back of the card
gave the true name of the ancient as James Peddie, but
Harold, from long usage, thought of him by his nick-
name. Barnacles denied all knowledge of Rug, yet ap-


i52 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
parently had served under him in the capacity of boat-
swain, as was proved by the photograph itself, and by
the information given at the back of it. It was clear
that Rug had called on Mrs. Ainsleigh on Monday the
third of May, and had then threatened her, as appeared
from the unfinished letter. On Sunday night, May the
ninth, Mrs. Ainsleigh had been murdered, but there was
nothing to show that Rug had repeated his visit. If he
had not, then he could not be guilty. Yet, if innocent,
why had he not appeared at the Grange when Mrs.
Ainsleigh's death was announced in the papers? Harold
did not know what relation the sailor was to the dead
woman, but from the hints dropped by her he was sure
that she had a relative called Orlando. Rug's name
being Orlando, it naturally followed that he was the
relative in question. It was possible that Old Barnacles,
knowing the suspicions entertained against his former
captain, had written the letter seen by Harold, warning
Rug to keep away. But that letter had been written at
least two months later. If not warned before then, Rug
would have come to the Grange. Barnacles, therefore,
was corresponding with Rug. For what purpose?
This was an impossible question to answer. Youle
disbelieved that the ancient salt could not read or write,
as he had seen—which he forgot to mention at the time
—certain labels on plants written in shaky, crabbed
handwriting, which undoubtedly was that of Old Bar-
nacles. The man was a liar in denying that he could
write, and he was also a liar in stating that Rug was a
stranger to him. He was plainly in communication with
the captain, and again Harold asked himself why the
old sailor should be? Only one solution of the mystery
suggested itself to his mind. Rug, in some way not
manifested, was connected with the murder, and dreaded


CAPTAIN RUG. 153
lest he should be traced. Barnacles, being on the spot,
was advising him of what was taking place.
"If I could bring Barnacles and Rug together in the
same room with myself," thought Youle at this point
of his meditations, " I might be able to get at the truth.
Mrs. Brady had a motive to commit the crime, and was
in the neighbourhood. Orlando Rug threatened the
dead woman, but evidently did not return to Blastorne
on the fatal Sunday. The inference points to Mrs.
Brady as guilty. Her love for Gilbert, her possession
of the robe, and her presence in the place on the night
the crime was committed. I must confess that things
look black against the lady, and yet Rug has something
to do with the matter. Shall I follow up the Brady clue,
or make immediate use of this last piece of informa-
tion?"
After some moments' thought, Youle decided that
he would follow the Rug clue to Pitsea, and forthwith
concocted a scheme by which he hoped to force Bar-
nacles into acknowledging that he knew Rug. To carry
out his plans he would be obliged to make use of Tony,
and although as an honourable gentleman he hated to
act in what appeared to him to be an underhand way,
yet the exigencies of the situation left him no option.
Either he had to lose Alix and see her married to a
man whom he knew to be a scoundrel, or he had to
make use of such material as lay close at hand. Swal-
lowing his pride, Harold accepted the latter alternative,
and began operations at once.
"Tony," he said artfully, " I have some influence with
your mother."
The artist wheeled round eagerly. "I know you
have. Mother thinks no end of you. Do you think
you could persuade her to let me marry Mary Jane?"


CAPTAIN RUG. 155
and water, and breaks out into rages. But Mary Jane
can manage him," said Tony once more, and smiled with
pride at the remembrance of Mary Jane's prowess.
"Is Captain Rug well off?"
"Bless you, no. Mary Jane isn't an heiress. She
and her father haven't a penny—that is," Tony cor-
rected himself, "he has an allowance from some rela-
tive."
"Do you know the name of the relative?"
"No. Rug would never say, and really I didn't
bother much to ask him, as it was none of my business.
But the relative only allows him a small income. He
tried to get it increased the other day, but it was
no go."
"What a pity for Rug! When did he try to get an
increase?"
"Oh, let me see, two months ago, I think. Yes,"
Tony considered, "it was some time in May."
"Is the relative a woman?"
"I don't know. 1 can't say—that is—I say, Youle,"
Tony wheeled suspiciously, "why do you ask all these
questions?"
"My dear fellow," rejoined Youle, with the guile of
the serpent, "I must know all about Rug and his posi-
tion, as well as see the girl, if I am to influence your
mother in any way."
Tony accepted this excuse unsuspiciously. "Yes,
of course. But mother knows Rug is poor and can't give
Mary Jane money. I told her so myself. But she is an
angel—Mary Jane, I mean," cried the enthusiastic Tony,
"and if we live in a cottage we will be as happy as the
day is long. I'd marry her without a penny."
"And that's the way you'll have to marry her unless
Mrs. Brady consents," replied Youle, rising to stretch


156 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
himself; "however, let me see the lass, and I'll do my
best. When can we go down?"
"In a couple of days, I tell you."
"This is Tuesday. Can we go down on Thursday?"
"Better say Friday. That will give Mary Jane a
longer time to write."
"Very good, and the train?"
"The twelve o'clock from Liverpool Street. That
will get us down in time for luncheon."
"No," said Youle decidedly, as he wished to take
Rug by surprise, "I think we will take luncheon at the
Pitsea Inn, if there is one."
"Oh, yes, a small inn of sorts. But why?"
"I wish to see Mary Jane without her telling her
father that I am coming. You see, boy "—Harold took
Tony in a friendly manner by the shoulders—" if Cap-
tain Rug knows that I am coming as your friend, he
may influence his daughter not to see me."
"But why? Mary Jane takes her own way, I tell
you. Her father can't stop our marriage even if he
would. Besides, he's glad to get me as a son-in-law,"
said Tony, swelling with the pride of inexperienced
youth.
"Captain Rug will not like a third party interven-
ing," said Harold, making a weak excuse, for, to tell the
truth, he could not think of what to say. "Better not
write the young lady at alL I prefer to take her by
surprise. Then I can see her as she really is."
"Oh, very well, I don't mind. But she will be what
she always is—an angel."
"I am quite sure that in your eyes she is Cleopatra
and Mary of Scotland rolled into one."
"Oh, yes, only more beautiful than either."
Harold laughed and patted Tony on the shoulder.


CAPTAIN RUG. 157
It pleased him to hear the lad's enthusiastic speeches,
but he only hoped that if Tony did marry his divinity
the glamour would not wear off. This ardour was too
strong to last, as even lovers of the most superfine de-
scription cannot always inhabit the transcendental
heaven of the wooing days. Moreover, having secured
his point of not advising Rug of his coming, Harold
did not need to remain. He therefore took his depar-
ture, and promised to meet Tony at Liverpool Street
Station on Friday at a quarter to twelve.
"And now," said Youle to himself, when he left the
studio, "what about Mrs. Brady? Shall I call again,
and ask if she has seen Gilbert and had it out with
him?"
On reflection, he decided that it was best to wait.
If he appeared to be too eager, Mrs. Brady, being a
sharp woman, might suspect his motive, and he did not
wish to tell her more than was absolutely necessary.
He was perfectly sure that she would stop the marriage
with Alix, as, supposing all his surmises to be true, she
had jeopardised her good name if not her liberty in
trying to gain Ainsleigh to herself. It was best to let
things move without pushing them, else they might get
into a muddle, and Heaven knows the case was already
muddled enough. Youle, therefore, possessed his soul
in patience for the next two days, which was not easy
even to a man of his strong will. He had on him what
is generally known as detective fever, and was desper-
ately anxious to solve the problem which real life had
presented for his solution. Had the case of Mrs. Ains-
leigh been worked into the form of a detective novel,
Youle admitted that he would have looked at the last
pages to know for certain who had killed her. But as
the case was one dealing with real life, and he could


158 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
not turn over the pages of actual days and nights, he
had to wait. And this he did with commendable
patience.
All the same he was very glad when Friday arrived,
and he found himself driving to Liverpool Street Station
in a swift hansom. He had sent a telegram that morn-
ing to Blastorne, by which he hoped to ensnare Old
Barnacles. The sending of it involved some risk, and
the use of another person's name, which was wrong.
But things were so desperate that Youle could not afford
to stick at trifles.
Tony was waiting impatiently for his friend in a
spick-and-span suit. As he shook hands Harold glanced
around to see if he could espy someone he hoped to
behold. But the person in question was not visible, and,
indeed, it was scarcely the time for him to appear.
However, Harold examined the list of trains, and de-
cided the hour when the person in question would
probably arrive at Pitsea. Having satisfied himself on
this point, he joined Tony in a second-class carriage,
and as the two had it all to themselves, he humoured
Tony by chatting about the latter's love all the way
to their destination.
"Where is the cottage?" Harold asked as they
alighted at the little station.
"Myrtle Villa," said Tony gaily; "so called because
there isn't a myrtle within fifty miles. It's down this
road." He branched off into a side lane, and hurried
on till he brought Harold face to face with a small
red-brick house, built in the very ugliest style that an
imaginative jerry-builder could conceive. "This is her
home," said the sentimental Tony, "and there," he
pointed to a badly-draped window with an exclamation
of delight, "is she!"


CAPTAIN RUG. 159
A moment later the door opened, and a pretty girl
dressed in a gaudy blouse, a much-trimmed skirt, and a
hat lavishly decorated with gigantic roses, ran down the
path. She was certainly pretty, but very common in
dress and manner. Also, as the photograph hinted, she
exhibited a simpering smile on her small face. But
she had the exquisite freshness and charm of youth
about her which did much to redeem her defects.
Bursting with pride, Tony introduced his beloved.
"I am so pleased to meet you, Mr. Youle," said Mary
Jane, trying the effect of two serviceable eyes on the
handsome stranger; "any friend of dear Tony's is wel-
come. Won't you come in? Father is out, I am sorry
to say. He went over to see Mrs. Bendeavour."
Harold started. This was the name of the lady who
employed the proposed wife of Tuckle. It was a coin-
cidence, of course, and might mean nothing. Youle
rebuked himself inwardly for seeing a hare in every
hedge. Nevertheless, the coupling of the two names
dwelt in his memory.
Captain Rug did not appear at lunch. "Father is
so odd," explained Mary Jane; "he moons about, and
neglects his meals. I think he has something on his
mind."
Harold thought so, too, and guessed what that some-
thing was. However, he did not impart this informa-
tion to Mary Jane, and when at the conclusion of the
meal she announced that she would wash up the dishes
while Tony "dried" them, Harold was left alone in the
parlour with an album of views. Growing weary of
this, he sat by the window and watched for the coming
of Rug. Shortly, as though Youle had drawn him by
the power of will, a tall, bearded man with a nautical
roll in his gait appeared, and entered the house. He


160 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
came into the parlour, and stared at the stranger who
rose to greet him. Youle noted the scar on the right
temple, noted also that Rug's eyes were dull and fishy,
and that his mouth was weak and irresolute.
"I must introduce myself," said he, bowing. "My
name is Harold Youle."
"Harold Youle!" repeated Rug, going as grey as a
rather yellow skin would let him; "and how did you
come here?"
"Tony Brady brought me."
"He had no right to," said Rug savagely, and sat
down.
"I quite understand why you should say that," said
Harold easily, "but you and I, Captain Rug, have to
talk quietly for a few minutes."
"I don't understand."
"You will shortly! Meanwhile, I see that there is a
telegraph boy at the door."
Rug stared at his cool visitor, and opened the door.
After reading a telegram he returned and stared again.
Harold heard the boy go away whistling, and addressed
himself to Rug: "So he is not coming," he said, point-
ing to the telegram.
"Who isn't coming?" demanded Rug, uneasily and
flushing.
"Old Barnacles. I wired in your name for him to
come here to-day."


CHAPTER XVI.
THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.
"WHAT?" gasped Rug, becoming purple, and again
white, "you used my name?"
Harold nodded, quite composed, and played with his
watch chain. "It was the only way I could think of
bringing Old Barnacles here," he remarked apologetic-
ally; "but it seems "—he again nodded towards the
telegram still in Rug's hand—"that he is not coming,
or else he may have arranged to join you by a later
train."
Mary Jane and Tony had both stated that Captain
Rug was liable to frequent fits of irresponsible rage.
For the moment it seemed as though he would indulge
in one now. But Youle looked very directly at him, and
the man was cowed. He crushed up the telegram, and
flung it into the empty grate. "I know no one called
Barnacles," he stammered.
"Not by that name perhaps. But you know James
Peddie."
"No, I don't," retorted Rug doggedly.
"Yes, you do," replied Youle, just as doggedly.
"James Peddie was your boatswain on board the barque
Queen Anne. Afterwards he retired from the sea, and
settled in Blastorne under the protection of your cousin,
the late Mrs. Ainsleigh."
"It's all lies," muttered the Captain, uneasily.
"Your manner contradicts your speech," observed
L


i6a THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Harold drily; "if what I say is a lie, why do you get
upset?"
"I ain't upset. I'm as calm as you are."
"That is not saying much," replied his provoking
visitor, "for I am quite excited at the idea of learning
the truth about this murder."
"What murder?"
"Mrs. Ainsleigh's, if you wish to be fully informed."
"I know nothing about it, and she is not my cousin."
"Well," said Youle leisurely, "I don't know the pre-
cise degree of relationship, but she is some connection
of yours. And as to your knowing nothing about the
crime, that, Captain Orlando Rug, is a lie."
Rug stuttered, and his fishy eyes became brilliant
with anger. "How dare you talk to me like this?" he
demanded, jumping up.
"Would you rather the police did?"
Rug dropped back into his chair as though he had
been shot. "The—the police?" he stammered.
"Inspector Unwin, of Helstone, might wish to ask
you questions, Captain Rug. Then there is a detective
called Sparrow searching for the assassin of the late
Mrs. Ainsleigh."
"I tell you that I am innocent." The Captain wiped
his wrinkled forehead with a red silk bandana hand-
kerchief.
"That is a somewhat different speech from your
last," remarked Youle, quietly; "you said that you knew
nothing about the crime: now you state that you are
innocent. Well?"
"I have nothing to say."
"Pardon me. I think you have a lot to say; that
is." hinted Youle significantly, " if you wish to remain at
liberty."


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164 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
through the air to smash a small mirror. The crash
brought in Mary Jane and Tony, who beheld Captain
Rug nourishing the poker with an angry face and blaz-
ing eyes. For the moment Rug was quite mad
.
"Father," cried Mary Jane, snatching at the poker,
"how dare you go on like this!"
"I've been insulted."
"Who insulted you? Mr. Youle?" Mary Jane
looked at the young man, who stood near the fireplace
quite composed, with both eyes watchful of his host's
every action. "Oh, Mr. Youle," said the girl reproach-
fully, "to think you should upset father like this."
"Oh, I say, Youle "began Tony, but Harold cut
him short.
"Let Captain Rug explain," said Youle quietly.
"I've been insulted, and in my own house," stuttered
Rug: "he said—he declared—he insulted me and—and
—and—Mary Jane "—he turned fiercely on his daugh-
ter—" you'd better go back to the kitchen, and leave me
to deal with the gentleman."
"No, father"
"Get out," shouted the Captain, clenching his fist;
and Mary Jane, who had hitherto been accustomed to
rule because she had met with no opposition, whimpered
and fled. Tony stood his ground
.
"I must say, Youle "he began again, and again
was cut short, this time by his prospective father-in-law.
"You go, too," shouted Rug. "I have something to
say to this gentleman—something private."
"Oh, very well," said the youth, making for the door
in an injured manner; "only you've hurt Mary Jane's
feelings, and I'll stand up for her if it costs me my life."
"Fool!" said Rug, and darted towards Tony, who
slipped through the door and closed it cleverly enough,


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 165
so that the captain was brought up suddenly against the
panels. Harold laughed
.
"It reminds me of the way in which you escaped me
before," he said easily, and resumed his seat
.
"When? Where?" growled Rug, wiping his face.
"At the Grange, when you impersonated the ghost
and"
Rug advanced to the round table, and pressed a
large thumb down on the cloth. "See here, you lubber,"
said he, reverting to sea-phrases, " I didn't take on with
any ghost, and I didn't kill Barbara."
"Ah! You call her Barbara."
"Why not? 1 have the right to."
"As her cousin?"
"As a relative by marriage," announced Rug coolly.
"Have some rum?"
Harold shook his head. "It will be better to con-
duct this conversation with due sobriety," he said; "you
have a difficult quarter of an hour before you, Captain
Rug."
"No, I ain't, sir, and don't you make any mistake
about that. Wait till I fill up, and then we'll talk"
Rug went to the sideboard, and, producing there-
from a black bottle, filled himself a tot of rum, which
he drank down undiluted. The fierce spirit seemed to
brace him up. Hitherto he had been trembling, but
when he again sought his seat opposite Harold his
nerves were quite steady, and he talked in a quieter
voice. From these frequent changes of mood, Harold
guessed that the man's nervous system had been
wrecked, either by drinking, or by sunstroke, or by a
knowledge that he was in a dangerous position. "I am
quite ready to talk," said Youle, ever mindful of the
Captain's movements, for he did not trust so excitable


166 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
a creature. "I suppose you intend to make a clean
breast of it?"
"I haven't got anything to make a clean breast
about, Mr. Youle. I have nothing to conceal. I
am an honest man"—the Captain expanded his
chest, and put his large thumbs in the arm-holes
of his waistcoat. "Look at me. Do I look like a
murderer?"
"I don't judge by appearances, Captain."
"I've sailed the sea forty year, man and boy," went
on Rug, taking no notice. "Aye, and more, for now
I'm what you'd call sixty years of age. Have I made
my fortune ?—no, 1 ain't. Am I an honest man ?—yes,
I am. Can I clear rny character ?—yes, I can, and what's
more, I'm a-goin' to."
Youle nodded. "Proceed."
"If you were on my ship I'd give you fifty at the
gangway."
"No doubt . But at present we are talking of a
more important subject than your thrashing me
officially," replied Harold, with rather a bored air; "you
have many good qualities, Captain Rug, but you are
certainly verbose."
"Don't know what you mean," grumbled Rug. "All
I say," and he brought down a heavy fist on the frail
table, "all I say is, as I'm innocent of Barbara's blood.
Now then"
"Quite so; now then?" echoed Youle quietly.
"A cool hand," muttered Rug, putting his elbows
on the table, and his chin in the cup of his gigantic
hands; "you'll stand my friend, of course, Mr. Youle?"
"If you are innocent I assuredly shall." Youle hesi-
tated, then, looking straight at his host, "You need a
friend, then?"


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 167
Rug shivered. "Heaven help me, I do, unless I
want to be hanged."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Never you mmd. I'll tell you what I know, which
ain't much. I have been a fool—yes, sir, a wooden fool;
but don't call me a woman-killer, for no woman's the
worse for my fist . Mary Jane's mother bossed me
proper, and Mary Jane takes after the late Mrs. Rug.
I ask you, Mr. Youle, would a sailor as is weak with the
sex lay a hand on a female, save in the way of kind-
ness?"
"Oh, hang it! Get on with your story," said Youle,
impatient of this transpontine sentiment.
"Good." The Captain was not at all offended.
"There ain't much to tell." He hesitated, apparently
to collect his thoughts, then began all of a sudden, with-
out further preamble. "My name is Orlando Rug, and
my mother was the late Major Blastorne's second wife."
"Are you speaking of Mrs. Ainsleigh's father?"
"Yes, sir—of the late Major Blastorne, as met my
mother when she was a widow, and married her on ac-
count of her prettiness. But he would not take on
with me, and sent me to school. I ran away to sea, but
came back to the Grange, when my mother died, which
she did a year after the marriage. I met Barbara, and
you mightn't believe it, but I loved Barbara."
"I see no reason to doubt it, Captain Rug. The late
Mrs. Ainsleigh was a good woman."
"Too good for that blackguard she married,"
growled Rug.
"You know Gilbert Ainsleigh, then?"
"I know more about him than he likes," retorted the
Captain; "but never you mind. His business ain't my
business, or yours either if it comes to that."


168 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"I don't know if I agree to that," said Youle drily.
"I am not altogether pleased with Ainsleigh's be-
haviour in connection with this crime, Captain Rug."
The other looked queerly at his visitor. "I know
nothing for certain, Mr. Youle, and what I do know I'm
going to keep to myself. What I've to do is to clear
my character."
« But"
"I'm a-goin' to clear my character of them threats
which ain't threats at all," said Rug hastily. "See here,
sir: Barbara and I liked one another. It was love on
my part, but not on hers. I wasn't good enough for her,
as my father was just a sailor before the mast. My
mother ran away with my father, he being handsome,
and was of decent family. When the Major married
her, he sent me away to school, as he didn't like me over
much, and I didn't like him either. But I came home
for a time when my mother died, and met Barbara. She
would not love me as I wished, though I was a hand-
some chap in them days. And for why wouldn't she
love me? Because she loved a dancing master, and
ran away with him."
"Mrs. Ainsleigh? Never!"
"Yes, she did. It was in London. He wanted to
marry her for her money, and ran away with her. I
found out that the dancing master was married, and
followed. I caught the two before they went far, and
told what I knew. Barbara, she came back with me
broken-hearted, and made me swear to hold my tongue.
I did, and even her father never knew what she had
done. But she wouldn't marry me even though I had
saved her good name, and, of course, being a man, if
not a gentleman, I said nothing, Mr. Youle. I went back
to sea, and never saw her for years. Then her father


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 169
died, and she came in for the money. She wrote to me
that when I retired from the sea she would give me
something to live on because I had saved her good name.
I knocked about for a long time, and married, and then
I came home."
"Did you see Mrs. Ainsleigh often?" asked Harold,
much interested.
"At times, but I always came quietly to the Grange,
and no one knew what relation I was to her. I was old
when we met again, and poor, too. My wife had died,
and I was left to bring up Mary Jane. Barbara allowed
me a small pension, but like most women, she was
mean."
"That is ungrateful," said Youle hastily.
"It ain't," cried Rug doggedly; "she was mean, for
the pension wouldn't have kept a mosquito alive. I fre-
quently went to ask her to make it more, but she
wouldn't. She was nasty, especially after she married
that Mr. Ainsleigh, who is a lubber of the worst."
"What do you know about him?"
"Never you mind. It's my story I'm telling, and
not his. About a week before the murder I called about
the pension again, and Barbara again refused to in-
crease it. I reminded her how I had saved her, and
asked how she'd like her husband to know."
"That was the threat?" said Harold, rather dis-
gusted
.
"She called it so, but I wasn't going to tell any-
thing. I only asked her how she'd like her husband
to know. She got in a rage, and ordered me out of the
house. I went, and came back here low in spirits. I
never saw her again."
"Then you know nothing of the murder?"
"No, I don't. Old Barnacles wrote and told me that


17o THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
a sailor chap was being asked for, and said what he'd
heard about the unfinished letter. I saw that appear-
ances were against me, so I lay low. But I never killed
Barbara. Why should I, seeing that my pension stopped
when she died ?”
“You don't get any money now?”
“No, I don't. I'm that hard up as never was. But
this Mr. Brady seems to have a rich mother, so I want
Mary Jane to marry him so that she may keep her poor
old father, as is "–the Captain brought his fist on the
round table once more—“as is an honest man.”
Before Youle could comment on this story there
came a ring at the front door of the villa. From his
seat Harold could not see who was there, but Rug cast
a glance through the window. The Captain uttered a
surprised exclamation, and rose hastily. “I wonder
what's up now P” he said vaguely, and left the room.
Harold sat where he was, but he listened intently. It
might be that Old Barnacles had arrived. The walls
of the villa were thin, and he heard the Captain open the
door. Then he heard the last voice he expected to
hear. On the impulse of the moment he rose and
walked into the little hall. The door was open, and on
the step stood Alix Parsons.


172 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
back into the parlour. Alix lingered behind to exchange
a word with Rug, and then followed slowly. Shortly
Rug entered, and closed the door. As he did so it
opened again, and Mary Jane appeared.
"Won't Miss Parsons take something to eat and
drink, father?" she asked, casting a curious glance at
Alix.
Rug stared . "How do you know this young lady's
name?" he asked.
"Old Barnacles showed me her portrait, and then
I saw her in the distance with you, Mr. Youle, when
father took me down to see Old Barnacles, two"
Rug turned on his daughter with so savage an ex-
pression that the girl recoiled. "Get out, and attend
to your other guest, my girl," he said sternly. "We
have business to discuss; as to what I did and where I
went, hold your tongue, unless you wish to cause
trouble."
"Well, I'm sure, father; to think you should talk
like this to me!"
"I've been too easy with you," retorted the Cap-
tain, "and you thought you could do what you like.
Sunstroke and rum, eh? Oh, yes, I know what you
said to that lad in the kitchen. But I'm master here,
Miss Mary Jane, so you get out."
"But the young lady "began Mary Jane, who
was by no means inclined to abandon her despotism,
and who appeared very much astonished at her father's
sudden assertion of himself.
"I do not want anything, thank you," said Alix im-
patiently. She resented Mary Jane's unasked-for kind-
ness, and was anxious to explain to Harold and the
Captain why she had come to Myrtle Villa.
Mary Jane smiled in a simpering manner, and was


174 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
“You know well enough, Alix, or is it to be Miss
Parsons?”
“You are cruel,” she said in a low voice, and looked
down to play with the handle of her sunshade.
“You can scarcely expect me to be kind, seeing
what happened at our last interview,” said Youle
crushingly.
She did not reply, but presently a large tear rolled
down her cheek, and fell on the rose-silk of the sun-
shade. Harold felt like a brute, and would fain have
taken her in his arms to kiss away the sign of hurt
feelings, but that he felt she needed a lesson, if on a
future occasion she was to become his wife. And he
fully intended, notwithstanding present obstacles, that
she should. Yet his heart melted at the sight of her
pale face and weary looks, and above all, at the betray-
ing tear. “Come, Alix,” he said more gently, “we
understand one another. I don't know why you have
come here, or how you learned the address of Captain
Rug. But now that you are face to face with me,
perhaps you will behave in a more reasonable
manner.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, Harold,” she cried, sob-
bing; “if you knew what I suffer—”
“I do know, and I blame your father for letting
you suffer.”
“My father knows nothin
“Pshaw! Do you think I am a child to be gulled
into believing anything you choose to tell me?” said
Youle impatiently. “Certainly your father did not know
when I met him last, which I did, after I left you. But
he knows now.”
“Knows what?” she asked obstinately.
“Knows that you have agreed to marry Gilbert Ains-
2x


FACE TO FACE. I75
leigh to save him—your father, I mean—from being
hanged.”
“Oh, no—no–”
“Oh, yes—yes. That brat Tuckle came to me at
the ‘Blastorne Arms' and accused your father.”
“He lies.”
“No, he doesn't. He explained how he saw your
father, and—oh, why will you not be plain with me,
Alix? I tell you this boy Tuckle can give sufficient
evidence to hang your father, and doubtless he told
Ainsleigh, who threatened 20
“Yes, he did threaten,” said Alix in despair; “he
came to me and said that he could have my father
arrested for the murder of Mrs. Ainsleigh unless I con-
sented to be his wife. He told me what Tuckle saw,
and told me also about the cross belonging to papa
which was found in the parlour after the murder. I
agreed to marry Gilbert, and break my engagement with
you, solely to save my father.”
“I guessed as much. But why did you not inform
your father of the sacrifice?”
“I was going to later; only Gilbert said that he
would like to talk to my father himself.”
“That looks as though it was an arranged affair
between your father and Ainsleigh to force you into
the marriage?”
“No, no. When Gilbert spoke and accused my
father, I felt in my own heart that it might be true.”
“Alix"—he recalled her behaviour immediately after
the discovery of the crime—“then you thought—”
“Yes. I know you saw my confusion when my
father first met you after poor Mrs. Ainsleigh was
killed. I did think he was guilty, and went away, lest
I might say something. Afterwards I thought he was


176 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
innocent, but when Gilbert spoke I knew my first
thought was true."
"What made you suspect your father in the first
place?"
"Some wild words he used. Mrs. Ainsleigh was
angry with my father for not stopping her husband from
taking morphia. Papa thought she would dismiss him,
and that he would have to go back to poverty and with-
out a practice. He said that if Mrs. Ainsleigh only died,
that Gilbert would look after him and give him a pen-
sion for life, as Gilbert would get the money. He also
said that it was a pity Mrs. Ainsleigh did not die. So
you see, Harold "—she raised her eyes timidly—" that
I fancied papa might have—might have—oh, it's too
terrible!"
"My poor girl"—Youle laid a firm hand on one of
hers, and spoke with infinite gentleness—" how you
must have suffered! You should have been plain with
me when we last met."
"No. I thought that you would see papa; and as
Gilbert did not want him to hear about the arrange-
ment until he spoke, I thought that there would be
trouble."
"In fact, Ainsleigh has intimidated you, and made
you a puppet," said Youle angrily. "111 have a word
or two with that scamp."
"Oh, Harold, think of my father. Gilbert will"
"Gilbert won't."
Alix gasped, and clasped Youle's arm with her two
hands. "Dear, do you think papa is innocent?"
"Of murder—yes. But not innocent of trying to
force you into this marriage with Ainsleigh by pretend-
ing to be guilty."
"He would not run that risk if innocent, Harold."


178 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
But I cannot believe that my father would play such a
trick—it is so serious."
"I can't say what Dr. Parsons wouldn't do, seeing
how unscrupulous he is, Alix. I am sorry to talk about
him in this way, as he is your father after all, but at
the present time we must be plain if we wish to get
free from these troubles. I am quite certain that your
father is under Ainsleigh's thumb, and that the accusa-
tion by Tuckle and Gilbert is a pretended one. Your
father is in the plot also. So long as he gets enough to
live on, and his rogueries are kept secret, he will agree to
sacrifice you or a dozen like you."
Alix clenched her fist, and a fire filled her eyes. "If
I thought that my father would act in such a way I
would never speak to him again," she said in a deter-
mined voice. "I know that my father is not a good
man, but considering the troubles we have had together,
I did think he had some affection for me. "Harold"
—she turned to her lover—" what is to be done?"
"Nothing at present," said Youle, after a moment's
pause. "Pretend to fall in with the plans of Ainsleigh
and your father for the time being. I am trying to learn
the truth. When I do, then we can brush away these
cobweb entanglements with which we are surrounded at
present."
"But if I have to marry Mr. Ainsleigh?"
"You shall never do that, I promise. You marry
me." He drew her towards him, and pressed a kiss on
her drooping lips. "And now that we understand one
another, let me hear how you learned this address?"
But this Alix could not tell him at once. The re-
vulsion of feeling at the thought of escaping from a
hateful marriage was too much for her, and she wept
bitterly. Unable to calm her, and becoming alarmed,


FACE TO FACE. 179
Harold called in Mary Jane, who appeared, followed by
Tony. Mary Jane led Alix out of the room to attend
to her, and Tony remained behind with his friend. He
slapped Harold" on the back.
"One good turn deserves another," he said jocosely.
"Don't you think Mary Jane acted like a brick in get-
ting rid of her father?"
Harold stared. "What do you mean by that,
boy?"
"Why, Old Barnacles told her that you and Alix
Parsons—excuse me speaking of her by her first name,
but I use Mary Jane's own words—well, then, Mary
Jane learned that you were engaged, and that you had
quarrelled. She thought that Miss Parsons had come
after you here to make it up, so contrived to get her
father out of the room by inventing a message that Mrs.
Bendeavour wanted him. He went out, as you saw at
once, and by this time I expect you and the young lady
have had an explanation. So you see," added Tony
gaily, "that as you are helping Mary Jane and myself,
we are helping you."
Youle did not know whether to be pleased or angry.
He certainly had wished to speak alone with Alix, but
also he had wished to keep Captain Rug in sight. How-
ever, Tony seemed so pleased with Mary Jane's inter-
ference that there was nothing for it but to accept the
interference in the way in which it was meant. "But
where did Miss Rug see Alix and myself?" he asked,
remembering how the Captain had interrupted his
daughter on an earlier occasion.
"Oh, when she went down to Blastorne with her
father to see Old Barnacles in his cottage. You see,
Old Barnacles was fond of Mary Jane when she was a
little girl on her father's ship, and the Captain always


FACE TO FACE. 181
"Takes drugs, like Ainsleigh?"
"Oh, come now, don't be hard on Ainsleigh," said
Tony quickly; "he never really did take drugs. It
was only a fad for the time being. But here is Miss
Parsons. Are you better, Miss Parsons?"
"Thank you, yes," replied Alix, with a faint smile.
"Let us walk out, Harold. The fresh air will do me
good."
"But you want to see father," said Mary Jane,
officiously.
"That can easily be arranged," interposed Youle
before Alix could speak; "we will walk across the fields
to Smallgains."
"Oh, but father won't like that," objected Mary
Jane. "He never likes anyone to go to Smallgains
when he is there. I have never been myself. It's a
kind of private asylum, you know. Really, Mr. Youle,
you shouldn't take Miss Parsons."
"Leave it to me," said Harold impatiently, and
went to the door. "We will go near the place, and
perhaps may see Captain Rug coming back."
Mary Jane protested again, and seemed distressed
that the pair should go to the forbidden place. How-
ever, Harold overruled her objections, and she pointed
out a footpath which was usually taken by her father.
Along this proceeded Harold and Alix.
"And now, dear," he said, when they were some
distance from the house, "let me hear why you came
to Pitsea, and how."


AN ACCUSATION. 183
come on, both to ask Captain Rug what he had said
on the occasion of that first visit to make Mrs. Ainsleigh
faint, and if he knew who had killed her."
"I can answer the first question," said Youle soberly,
"since Rug told me all about himself and Mrs. Ainsleigh
shortly before you arrived."
Ak'x looked amazed. "Seeing what a dangerous
position he stands in, and how he is wanted by the
police, I should have thought he would hold his tongue."
"He was inclined to at first, but I managed to gain
his confidence."
"What did he tell you?"
Harold detailed the story related by Rug, much to
the astonishment of his companion. "He declares that
he did not utter threats about revealing her dancing-
master episode to Ainsleigh," said Youle; "but I
rather think he did threaten her unless she increased
his pension."
"What a brute!" exclaimed Alix. "No wonder he
made her faint. I am glad she did not give in."
"Perhaps she intended to later on."
"No. Remember that the unfinished letter said
that she despised Orlando's threats. Perhaps he killed
her because she would not do what he asked."
"I thought of that myself," said Harold slowly,
"especially as I gather from Tony Brady that Captain
Rug brought his daughter down to Blastorne on the
Sunday when the crime was committed."
"Oh, I know that," said Alix frankly.
"You know it, dear, and how?"
"Mr. Sparrow told me."
"Sparrow, the detective?"
"Yes. He came down the other day to see me,
and stopped at the 'Blastorne Arms." There he learned


AN ACCUSATION. 185
said Youle carelessly, "and perhaps he made little off
the ground. Yet it seems to be prosperous enough."
"Why did you wish to come here, Harold?"
"My dear, I find that Tuckle has been here often,
and is engaged to marry a servant in this house."
"What, a boy of fifteen?"
"He has wickedness enough to be a hundred. His
intended is much older—Julianna is her name, he in-
formed me—and they intend to start a fried-fish shop
when they marry."
Alix laughed, in spite of her troubled mind. "What
nonsense!" she said, shrugging her shoulders; "the
boy ought to be whipped. What was he doing visiting
this place?"
"That is what I wish to find out," said Harold
gravely. "Tuckle is, as I think, a spy of Gilbert's, and
the row was arranged so that the boy might stop with
you without waking any suspicions in your mind.
Ainsleigh is a secretive man, and I wish to learn a
few of his secrets so that I may get the better of
him."
"You want to stop the marriage?"
"Of course; but I fancy that Mrs. Brady will stop
that."
"Mrs. Brady?"
"The celebrated actress. She is engaged, or almost
engaged, to marry Gilbert Ainsleigh."
"What?" Alix stopped short with crimson cheeks;
"do you mean to say that he proposed to me while he
was engaged to Mrs. Brady?"
"I do; so you can see he is a scoundrel. I expect
he intended to marry Mrs. Brady for her money if he
could not get you. Though to be sure, seeing what a
card he had to play, he might have been sure that you


186 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
would yield rather than see your father arrested.
There's something more in this Brady engagement than
meets the eye. But I may learn what the secret of
that is when I hear from Mrs. Brady. She is a jealous
woman, and will probably make Ainsleigh uncom-
fortable."
"She may be very sure Mr. Ainsleigh will never be
my husband," cried Alix vehemently.
Harold cast a side-long glance at her, and saw that
she was furiously angry. "You don't love Ainsleigh,
do you, Alix?" he asked coldly.
"You are the jealous one now," she said, smiling in
spite of her hot cheeks and glittering eyes. "I hate
the man; I always did, and I always shall . Only
because I thought he might get my father into trouble
did I become engaged to him. Now that I think my
father may be innocent, and you are here, I decline to
have anything to do with Mr. Ainsleigh. But no girl,"
added Alix emphatically, "likes to be made a fool of.
Mr. Ainsleigh could never have loved me."
"I don't think he loves anyone but himself," re-
plied Harold calmly. "He wanted you for your
fortune, as he wanted Mrs. Brady, and you being the
younger, he hoped to make you his wife. But now we
shall see if we cannot punish him as he deserves to be
punished. I expect to find out something concerning
him in this house, else Tuckle would not have come
here."
While speaking, Harold knocked at the door, which
was closed. Alix, who lingered outside the porch,
thought she saw a head at one of the casements. It
vanished, and almost immediately the door was flung
open to show a man standing within. At the sight of
him both Alix and her lover were transfixed with


AN ACCUSATION. 187
astonishment. "Ainsleigh," said the latter. "Gilbert,"
cried the former.
It was certainly Gilbert Ainsleigh, but not as he
had been lately, bright and handsome and filled with
life. Rather was it the Gilbert who had destroyed his
constitution with morphia. There was the bent figure,
the weak mouth, the wrinkled face, the discoloured
skin, and the silly, giggling laugh. Harold could
scarcely believe his eyes.
"Is your name Ainsleigh?" he demanded.
"Yes," said the other with a giggle, then looked
past him towards the amazed Alix.
"Don't you know me?" demanded Alix.
"No; I never saw you before. I am"
What he was he did not say, for at that moment he
was put on one side in a gentle manner by a stout
woman with a comely face, who looked much distressed.
"Master Robert," said this woman, who, no doubt, was
the Mrs. Bendeavour admired by Captain Rug, "how
often have I told you not to go to the door? Julianna
always answers the door. Go into your room, that's a
dear, kind young gentlemaa"
"Pretty girl," said the man who had opened the
door, and vanished. Mrs. Bendeavour advanced into
the porch and dropped an old-fashioned curtsey.
"What can I do for you, please?" she asked in a soft
voice.
Harold could scarcely ask the question which was
on his lips and on those of Alix. "Is that Mr. Ains-
leigh?" he demanded.
"Yes," said Mrs. Bendeavour; "what do you want
with him?"
"Mr. Gilbert Ainsleigh?" cried Alix, coming nearer,
for a dim sense of some mistake occurred to her mind
.


i88 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Mr. Robert Ainsleigh, his brother," replied the
housekeeper. "May I ask again what you want with
him?"
Youle looked at Alix, and Alix looked at Youle.
The discovery that Gilbert had a brother so like him
astonished them greatly, and they did not know what
excuse to make for what was certainly an intrusion.
Mrs. Bendeavour, who seemed to be a kind, gentle old
lady, began to draw herself up, and administered a
rebuke.
"If curiosity has drawn you, young lady and gentle-
man," she said in a severe manner, "let me tell you
that you cannot enter. Mr. Robert Ainsleigh is not to
be seen. Please go."
"Not yet," said a voice behind the housekeeper.
"Allow me, Mrs. Bendeavour, to introduce you to Miss
Alix Parsons, who is to marry Mr. Gilbert Ainsleigh."
It was Captain Rug who spoke, and he fixed his
eyes on Alix imperatively, apparently thinking that she
would endorse his audacious statement. Alix, how-
ever, would do nothing of the kind. "I am certainly
not engaged to Mr. Ainsleigh," she cried indignantly.
"Why, miss," said Mrs. Bendeavour, "Master
Gilbert, as I've nursed on my knee, along with poor
Master Robert, told me himself only three days ago
that he was to marry you."
Harold touched the arm of Alix as she was about
to reply. "So far as Mr. Ainsleigh knows," he said
significantly, "Miss Parsons is engaged to marry him.
But you know, Mrs. Bendeavour, that young ladies are
permitted to change their minds."
"I'm sure I hope this young lady will not," said
simple Mrs. Bendeavour, "for she is a pretty girl, as
poor Master Robert said. But, dear me! how thought-


AN ACCUSATION. 189
less I am, letting you stand without, miss. Please step
in. And this gentleman," she added, nodding towards
Harold.
"Mr. Youle," said Captain Rug, with another sig-
nificant look at Harold. "Why did you follow me, Mr.
Youle?"
"Miss Parsons wished for fresh air, and we thought
we would come here."
Rug gave a short laugh, and apparently did not
entirely believe this explanation. "You thought I was
running away," he said coolly; "but you need have no
fear. I am innocent."
"I think you are," said Youle, equally coolly; "but
why did you not tell me that Ainsleigh had a brother?"
"A twin brother," supplemented Rug. "Because Mr.
Ainsleigh's business is none of mine as yet. When he
marries Miss Parsons it may be."
"Who told you that he was to marry Miss Parsons?"
"Old Barnacles first, and then Ainsleigh himself
three days ago, when he came to see poor Bobby."
"Poor Bobby?"
"Robert Ainsleigh, if you prefer it," said Rug
impatiently; "but Mrs. Bendeavour has taken Miss
Parsons into the parlour. Let us follow."
"One moment," said Harold, detaining the Captain
on the threshold; "it is just as well that you should
know about this engagement. Miss Parsons will not
marry Mr. Ainsleigh, but me."
"She was engaged to you," said the Captain, "but
now"
"Now she is still engaged. See here, Rug, I don't
know what you have to do with Gilbert Ainsleigh, but
he seems to me to be a villain. I believe that he
knows who killed his wife. If you can get him to tell,


THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
and if the real assassin is run to earth, you shall have
one thousand pounds."
"Do you mean to say, Mr. Youle"
"One thousand pounds," repeated Harold emphatic-
ally; "and now let us go inside."
Rug followed the young man in a dazed manner.
Apparently he had not heard of the reward, and
apparently also, from the excited expression which his
countenance took on, he was desirous of earning the
money. Harold had counted on this. The Captain,
having lost his pension by the death of Barbara
Ainsleigh, was poor—he would do anything for money;
so if he knew the truth, he would reveal it even though
it concerned the neck of Gilbert. Not that it likely
would. Whatever evil Youle believed about Gilbert, he
was quite confident that he had not killed his wife.
When they entered the parlour, Robert Ainsleigh,
looking ill and weak, was seated on the sofa. He bowed
to Harold when he entered with the courtesy of a gentle-
man. The man was exceedingly like his brother,
especially as he had been at the time when Gilbert had
indulged in morphia. Mrs. Bendeavour was coaxing
Robert to go to his room, and Robert was objecting
because he wished to talk to Alix. That young lady
looked nervous, and beckoned to Harold that he should
seat himself by her side.
"Come, dearie, do lie down, and you'll be better,"
coaxed the housekeeper.
"I am all right now," said Robert in a refined voice,
and quite himself, so far as self-control went; "the bad
fit is over. Miss Parsons will let me stop, won't you,
Miss Parsons?"
"Yes," said Alix, somewhat to Harold's astonish-
ment, and the man seated himself beside her with every


AN ACCUSATION. 191
expression of delight. He did not seem to be mad, but
to be rather weak-headed . While he chatted Mrs. Ben-
deavour went out, and speedily cake and wine were
brought in by a stout maid with snappy black eyes,
black hair, and a ruddy face. This, as Harold guessed,
was Julianna; and he smiled to think how the pasty-
faced Tuckle would mate with such a substantial per-
sonage. Also, seeing that Julianna's face was stupid,
he felt quite sure that the shrewd page-boy would
manage her in spite of his years. But, of course, the
idea of such a marriage was ridiculous. Julianna won-
dered why Youle looked at her, and retired in some con-
fusion as Mrs. Bendeavour returned. Meanwhile, Robert
was chatting to Alix in a wonderfully composed manner,
and Mrs. Bendeavour telegraphed her satisfaction to
Captain Rug at the quietness of her charge.
"I never knew Mr. Robert so taken up with anyone,"
she whispered to Youle, "though I've had him by me
all his poor life."
"Is he mad?" asked Harold, also in a whisper.
"No more than you are, sir, though his brother,
Master Gilbert, do try to make out as he is," said Mrs.
Bendeavour with great indignation.
"Why should he try to do that?" asked Harold
quickly.
Mrs. Bendeavour became stiff directly. "I have
served the Ainsleighs these fifty years, sir, and I don't
talk about private business. Poor Master Robert would
be all right, although a trifle weak in the head, if he did
not take that horrible morphia."
"Does he take morphia also?"
"I don't know, sir, what you mean by 'morphia
also,'" said Mrs. Bendeavour, "as no one else takes the
horrid thing so far as I know. Master Gilbert gave it to


iga THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Master Robert to ease him of some pain, and since then
Master Robert takes it whenever I give him the chance,
which is not often, you may be sure."
While Youle digested this piece of information
Robert's voice rose excitedly. "Yes, I've seen you
before," he was saying to Alix.
"You can't have," she replied. "I have never been
at Pitsea before."
"But I have seen you—yes, in the large house, at
the high window."
"What house, what window, Mr. Ainsleigh?"
Robert's eyes wandered vaguely round the room.
"I don't know," he said, passing his hand across his
face. "I went a long, long way. But I saw you on the
lawn; I was high up. Oh, how tired I am! Come and
sing me to sleep."
"Master Robert," said Mrs. Bendeavour warningly,
and advanced towards her charge as he laid a gentle
hand on the wrist of Alix, "you must go to rest for a
time. It is the hour for your afternoon sleep."
"I won't go. I wish to talk to this pretty girl."
"Tell him to go, miss," said the housekeeper in a
soft voice; "he will obey you, I think."
Alix laid her hand on Robert's arm and looked
straight into his eyes. "I want you to go and lie down,
Mr. Ainsleigh," she said.
He rose at once. "I'll go if you want me, but I'll
see you again—I must see you again."
"Yes, yes," replied Alix soothingly, and he went
away on the arm of Mrs. Bendeavour, apparently quite
contented, nodding and smiling. It was a painful
sight, and Alix sighed as the door closed on the
poor soul and his kindly nurse. Rug's voice broke the
silence.


- -
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- a
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I94
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CAPTAIN'S EVIDENCE.
BOTH Alix and Harold looked at Captain Rug with
astonishment, and then glanced at one another. The
same thought was in each of their minds. They could
not be sure of the man's honesty. To gain the reward,
which he needed badly, it might be that he was making
what is called a "pot shot," and was willing to hang
even an innocent man, provided the money went into
his pocket.
"You make a very serious accusation, Captain,"
said Youle, when he recovered his wits. "I do not see
how you can connect Robert Ainsleigh with the crime."
"If I can prove it, will you pass along the dollars?"
asked Rug.
Alix shuddered . "I offered the reward, certainly,"
she said, "yet I do not want anyone hanged."
"If Robert Ainsleigh is guilty, he must hang," said
the Captain in his bluntest manner.
"I am not so sure of that," remarked Harold quickly.
"Robert is obviously weak-minded, if not entirely mad.
There may be extenuating circumstances."
"Well," drawled Rug leisurely, "I ain't so sure of
the circumstances, but I am sure that Robert strangled
Barbara."
"For what reason?"
"You'll have to ask Gilbert that."
"Humph!" Harold thought for a few minutes


THE CAPTAIN'S EVIDENCE. 195
"I guessed that Gilbert had something to do with the
death. Am I right in thinking that he made use of the
resemblance between himself and his unfortunate
brother to bring about the death of his wife?"
"I can't say that," replied Rug.
"Then what can you say?" demanded Alix im-
patiently. "Tell us what you do know."
"And the reward?"
"If you can prove who killed Mrs. Ainsleigh you
shall certainly be paid the reward."
"Good," grunted the Captain, and settled himself
to tell what he knew. "It was this way," he continued,
and was about to dash into the story when Mrs. Ben-
deavour returned.
"Master Robert is sleeping now," she said, address-
ing Alix. "Poor dear boy! Your mere presence has
soothed him, miss. I never saw him take to anyone as
he has taken to you. I hope you'll come down again,
miss."
Alix shook her head. If what Rug said was true,
she had no desire to be in the company of a murderer.
"I don't expect I'll come down here again, Mrs.
Bendeavour. I came to see Captain Rug, and now that
my business is over I'll go."
While the old nurse urged Alix to reconsider her
decision, Youle was reflecting. If Robert was guilty he
must have been at the Grange; so he thought with great
reason that Mrs. Bendeavour would know of his visit.
If that could be proved, it would go a long way towards
substantiating Rug's coming story. To get at the truth
he suddenly put a question.
"Can't you bring Mr. Robert Ainsleigh to see Miss
Parsons at Blastorne?" he asked, with his eyes on the
comely, placid face of Mrs. Bendeavour.


THE CAPTAIN'S EVIDENCE. 197
worse; but he certainly comes back here looking as
though he had been taking the morphia. And the whole
of my life is devoted to keeping the poison away from
him, poor soul!"
"Where did Mr. Ainsleigh take his brother two
months ago?" asked Alix.
"That was the last time," remarked Mrs. Ben-
deavour musingly, and apparently not suspecting the
meaning of these questions. "Well, miss, it is strange
that you should ask me that, for Master Gilbert took
Master Robert to Blastorne."
"Are you sure, Mrs. Bendeavour?"
"From what Master Robert has let out, I am sure,
miss."
"Then Robert has never told you plainly?" asked
Harold
.
Mrs. Bendeavour looked troubled.
"Master Robert always wanted to go to Blastorne
and see Master Gilbert's home, but Master Gilbert
would never take him. Nor did I wish him to go; for
I didn't want the poor lady as was killed to see that
Master Robert was so weak. And, in fact, Master Gil-
bert held the same opinion. But a couple of months
ago Master Gilbert took Master Robert to London as
usual. I thought it was for one of their trips, but I
think Master Robert must have bothered Master Gil-
bert to take him to Blastorne. He brought him back on
Tuesday morning, after taking him away on Thursday."
"On Thursday?" said Youle, and recollected that
it was then that Gilbert had returned to the Grange
after his quarrel with his wife.
"Yes; Master Gilbert wished his brother to have a
longer trip than usual. He brought him back on Tues-
day much worse, and I think must have told him not to


198 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
say anything about the visit to Blastorne for fear I
should be angry. Master Robert did say nothing, but
I gathered from what he had let drop that he had been
to some big house in the country. And then, miss "—
she addressed herself to Alix—" Master Robert said that
he saw you from some upper window."
"I never saw him," said Alix in a low voice; "and
if he had been to Blastorne I should have met him."
"Deary me!" said Mrs. Bendeavour. "Then I must
be mistaken. Master Gilbert may have taken Master
Robert to some other place. Master Gilbert knows
many people. But won't you have some more cake and
wine, miss? I have to see after Julianna, the servant,
who never will do her work. I'll be back shortly." And
Mrs. Bendeavour hurried out of the room, while Alix
and Harold thought over what had been told to
them.
Captain Rug, who had been tilting his chair back-
ward with great complacency, interrupted these medita-
tions.
"You see that Robert is guilty," he remarked.
"I see that Robert was at Blastorne during the time
the crime was committed," retorted Harold; "but J
don't see that he killed poor Mrs. Ainsleigh. He had
no reason."
"Huh!" snorted Rug. "Robert is that weak, that
he would do whatever Gilbert told him. What with
Robert's indulgence in morphia, and Gilbert's stronger
nature, Robert gets a kind of hypnotised."
"But to commit the crime Robert would have had
to be in the house," urged Alix, "and we should have
seen him."
"Not at all, miss. Gilbert could bring Robert into
the house and hide him in one of those unused rooms


THE CAPTAIN'S EVIDENCE. 199
in the west wing. And that's what he did do, taking
him in and bringing him out by the secret passage."
"Oh," said Youle, remembering his suspicions, "then
there is a passage of that sort, Rug?"
The mariner nodded, and looked at his watch.
"I can't stop here all day," he declared rudely, "so
you'd just better hear what I have to say and pass along
a cheque for a thousand." He paused, and then re-
marked impressively, " Gilbert tried to get me mixed up
in the crime."
"Why?" demanded Alix and her lover simul-
taneously.
Rugg scratched his head.
"It's this way," he explained . "I went on the
Monday and saw Barbara. She wouldn't increase my
income, so I called her names—threats she said, which
was a lie—and came away. Gilbert came down here on
the Thursday to fetch his brother, and saw me, saying
that if I came to the Grange on Sunday night, Barbara
would see me again and make arrangements to give me
more money."
"But how did Gilbert know about you?"
"Barbara told him. He was always anxious to know
who I was, as he once found a picture of me. Barbara
would never tell him; but when I called he insisted on
knowing, so Barbara told him the truth."
"I remember there was trouble," said Harold.
"You bet there was, sir. Gilbert didn't see why I
should be paid any money at all."
"Yet he agreed that you should come on Sunday
night to see Mrs. Ainsleigh and get your pension in-
creased."
"That was his little plot," said Rug hurriedly "I
never thought but what he was acting the square man.


200 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
I went down on Sunday, and stopped with Barnacles—
Peddle, as his name is, an old shipmate of mine."
"But how is it you were not seen in the neighbour-
hood?"
"Why? Because I didn't want to be seen. I came
to a station—not Helstone—ten miles away, on the
other side of Gravesend. Barnacles met me in his cart
with the hood, and smuggled me to his house."
"I don't see why you declined to be seen in the
neighbourhood," said Alix. "You came openly before."
Captain Rug looked uneasy.
"I can explain that later, miss. There's a reason for
sure, but I haven't time to give it just now. Let it pass
that I didn't want to be seen. I came to Barnacles'
house, and lay low. I was to wait till Gilbert came
along and told me when to see Barbara. He sent a
message by the boy Tuckle saying I was to be at the
postern gate shortly after nine. I was there till after
eleven waiting, and never saw no one."
"About the time the crime was committed," mused
Youle. "Were you on the outside, or"
"The outside, sir," said Rug shortly. "But no one
came till between eleven and twelve. Gilbert opened
the gate then and brought out his brother. Without a
word he hurried me and his brother to Barnacles' house,
and said that I'd better clear out and take his brother
with me back to London, as Barbara was dead."
"Did he say that Robert had killed her?"
"No. I insisted that Robert did, but Gilbert denied
it. And Robert was quite stupid with morphia. Gilbert
said that someone had killed Barbara, and that I would
likely be accused, as I had threatened her."
"But the letter was not found by that time?"
"Barbara told Gilbert that I threatened her. So


aoa THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"But my thousand pounds," growled Rug threaten-
ingly. "If I told the police"
"You would probably be arrested. I don't wonder
you ran away, Captain, for you were, and are still, in a
tight hole. How do I know that you did not kill Mrs.
Ainsleigh, after all?"
Rug grew purple.
"I swear"
"You needn't . Better hold your tongue. Alix, we
will return to London, as we have heard all we wish to
hear."
"But what about me?" asked Rug savagely.
"I'll see you later, when I have seen Gilbert . In this
matter we must tread on eggshells, as the saying is.
Robert might have killed the poor woman, or you
might have done so. But, in any event, Gilbert knows
the truth. So to Gilbert I shall go."
Rug would have spoken further, but Harold, now
master of the situation, silenced him with a peremptory
gesture, and left the house with Alix. Mrs. Bendeavour
arrived just as they were stepping out of the porch.
"I do hope, miss, you will come down and see
Master Robert again," she said, quite ignorant of the
jeopardy in which she had placed her nursling. "When
he wakes up he's sure to ask for you."
"I'll come again if I can," replied Miss Parsons
evasively, and with this promise Mrs. Bendeavour was
forced to be content
.
Harold did not return again to Myrtle Villa. He
gave Rug instructions that he was to tell Tony to come
to the station, and meanwhile to hold his tongue as to
what had transpired at Smallgains. Rug, who from
being something of a bully was now quite mild and
decidedly uneasy, agreed to do what he was told, and


CHAPTER XX.
DR. PARSONS' ACCUSATION.
WHAT was the meaning of Mrs. Brady's sudden change
of front? She had given Harold to understand that
she loved Gilbert, unworthy though he was, and would
never give him up to another woman. Yet, after an
interview, she unexpectedly surrendered the strong
position she held, and was not only willing that Gilbert
should spoil her own life by passing out of it, but should
spoil Harold's by marrying Alix Parsons. What
masterword had Gilbert Ainsleigh used, to compel her
to act in this way?
To find an answer to this question, Youle drove at
once to Campden Hill, only to find that Mrs. Brady had
left town. She had gone, said the servant, to Sir
George Tyke's country house, near Gravesend. Youle
remembered that this was the place where she had been
staying when she paid that secret visit to Blastorne.
And secret it was, seeing that she had given no name to
Mrs. Push when at the " Blastorne Arms," and had worn
a thick veil to hide a face well known to the public
from frequently figuring in newspapers and society
magazines. He wondered if Mrs. Brady's surrender
was only apparent, and if she had gone to Tyke's house
so as to plan some scheme whereby Gilbert might be
again brought into subjection. From Gravesend she


DR. PARSONS' ACCUSATION. 205
could easily slip across to Blastorne, and, moreover, was
within easy distance of Pitsea, where lived Captain Rug
and Robert Ainsleigh, both seriously implicated in the
murder. At first Harold had a mind to follow Mrs.
Brady to the country house and demand an explanation;
but after some reflection he decided to stick to his
original programme and first see Dr. Parsons. The
doctor, having been on the spot, was the more likely to
know the truth, and might be intimidated into confess-
ing what he knew. Incidentally, also, Youle wished to
interview old Barnacles, so that he might substantiate
the truth of his commander's story.
With this scheme in his head, he went down to
Helstone, and drove across to the Grange at Blastorne.
Alighting at the "Blastorne Arms," he stepped inside
to see Mrs. Push, as it occurred to him that he should
warn her that Mrs. Brady might call again. If so,
Harold wished to be told of her presence, so that he
might meet her on the very spot, and perhaps force out
of her what share she had taken in all this underhand
dealing. In the passage of the inn he came face to face
with the cheery landlady. Almost without giving him
time to open his mouth she began to talk, and scarcely
replied to his greeting.
"If you've come to stop, Master Harold," she said
volubly, "I'm sorry, as Mr. Ainsleigh has your room—
your favourite room."
"What?" Harold started . "Is Mr. Ainsleigh
here?"
"Yes; he came yesterday. To-day he has gone
over to Gravesend, but will be back in the evening."
Youle was quite certain that Gilbert had gone to see
Mrs. Brady at Sir George Tyke's, and guessed that the
pair were concocting some plan. What it might be he


206 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW
could not determine, but took his own precautions, and
instructed the landlady artfully.
"Mr. Ainsleigh and myself are not very good
friends," he said bluntly, " so I won't stop here while he
remains. I'll go to the Grange."
"I am sure Miss Parsons will be glad to see you,
Master Harold," said Mrs. Push archly.
"I am sure she will," replied Youle, also smiling,
"and you needn't tell Mr. Ainsleigh that I am in the
neighbourhood."
Mrs. Push looked grave.
"I will be plain with you, Master Harold," she said
hurriedly, "as I am an old friend. You should let Mr.
Ainsleigh know that you are here, else there may be
trouble over Miss Parsons. He is very attentive to her,
Master Harold, and if he knows you are here, he may
not go near her. I know your hot temper of old,
Master Harold, so"
"Don't trouble about that, Mrs. Push," interrupted
Youle sharply. "Only do what I say. Miss Parsons
is engaged to me, and twenty Ainsleighs shall not come
between us."
"He's a bad man, I know," pursued Mrs. Push
anxiously, "seeing he neglected old Madam, and also
made love to that strange lady."
"Oh, by the way, that lady may come again," said
Harold quickly. "If she should, send round to the
Grange and tell me."
Mrs. Push, although she was apparently bewildered
by Youle's orders, promised to execute them, and saw
him leaving the inn rather anxiously.
"I know his hot temper," she murmured, "and I do
hope as he won't meet Mr. Ainsleigh and quarrel over
Miss Parsons. To be sure, she's going to marry him;


DR. PARSONS' ACCUSATION. 207
but Mr. Ainsleigh is clever and handsome, and girls
are flighty. Oh, dear me, I hope no harm will come of
the matter."
Harold thought of the position of affairs, all the
way to Old Barnacles' cottage, but dismissed various
theories of Ainsleigh's visit to Mrs. Brady when he saw
the old man in his garden. It was necessary to make
his mind a blank, so as to receive fresh impressions, and
he guessed that Old Barnacles would not be an easy
man to tackle in the way of getting information. The
ancient did not come forward as usual to greet Youle
cheerfully. A memory of their last interview evidently
rankled in his mind, so he merely nodded and waited
for Harold to pass on. But the young man took the
bull by the horns, and, as things were too dangerous to
stand on ceremony, he opened the wicket gate and
walked in, to be received sullenly. The sailor did not
even rise from the flower over which he was stooping,
but preserved an ominous silence. But Youle knew
how to make him speak.
"Well, Peddie," he said cheerfully, and the mention
of the name drew the old man up smartly.
"Ain't bin called that for years," said he suspiciously.
"Oh, come now; Captain Orlando Rug never called
you Barnacles."
"I dunno no Captain Rug." And Barnacles stooped
again.
"Strange! He knows you."
"Who said so?" demanded Barnacles, erect once
more, gruff and defiant
.
"He did."
Old Barnacles stared, but, fearful of committing him-
self, said nothing, so Youle continued easily—
"Yes, Peddie, your former captain was very con-


ao8 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
fidential with me, and explained how kind you had
been driving him and Mr. Robert Ainsleigh to Graves-
end. A long journey for that ancient pony of yours,
Mr. Peddie."
"I dunno what you talk about, Muster Youle."
"Here," said Harold sharply, "it is about time to
drop this pretence that you know nothing. You wrote
a letter to Captain Rug warning him of what was going
on here. That letter you refused to show me. How-
ever, I saw a photograph of you amongst the ship's
crew, together with Captain Rug, and, in a way which
does not concern you, I learned his address at Pitsea
.
I have been to Myrtle Villa, and I have seen both
Captain Rug and Robert Ainsleigh. I know all."
"Then you knows as the Captain is innercent?"
stuttered Old Barnacles, giving in before this array of
facts.
"Ah, I am not so sure of that. He was in your
cottage on the night Mrs. Ainsleigh was murdered."
"Yuss, he were," retorted Peddie defiantly, "and
not in the big "ouse."
"How can you prove that, seeing Captain Rug was
at the postern gate yonder from nine till after eleven?
He might have entered, and the crime, if you will re-
member, Mr. Peddie, was committed at nine-thirty."
"Not by him," muttered Old Barnacles stubbornly.
"Do you think I'd ha' helped him, old shipmate though
he was, if I thought as he'd killed the kindest lady as
ever lived, Muster Youle?"
"No, I don't. You think he is innocent, and so
helped him to escape from the neighbourhood without
being seen. But he might be guilty for all that."
"No," persisted the ancient, leaning on his spade;
"if he killed old Madam, Muster Youle, how comes it as


DR. PARSONS' ACCUSATION. 209
the monk as did the killing was walking about the park
arter the Captain left the neighbourhood?"
"Humph!" Harold recalled the description of the
monk given by Mrs. Allison, the lodge-keeper, but pre-
tended ignorance, so as to make the old man speak
out. "Did the monk—the so-called ghost—walk?"
"Yuss, it did, Muster Youle, and it weren't no more
a ghost than I am, sir. Ghosts don't wear clothes as
you can handle."
"Can you prove that this particular ghost did not?"
"Why," declared Old Barnacles, opening his eye
very wide, "I tore the hood of his dress off myself."
"You—tore—the—hood?" echoed Youle slowly,
and fixing the man with a piercing glance. "Then, Mr.
Peddie, it was you who threw that parcel containing the
hood over the park gates, so that it might come into my
possession?"
"It were." Old Barnacles flung out his hand with
a gesture of despair. "You knows so much, so you may
as well know all, Muster Youle. I've tried to keep the
Captain dark, but it ain't no good. All I do know is
that he nivir laid hands on old Madam."
"We'll give him the benefit of the doubt," said
Harold, after a pause. "And now perhaps you
will tell me how the hood came into your possession,
and why you placed it in my hands in that secret way."
Old Barnacles ticked off the questions on his horny
fingers.
"The fust thing you arsk, sir, is answered this way.
Knowing as Muster Ainsleigh said as my captain might
be thought a murderer, I got him away, and then looked
round to see who might have made free, to strangle old
Madam, as was so good to me. I watched in the park,
for I didn't believe in no ghost nohow, and knew it was
o


212 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
Muster Youle, and having no call to go about as that
there ghost.”
“I see, Peddie. Did you recognise the so-called
ghost?”
“Why, there, sir, didn't I tell you as I saw only a
bare pole 2 ”
“Then you think that some person was carrying a
pole, with the hood and the dress perched on top 2"
“Yuss, Muster Youle, though I didn't see no legs;
but perhaps in the dark my eyes didn't see as they
might, me not being a cat. But a bare pole I certinly
did see. What do you think, sir?”
“I don't know what to think,” said Harold, with a
shrug, “save that this riddle becomes more difficult to
answer every day. Still, I'll tell you one thing, Peddie
—I believe that Captain Rug is innocent.”
Old Barnacles slapped his aged knee with a hoarse
laugh.
“It do my heart good to hear you say so, Muster
Youle, that it do.”
Harold nodded in a perfunctory manner.
“Have you any idea of the murderer's name,
Peddie 2 ”
“No, sir. If I did know, I'd thrash him for killing a
good, kind lady like old Madam. And you, sir?”
“I know nothing. I am looking for the assassin,
but hitherto have had no luck. Now I am going to the
Grange, Peddie. You hold your tongue until I give
you leave to speak.”
Old Barnacles nodded.
“No one won't git nothing fro’ me nohow,” he said,
and fell to work again, singing a sea-song in a cracked
voice, apparently pleased that he had saved his late
skipper's character.


-
-
º
º
- º º
“‘OUT WITH IT. HE TOLD YOU WHO STRANGLED
MRS, AINSLEIGH '" (p. 215).


. . . . . . ." -
- - * - - -
- - * * - -
-
- : - f
- - - - - - -*-* * *
-
*
----- ---------------->


DR. PARSONS' ACCUSATION. 215
"Yes; and he told me—told me"
"Out with it . He told you who strangled Mrs.
Ainsleigh?"
"Yes. He—he—oh," the doctor rose, "I have had
enough of being accused. I'll tell all that he told me.
Mrs. Ainsleigh was strangled—that is, she was
killed"
"Well, well"
"By a woman called Brady."


2l6
CHAPTER XXI.
A DARK DEED.
"A WOMAN called Brady!" Harold echoed the words
in amazed tones. "Are you talking of the celebrated
actress?"
"Yes," said Parsons sullenly. "Ainsleigh says that
she killed his wife—out of jealousy, I believe."
Youle remembered how Mrs. Brady had been at the
"Blastorne Arms" on the evening of the murder, and
that, according to her son, she had not returned to Sir
George Tyke's house until midnight. Also he knew
that she loved Gilbert, by her own confession, and would
do much to retain him. Still, he did not think she would
go so far as to murder an unoffending old lady. And,
moreover, she had agreed that Gilbert should marry
Alix.
"I don't think you know what you are saying," he
said to the doctor, as soon as he recovered his breath.
"I am only repeating what Ainsleigh said," retorted
the other, who was sitting, hunched up, looking a picture
of misery and nervous fear.
"When did Ainsleigh tell you this?"
"Yesterday. I saw him when he came here to make
love to Alix, and"
"What?" demanded Youle fiercely. "What the
devil do you mean by allowing him to make love to
Alix?"


220 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"No. I would have done so, only he has gone away."
"Gone away?" Harold could not suppress his sur-
prise.
"Yes. A couple of days ago Alix found that he had
been doing something wrong, so she dismissed him. I
understand that he has left the neighbourhood."
"Queer," mused Harold . "I must question Alix.
She said nothing to me about it when we were at Pitsea
.
But as Tuckle only left the Grange two days ago, you
had ample time to question him."
"Well, I did ask him once or twice," prevaricated the
doctor; "but he denied everything."
Youle was disgusted. Parsons was so slippery a man
that he could not be sure that he was speaking the truth.
First he said one thing and then another, flatly contra-
dicting himself. However, it was useless to point out
these errors, as the man would only tell another lie to
back up his former one.
"And you saw Ainsleigh yesterday?"
"Yes. He came here, to find that Alix was at
Pitsea."
"Did you tell him that?"
"I did, and he seemed annoyed."
"Did he explain the reason for his annoyance?"
"No; I never asked him. But he told me that Mrs.
Brady had killed Mrs. Ainsleigh."
"Voluntarily?"
Parsons nodded
.
"I never asked him, because I am sick and tired of
this murder. But he said that Mrs. Brady had come to
the 'Blastorne Arms' on the evening of the crime—
Sunday it was—and had waited about, until she killed
Mrs. Ainsleigh out of jealousy."
"How did she enter the house?"


222 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
self at the front door. Thomson opened the door, and
expressed himself delighted to see Mr. Youle by per-
mitting a smile to overspread his countenance. Youle
never spoke to servants save in the way of business;
but as he handed over his hat and stick he allowed him-
self to ask a questioa
"You have got rid of Tuckle, I hear, Thomson?"
"Yes, sir; and very glad we all are to see the last
of that young rip, if you will pardon me, sir, for being
so bold. I hear that he is at the ' Blastorne Arms.'"
Harold, who was turning away, wheeled suddenly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. We all thought that he had left the neigh-
bourhood he had disgraced so long, sir. And I dessay,
sir, as he had, and went up to London to see Mr. Ains-
leigh. Now he's come back with him, to insult us all
with his presence."
Youle laughed, but did not ask any further questions,
having heard all he wished to know and something
more. From the fact that Tuckle had returned to Ains-
leigh, he saw well that the quarrel at the time Gilbert
had left the Grange after the funeral was a put-up job,
as he had long suspected. Tuckle had been left behind
as Ainsleigh's spy, and, without doubt, had been caught
practising his vocation. Notwithstanding the boy's
tender years, he was a young rip, as the stately Thom-
son very truly observed. As in the case of Bailey Junior,
in Dickens' novel, " all the wickedness of the world was
print" to Tuckle.
Alix was in the drawing-room, looking rather dis-
turbed . When Harold entered, unannounced, she started
up with an angry flush. When she saw who her visitor
was, she ran towards him with outstretched arms and
threw herself on his breast


A DARK DEED. 223
"I thought it was Mr. Ainsleigh," she said, recover-
ing herself. "I heard that he was at the 'Blastorne
Arms,' and knew that he would come here to bother me."
"He won't, so long as I am here," said Youle grimly.
"You are entirely mine own, dearest, and Ainsleigh had
better keep his hands off. But you need have no fear.
Ainsleigh is at the inn, but to-day has gone to see Mrs.
Brady, who is at Sir George Tyke's house on the hither
side of Gravesend."
"Why has she gone there?"
"I can't say. Furthermore, she has withdrawn her
opposition to your marrying Ainsleigh."
Alix coloured with vexation.
"That is very good of her, but I don't intend to
marry Mr. Ainsleigh. I thought that was settled."
"Quite so; but Mrs. Brady doesn't know what we
know. I expect that Ainsleigh forced her to consent to
leave him alone by threatening to accuse her of the
crime, as he has done to your father."
"What?" Alix caught her lover's arm. "Do you
mean to say"
"Of course, I mean what I do say. Ainsleigh ac-
cused your father to secure you, and now accuses Mrs.
Brady to get rid of her."
"Do you believe that she is guilty, Harold?"
"No, I do not. And, for the life of me, I can't think
who is the criminal. But I'm going to see Mrs. Brady
and interview Ainsleigh and make a general inquiry all
round. Perhaps I may call in the police."
"Oh, Harold!" Alix gave a startled cry. "My
father!"
"He is all right. Mrs. Brady may be guilty, or
Robert Ainsleigh, or Rug, or anyone else—even Old
Barnacles. But your father is innocent, my dear. I am


THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
sure of that . By the way, will you ask me to stop here
for a few days? Your father is in the house, so I pre-
sume you can have male guests if you like."
"Certainly, dear. I am delighted . Your lug-
gage"
"Only a handbag, which I left at the 'Blastorne
Arms.' I had intended stopping there, but think it best
not to, as I wish to avoid meeting Ainsleigh until I am
ready for him. I'll walk back to the inn later and return
in time for dinner. Meanwhile, tell me why you dis-
missed that brat Tuckle."
"Oh, Harold, who told you that I had?"
"Your father. Why did you not inform me yester-
day?"
Alix put her hand to her head in a confused way.
"Really, dear, I can't say. I feel quite dizzy with
all these troubles."
"And so do I. I'll be glad when we learn who killed
Mrs. Ainsleigh and can have a rest. Detective business
is all very well in stories, but in real life it is apt to be-
come monotonous. Well, dear, about Tuckle?"
"I had to dismiss him, Harold, because I found him
at my desk in the parlour reading your letters. I left
some on the table, and he had the impertinence to read
them."
"By order of Ainsleigh, I expect. So you turned
him out."
"Yes," said Alix with spirit; "but I didn't box his
ears, as I should have done. He's a wicked little boy."
"He's a criminal of the worst," said Youle grimly.
"I have my suspicions of Master Tuckle. I shouldn't
wonder—but that can come later, dearest. Let us
banish this detective business and talk about our own
affairs until I go back to the 'Blastorne Arms.'"


A DARK DEED. 225
"Won't you let me send a groom?"
"No; I want to see if Ainsleigh has come back.
Also I might take a look at Tuckle, and find what he is
doing there. He's up to no good, I'm very sure. I'll
be back to dinner about eight, if that is not too late."
"Father likes to dine at seven, but we will make it
eight to-night."
"No; I'll be back, if I can, at seven."
"We'll have the dinner at eight," insisted Alix, only
too pleased to confer a favour on her lover. "And
now let us have a talk."
And talk they did. After dry facts it was a pleasure
to return to the imaginations of love. They planned
their future and recalled pleasant memories, and
altogether had a very delightful golden time. Only
when the twilight came on, and the nightingales began
to sing in the dusky garden, did Harold tear himself
away. He went off in the best of spirits, promising to
fly back on the wings of love.
He soon reached the inn, and found that Ainsleigh
had returned, but had gone out again. Rather pleased
that he had not stumbled against him at a moment when
he was unprepared, Harold took his bag and walked
back to the Grange. Turning off the high road, he
strolled through a meadow along the footpath, enjoying
the delicious twilight. It was quite dusk, and very
peaceful, with shadows everywhere, and joy in the heart
of the lover, who strolled along thinking of the face he
adored. Suddenly a spurt of flame shot from a near
hedge, and Youle felt a sharp pain in his leg. He fell
prone to the ground; tried to rise, and could not . The
treacherous shot had broken his ankle.


t.6
CHAPTER XXII.
ALIX AND MRS. BRADY.
No second shot was fired. Perhaps the assailant,
seeing Youle drop, thought that he was killed. Harold
guessed that this thought would occur to the person in
ambush; therefore, when he fell, he lay quite still and
played 'possum. He fancied that the intended assassin
might come forward to see if the deed was well done,
and then intended—since he could not run—to grasp
him by the leg. And at the worst he might recognise
him. Youle thought it would be a man, as he never for
one moment dreamed that a woman would fire on him.
But the assassin never appeared. After the one
shot all was still, and shortly the affrighted nightingales
began again to sing. The pain of the shot, which had
broken the ankle bone, was great, and Youle had much
to do to keep himself from fainting outright. However,
by a powerful effort of will, he was able to preserve his
senses, and, in spite of the agony, managed to crawl
back the way he came as far as the stile. Here Nature
would have her way, and, notwithstanding his fortitude,
he fainted. But, before his senses left him, he heard
a ploughboy coming along the road whistling, and
managed to give one shout, which, although faint, was
pretty certain to be heard.
When he came to his senses, he was lying on a bed,
and Alix was bending over him, much alarmed. When
he opened his eyes and called her feebly by name, she


ALIX AND MRS. BRADY. 227
bent down and kissed him with tears in her eyes, and a
heartfelt prayer of thanks.
"Dearest, I thought you were dead."
"How did you bring me here ?" he asked faintly.
"One of the labourers was coming along the road
and heard you cry out . He found you by the stile, and
at first thought you were dead. At once he hurried
back to the village for help, and, when it was seen that
it was you, they brought you here. Oh, Harold," she
wreathed her arms round him, " I thought I had lost you
for ever."
"And you will lose him, Alix, unless you stop talk-
ing," said the testy voice of Dr. Parsons. "He'll be in
a high fever soon. Let him be, and go downstairs."
"No; I wish to nurse him. Tell me what to do,
father."
"You had better go downstairs, my dear."
"I won't," cried Alix obstinately. "No one touches
Harold but me. He may die."
The sick man, although half insensible again,
gathered the sense of the words and laughed.
"I'm all right," he murmured. "I've had much worse
wounds in Africa. Don't worry, Alix, and—and"
His voice trailed off, and he fainted again.
"There," said Parsons sharply, "see what you have
done."
"Let me nurse him, father."
The doctor grumbled as he stooped over the
wounded man.
"I suppose someone must nurse him, so why not
you? Here, go to my room and get some lint. I must
examine the leg."
Alix went away obediently enough, and Parsons,
forgetting his petty jealousies, became professional
.


ALIX AND MRS. BRADY. 229
in the police until Youle was sufficiently recovered to
direct operations, and so sent a message to Inspector
Unwin that he need not come. All the same the in-
spector did come, and then Alix persuaded him
(although he was rather unwilling to concede so much)
to wait until Harold could speak. -
"Though I see plainly that we must wait," said
Unwin, looking down at the white face of the sick man,
"Mr. Youle must explain exactly what took place before
we can move."
Alix was the only one who had heard Youle's low-
toned accusation of Gilbert, and kept this information to
herself. However, she sent to the inn, and found that
Mr. Ainsleigh had gone to town, but had left Tuckle
behind with his luggage. Mr. Ainsleigh intended to re-
turn, according to the landlady, so Alix conjectured that
Gilbert was waiting to learn if Harold would live or die.
If he lived, Ainsleigh would probably return to face out
the matter, if accused; but if Youle died, then he would
possibly leave England. And to gain information he
had left Tuckle behind in his usual character of a spy.
Of course, all this was mere theory; but Alix could
solve the mystery of Ainsleigh's conduct in no other
way.
Her mode of procedure appeared to please Harold.
When he woke on the afternoon of the second day
after his accident, he was quite able to see Inspector
Unwin, who came over at once. Unwin questioned the
young man as to who had fired the shot. Harold, as
Alix guessed he would, professed ignorance. All he
declared was, that he was passing through the meadow
when the shot was fired, and that he saw no one. Unwin
was disappointed, and went out to see what he could
discover. Then it was that Alix told her lover how


232 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
inspection, and started when she read the name of Mrs.
Brady. After a glance at the sleeping man, she made
up her mind how to act, and softly disengaged her hand
from that of the sleeper. Then, placing her finger on
her lips to enforce quietness, she moved silently to the
door, followed by the butler. When without, she spoke,
still softly, in case Harold should waken and hear.
"Send the housekeeper to watch Mr. Youle," she
directed . "I'll see this lady myself."
Thomson bowed and moved away in search of the
housekeeper, while his mistress descended the stairs
wondering why Mrs. Brady had come, and for what
reason she desired to see Harold Youle. Certainly it
was about the case and in connection with Gilbert's
underhand plotting; but Alix failed to see how Youle
could help the ex-actress in any way whatsoever.
Mrs. Brady, looking wonderfully handsome, in a
fashionable summer dress, but with pale cheeks and
glittering eyes, rose as Alix entered. Without preamble,
she plunged into conversation.
"You are no doubt Miss Parsons," she said. "May
I see Mr. Youle?"
"I don't think so, Mrs. Brady," replied Alix quietly,
and taking in the details of the other's costume with a
woman's swiftness. "He's been wounded, and is still
very ill."
Mrs. Brady's full lips quivered
.
"I heard that someone had tried to assassinate him,"
she said quietly enough. "The landlady at the
'Blastorne Arms' told me. I went there to see Mr.
Ainsleigh, but find that he has gone to London.
Therefore, when I heard of the accident to Mr. Youle,
I came here to inquire, and, if possible, to see my old
friend"


ALIX AND MRS. BRADY. 333
The lips of Alix Parsons curled.
"You call it accident," she said in a low tone of
scorn. "I call it assassination."
"So did I a few seconds ago. Don't let us quarrel,
Miss Parsons. I come as your friend, and not as your
enemy."
"I should think so, Mrs. Brady. There is no reason
why we should be enemies."
"You forget," Mrs. Brady took a seat, and assumed
a graceful pose from sheer habit of the footlights; "we
both love the same man."
"Mr. Youle?"
The actress made an impatient gesture.
"Mr. Ainsleigh."
"You are wrong. I love Mr. Youle, not Mr.
Ainsleigh."
"Yet you are engaged to the latter."
"Pardon me, I am engaged to Harold Youle."
"I know that you were" said Mrs. Brady, looking
puzzled; "but Gilbert told me"
"That I had jilted Harold for him," finished Alix
quietly. "Well, I did so for a few days, but not of my
own free will. Now that I have seen Harold I have
changed my mind."
"You seem to be somewhat whimsical," said Mrs.
Brady, tapping her foot impatiently.
"You would also have been whimsical had you been
placed by Mr. Ainsleigh in the position in which he
placed me." Alix looked hard at Mrs. Brady to watch
the effect of her next words. "Mr. Ainsleigh accused
my father of having murdered Mrs. Ainsleigh. To pre-
vent his giving notice to the police I agreed to become
engaged to him."
"Vile! vile!" murmured Mrs. Brady, her cheek


ALIX AND MRS. BRADY. 235
Alix shrugged her shoulders.
"To you also, I understand," said she.
Mrs. Brady started up with an angry exclamation.
"What do you mean by that accusation, Miss Par-
sons?"
"What I mean is plain enough. Gilbert told my
father that you"
"It's a lie!" burst out the other woman, and clenched
her hand until the glove split. "Gilbert certainly said
that he would accuse me of committing the murder un-
less I allowed him to marry you. I was placed in such
a position that I had to—had to—oh, to think that he
of all men should accuse me!"
"And yet you love a man who can act so cowardly
a part?"
"I don't know. He is a scoundrel and a liar and
a Oh, my girl, my girl! Thank God that Youle is
a good, honest gentleman, and not such a creature as
Gilbert Ainsleigh."
"You must overcome your love, Mrs. Brady. He is
quite unworthy."
"I know that—I have known it all along; and yet—
we women, you know what fools we are when the heart
governs the head. But I must fight against this infatua-
tion. What you say makes the fight a trifle easier. He
accuses me, the villain, yet knows that I am innocent."
Alix took Mrs. Brady's hand.
"I am quite sure that you are innocent," she assured
her earnestly. "I shall always be your friend."
"Friend! friend—ah, how I need a friend! Yes, my
friend, and to prove that I am honest in my friendship,
I'll tell you who killed Mrs. Ainsleigh."
"Yes?" questioned Alix, her heart beating rapidly.
"Robert Ainsleigh—Gilbert's mad brother!"


CHAPTER XXIII.
A NEW CLUE.
MRS. BRADY made this announcement in her best
dramatic manner, but it had less effect on Alix than
she expected. "You don't seem to be very surprised,"
said Mrs. Brady, discomfited.
"No. I rather expected you to say what you did."
"You expected it!"—the ex-actress was genuinely
surprised—" then you know Robert Ainsleigh?"
"I made his acquaintance the other day at Pitsea.
Captain Rug also accuses him."
"Rug, Rug ?—I know that name. Where have I
heard it?"
"Your son is in love with Captain Rug's daughter,
I believe."
Mrs. Brady nodded. "Yes. Mary Jane Rug—
merely a boy and girl calf love, Miss Parsons. I heard
something about the young woman living at Pitsea, and
although I knew that Robert Ainsleigh lived there also,
it never came into my mind to connect the two. Who
is Captain Rug, and what does he know of the matter?"
"Has not Gilbert told you?"
"No. It did not suit him, I suppose. Gilbert never
tells me anything save what is necessary to his plans.
But you see that I am honest in my friendship for you,
Miss Parsons. Tell me exactly how matters stand, as
it may be necessary for me to defend myself against


A NEW CLUE. 237
Gilbert. He wants to get rid of me in order to marry
you."
"I shall never marry him," said Alix decisively. "I
was foolish even to engage myself to him; but I lost
my head for the moment in thinking of my father's
peril. But if I tell you what I know, will you"
"Tell you everything?" interrupted Mrs. Brady. " Of
course I will. We must stand shoulder to shoulder, un-
less we want Gilbert to get his own way, Miss Parsons."
"I have an idea that Mr. Ainsleigh is coming to the
end of his tether, Mrs. Brady," replied Alix quickly;
"he has plotted and counter-plotted for a long time, but
the hour of punishment is at hand."
"Oh!" Mrs. Brady gasped. "You will not harm
him!"
"No, nor will Harold. But the law may."
"The law! Surely you don't think"
"That he killed his wife himself? No. I and
Harold saw Gilbert asleep in the pagoda at the time the
crime was committed. He did not kill poor Mrs. Ains-
leigh himself, but I am quite sure that he forced his
brother to murder her."
Mrs. Brady nodded, her face grey with horror. "I
really believe he did; and yet he explains the matter
differently. He declared to me that he was innocent."
"And declares everyone else guilty," retorted Alix.
"But I shall have to return to Harold, so we may as
well understand one another before we part. I'll tell
you how I came to see Captain Rug, and, through him,
how I met Robert Ainsleigh."
Alix detailed the whole of the visit to Pitsea, and
related how she had found the address of the sailor;
also she explained how it came about that suspicion
rested on Captain Rug. Mrs. Brady, with her eyes fixed


A NEW CLUE. 439
the bad qualities and Robert all the good. But Gilbert
has a strong will, and Robert a weak one. Gilbert
always dominated Robert. He spent his own money,
left by their father, and then squandered Robert's in-
come. It was Mrs. Bendeavour, I believe, who saved
what was left of Robert's money. She threatened to go
to the family lawyer and tell something she knew about
Gilbert, so that he was forced to leave Robert alone.
Then, finding that source of income cut off, he looked
about for a rich wife. At first he came after me, as
he saw that I was foolish enough to be fond of him.
He wanted me to elope with him, but I refused. Brady
never did treat me well, but I had my boy Tony to
think of, and, moreover, I had no wish to lose my good
name. An actress has to be very careful, Miss Parsons.
There are always people ready to throw mud at her."
"From what I have heard, no mud was ever thrown
at you, Mrs. Brady."
"No," said the other woman with pride, "my posi-
tion has always been a good one. I never lost my head
over any man; but I am bound to confess to you what
I would not confess to anyone else—that I nearly did
lose my head over Gilbert Ainsleigh. However, I re-
fused to run away, much as he wished it. He knew that
I made my own money, you see," explained Mrs. Brady
bitterly, "and so didn't mind the divorce. But I did,
and for the time being was strong enough to send him
about his business. Then he paid attentions to Miss
Barbara Blastorne, and married in an evil hour."
"For her, poor lady," said Alix; "and perhaps," she
added significantly, "for himself also."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Brady
again, with a piercing glance—then, without waiting for
a reply, went on: "No. Don't tell me. Deal with


242 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
had heart disease. Her husband knew that if she saw
the ghost she might die."
Mrs. Brady rose and placed her hand on her heart.
"I swear to you, Miss Parsons, that I never knew this,"
she said, "else I would never have given Gilbert the
monk's dress."
"What! You did that?"
"I did, and with the best intentions. I thought that
if Mrs. Ainsleigh were cured that Gilbert might be more
happy, as her superstition apparently wrecked her
nerves, and made her difficult to get on with. I had
produced a play in which several Cistercian monks
figured, and some of the dresses I had kept. Gilbert
asked me to bring one to Blastorne, so that he might
trick his wife into dismissing her foolish fancies. I came
on that Sunday evening and brought the dress."
Alix thought. "I remember. Harold said that you
had given Gilbert a parcel."
"It contained the dress. Then I went away in a
motor which a friend of mine was driving me in. I in-
tended to go back to Sir George Tyke's house, where I
was stopping. Just outside Blastorne the motor broke
down, and while it was being repaired I went for a stroll.
I thought I might see Gilbert again, and came to the
postern gate of the park. There I waited, but later saw
a man coming, and left."
"That must have been Captain Rug."
"I don't know who he was. I did not wish to be
seen. I had my good name to consider, you see, and
Mrs. Ainsleigh, who knew about me, was very jealous.
It was about nine that I left the postern gate, and then,
as I did not think the motor would be repaired, I walked
round the park. It was ten o'clock when I went back to
the motor. It was repaired in a way, and we started off.


A NEW CLUE. 343
A few miles on it broke down again, and we were many
hours getting to Tilbury. I then crossed the river, and
got to Sir George Tyke's about midnight. But you can
see, Miss Parsons, that about the time of the murder I
was in the neighbourhood, and had no one to prove
where I was. As Gilbert said, I could easily have en-
tered the house and committed the crime."
"I don't see that at all," said Alix indignantly; "you
could not enter a house of which you knew nothing."
"No; and—yet. Wait; I'll go on. When I heard
of the murder I was astonished, particularly when I
heard that Mrs. Ainsleigh had been killed by a supposed
ghost in a monk's dress. When Gilbert came to town he
saw me and explained that he had left the dress in his
room, and that someone had put it on and had killed his
wife."
"Then whom did he suspect?"
"He said your father was guilty. Afterwards I went
to Pitsea to see Mrs. Bendeavour, whom I knew for many
years. She let slip that Robert had been to Blastorne
on Sunday, so I went back and accused Gilbert of having
induced Robert to commit the crime. Gilbert said that
Robert had certainly been at Blastorne on that evening,
as he wished to present him to his wife. But when
Robert arrived he was in a bad way owing to the drug.
Gilbert then said that he left the dress and Robert in
his room, and came down to dinner. He went away to
sleep in the pagoda, and during that time Robert
must have put on the dress and have killed Mrs.
Ainsleigh."
"But why should he kill her?"
"Because he was mad with the morphia, and per-
haps got frightened. But I am quite sure that Robert is
guilty."


244 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"It looks like it," mused Alix; "and yet the story is
rather ridiculous, Mrs. Brady. Why should Robert put
on a monk's dress?"
The actress shrugged her shoulders. "Who can
account for the vagaries of a lunatic?" said she scorn-
fully. "But I held my tongue, as I thought Robert
killed the woman when he didn't know what he was
about. Certainly I should have spoken out had anyone
been arrested, but until then I held my peace. Then
Youle told me that Gilbert was engaged to you, and I
had a quarrel . I insisted on his remaining true to me,
but he said he wanted money, and especially that which
had been wrongfully left away from him to you. He
threatened that if I spoke out to clear Dr. Parsons, that
he would say I had killed Mrs. Ainsleigh out of sheer
jealousy. Well"—Mrs. Brady made an eloquent gesture
—" you can see that, what with my having the dress, and
being absent in the neighbourhood from the motor with-
out anyone being able to swear what I was doing, that
the police could have made up a very strong case against
me."
"I don't think so, Mrs. Brady. If you had faced it
out"
"I had my name to think of, Miss Parsons. And
please don't forget that, if I had not given way to Gilbert,
your father would have been accused, or else you would
have had to marry Gilbert. No; I did the best I could,
as the matter is so complicated that anyone might have
been arrested. I could not prove an alibi, you see, and
then,"—Mrs. Brady shrugged her shoulders—" well, you
know what is thought of a jealous woman: that she is
capable of anything, even of murder."
"I see," said Alix, beginning to perceive that, with
such a scoundrel as Ainsleigh to deal with, Mrs. Brady's



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A NEW CLUE. 345
position was really a difficult one. "And what's to be
done now?"
Mrs. Brady rose to take her leave. "I can't say. I
leave the matter in your hands. Robert Ainsleigh is
guilty, so you must do as you please. I retire from the
stage, Miss Parsons."
And, having cleared her character, retire she did,
taking an affectionate leave of Alix. As the girl turned
to remount the stairs and see how Harold was getting on,
Thomson advanced, and his information rather surprised
her. "If you please, miss, a party of three arrived, and
Dr. Parsons took them to Mr. Youle's room. Mr.
Youle, miss, is quite himself, and sent away two—a
gentleman and a woman as is elderly—and kept the
third, another younger woman, in his room, along with
the doctor. Mr. Youle wants to see you at once, miss."
Without a word Alix turned and went quickly to
the sick-room, wondering what had induced her father to
introduce strangers into the room at such a time. She
had a half idea of who the trio might be, and this
became a whole idea when she saw Julianna Smithers
seated, weeping, beside the bed. Dr. Parsons stood
near her, and Harold, with his eyes very bright, was
sitting up. He held a ring.
"See, Alix!" he cried, holding it out, "this is the
ring which I gave Gilbert Ainsleigh, and which he said
was lost. I got it from this girl, and it proves that
Ainsleigh killed his wife!"
"I know," said Alix, " he induced Robert to kill her."
"He killed her himself," declared Youle forcibly.


CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
ALIX stared at her lover, and wondered whether he had
lost his wits. "It is impossible that Gilbert could have
killed his wife," said she quietly. "If you remember,
Harold, we saw him sleeping in the pagoda at the time
Mrs. Ainsleigh was strangled."
Youle bent his brows ponderingly. "I remember,"
he said . "There is something very clever about the
whole business — diabolically clever. In some way
Gilbert killed her with his own hands."
"But he could not be in two places at once," protested
Parsons.
"No. And yet the ring, Alix!"—he gave it into
her hands—-" you recognise the stone?"
"Yes," she replied after a close examination. "It
is one of the new gems you brought from Africa."
"Exactly; and cannot be imitated. I alone possess
such gems, and risked my life to obtain them. Of some
a necklace was made for you, and I had a ring—this
ring—made for myself, containing one jewel. If you
remember, Gilbert Ainsleigh took a fancy to the stone,
and asked me for the ring. He wore it constantly;
then—so he said—it was lost."
"Did this girl "—Alix indicated Julianna—" find it'"
"No, I didn't," growled Miss Smithers in a strong,
common voice. "It was given to me by Tuckle."
"And Tuckle told you where he found it?"


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 247
"He said as he bought it to engage me, as we're
going to marry."
"And keep a fish shop in Whitechapel," said Harold
coolly. "I know all about that. But, you see, Alix, that
if Tuckle is possessed of the ring, he must know that
Gilbert killed Mrs. Ainsleigh."
Alix thought hard, but could come to no conclusion.
"I can't see that, Harold, really I can't. If Gilbert lost
the ring, or left it in his room, Tuckle might have found
it, or might even have stolen it."
"You ain't got no right to say that, miss," growled
Julianna; "my boy is as honest as the day."
"We'll soon see if he is," cried Youle quickly.
"Doctor, will you please go to the inn with Miss
Smithers here, and bring Tuckle along?"
"He won't come if he is guilty," said Parsons.
"Guilty of murder, do you mean?"
"Guilty of theft," said Harold.
Julianna rose in a storm of indignation. "I'm only
a poor servant, and you're gentlefolk," she declared;
"but it's a shame, taking away my boy's character. He
wants to marry me"
"And you're double his age," interrupted Youle.
"Fifteen and thirty don't go well together, Miss
Smithers."
"That ain't got nothing to do with you, sir. All I
say is as Tuckle wants to marry me, and me having no
other chance of getting a husband, I must take what's to
hand. But marry him I shan't, if he's done anything
wrong, which I don't believe he ain't," concluded
Julianna incoherently. "And come back here to clear
his character he will, sir, if I have to drag him by the
scruff of the neck to do it," and Miss Smithers made,
heavy-footed, for the door.


248 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Follow her, Parsons," said Youle faintly, for the
excitement was too much for him.
The doctor, as a doctor, should have seen to his
patient's condition, but he was too deeply concerned in
the new development of affairs to trouble his head.
Without even a backward glance he followed the girl
out of the room, and left Alix alone with her lover. At
once she flew to a side table and poured out a glass of
brandy. The ardent spirit soon brought back the colour
to the invalid's cheek and the light to his eyes, and
his voice became stronger, although Alix implored
him not to speak. "You'll make yourself worse,"
she said.
"Nonsense," said Harold with renewed vigour.
"Things are too serious to permit of my leaving them
alone. I tell you, Alix, that the truth is coming to light
.
If Gilbert Ain sleigh can prove that he lost that ring
before the murder, I have nothing to say. If afterwards,
I shall have my doubts. It all depends upon what
Tuckle says."
Alix looked impatient. "I don't see how you
can prove his guilt by means of the ring," she said,
puzzled.
"I can. Wait till you hear this boy's story. He has
been Gilbert's tool, and has lied all the way through in
the hope of getting money, and also, as I believe, to
protect his master, of whom he is afraid. I know what
questions to put, Alix, and if they are answered as I ex-
pect you will find that Gilbert is guilty."
"But Robert"
"Robert is innocent. Of that I am convinced. By
the way, he came here to see you."
"Why?" she asked, opening her eyes wide.
"Because he has taken a great fancy to you. The


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 249
poor creature is weak in the head, and is still weaker
from the fact of his taking that drug recommended by
his brother for sciatica."
"Harold, Mrs. Brady said that Gilbert really is fond
of his brother, and would not have given him the drug to
harm him."
"He did, however. It would have been better for
Robert to have borne the pain of nerves, than to have
taken to a drug when he is a man of so weak a will.
But Mrs. Brady? Where have you seen her?"
"She was here a few minutes ago. As you were
asleep, I would not allow her to see you. We had a
talk, and she told me a great deal."
"What about?"
Alix related the whole of her interview with Mrs.
Brady, to which Youle listened with great attention. At
the conclusion of the explanation he nodded. "Quite
so. I knew that Mrs. Brady had given the dress. I
guessed it when I saw the photograph of the play in her
drawing-room. She is innocent enough, and I wonder
she was such a fool as to think that the police would
arrest her. Gilbert played on her fears, and, of course,
she wished to avoid a scandal. I am glad she has given
the man up. He's a bad lot . He killed his wife and
tried to kill me, and would have hanged Mrs. Brady or
your father without compunction had he been able to
attain his end. But we'll soon place him in such a posi-
tion that he will not be able to do any more harm,
Wait till I see Tuckle."
"And what about Mrs. Bendeavour?"
"Oh, she is with Robert downstairs in the library.
You can see them later, Alix. As soon as Robert has
seen you he will go away. But he bothered the old
woman to bring him, and she had to yield. She also


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 251
"Well, what's a cove to do, when he's driven so
hard?" grumbled Tuckle.
"A cove's got to tell the whole truth," said Youle
sharply. "See here, my boy, you have lied to no
purpose about Dr. Parsons. You said that you picked
up the cross in the parlour. That was a lie, for the cross
you found in the bedroom, when you went to get the
cigar-holder. But you did pick up something beside the
dead body, and that was the ring."
"I never did."
"Don't contradict. Mr. Ainsleigh got that ring from
me, and always wore it. I saw it on his hand on the
night Mrs. Ainsleigh was killed. Afterwards I noticed
that he did not wear it. Tuckle, confess at once that
Mr. Ainsleigh lost the ring in the parlour during the
struggle with his wife, and that you found it. Confess,
also, that when you told Mr. Ainsleigh that he persuaded
you to hold your tongue, and to say that you picked up
Dr. Parsons' cross so as to incriminate him. Confess
that you played the part of the ghost seen by Mrs.
Allison and Old Barnacles, and that, to make yourself
taller, you carried a stick to raise the hood. Confess
that Gilbert told you to do this."
"Gilbert?" giggled the boy, now shaking with
nervous fear.
"Mr. Ainsleigh. You know perfectly well whom I
mean. Confess what part you have taken in all this
business, or I'll have you arrested."
"And if I confess?" whimpered Tuckle, wetting his
dry lips.
"I'll have Ainsleigh arrested, for he killed his wife."
"You'u have master arrested?" said the page, and
a strange look crossed his face. "Well, I thought
you'd "He stopped.


452 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"What does he mean by that?" asked AHx, noting
the boy's behaviour.
"Some wickedness," put in Parsons indignantly.
"To think that an inferior menial like this should accuse
me of murder. Oh!" and he snorted.
Meantime Harold was thinking. After a steady gaze
at Tuckle's face and downcast eyes, he turned to
Julianna.
"Did you tell the boy about the ring at the inn?"
"Yes," she said, with an angry glance at Tuckle,
"and made him come along at once to clear his character,
else he'll never be my husband."
"Was the boy out of your sight at the inn after you
told him why he was wanted?"
"He went for a few minutes to get his cap," said
Julianna.
"Oh! that was the excuse, was it?" said Youle
triumphantly; then addressed himself to Tuckle. "So
you sent a telegram to Ainsleigh warning him that the
game was up, did you?"
"I don't know what you mean, sir," said Tuckle,
changing colour again.
"Pshaw! you know well enough. The mention of
that ring showed that you were wanted here to explain
how it came into your possession. You knew that your
explanation would inculpate Ainsleigh, and you seized
the opportunity, while presumably searching for your
cap, to send a wire to London telling him to fly."
"I never"
"Doctor," interrupted Harold sharply, "go down-
stairs and send a groom to Helstone for Inspector
Unwin."
"What for ?" yelped Tuckle in dismay.
"To have you arrested."


as* THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
he was so anxious to get away, as someone was pulling
at the parlour door from inside, that he bolted towards
the West Wing without thinking of the ring. Then I
looked at it, and saw it was one that master wore. I
didn't know what he'd been doing, but I slipped the ring
into my pocket, and ran back to the doctor's room at
once."
"Why did you do that?"
"'Cause I thought master had been up to something,
and I'd get some money out of it, if I knew, and pre-
tended I didn't know."
"You young scoundrel!"
"I had to do the best I could for myself, sir," said
Tuckle sulkily, "me being a pore boy. Then I comes
along later, when everyone was talking, and you collared
me."
"And you lied to me," said Harold sternly.
"Well, sir," said the boy pertly, "I saw that master
had murdered missus, and knew that I was made for
life."
"Oh," groaned the doctor, " what a blackmailer!"
"And Ainsleigh employed you to execute all these
other tricks so as to avert suspicion from him?"
"Yes," said Tuckle crossly; "and I ain't done
nothing wrong."
Harold would have replied sharply to the iniquitous
brat, but that he was seized with another attack of
faintness, and could scarcely speak. All he could say
was to warn Alix to keep hold of Tuckle, and then he
fell back insensible. Alix flew to his assistance, but Dr.
Parsons ordered her to take Tuckle and Miss Smithers
away, and attended himself to his patient. Therefore
the girl unwillingly left the room, followed by Julianna,
who was holding her head very high, and taking abso-





THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 255
lutely no notice of the downcast Tuckle. He walked
after her like a prisoner being led to justice.
Harold soon revived, but still was weak. The loss of
blood and the excitement of the moment made him
incapable of continuing the examination of Tuckle.
However, he gave orders that Inspector Unwin was to
be sent for, and that Tuckle was to be kept a close
prisoner until he could be handed over to the proper
authorities. Then he went to sleep, and woke up to
have some food about eight o'clock. Alix entered and
chatted to him for a few minutes.
"I saw Mrs. Bendeavour and Robert," she said, " and
they went back to Pitsea by a late train. Julianna is
here, but will not have anything to do with Tuckle.
The Inspector will be here in the morning. Now, do
try and go to sleep, Harold, while I watch beside you
during the night."
"No, dear, I am all right now. Neither you nor your
father need watch. Come and see me at eight in the
morning. I'll sleep round the clock."
Alix thought that this was a good thing for her lover
in his weak condition, so, after making him comfortable
for the night, she went away, and only peeped in at ten
o'clock to say " Good night."
Harold slept for a time, but woke about midnight.
The blind was up, and the moonlight was pouring into
the room. He lay comfortable enough, half asleep and
half awake, dozing luxuriously, when he became aware
that someone was in the room. He heard the door
being locked, and the figure came to his bed-side, and
sat down.
"I have come to pay you a visit, Youle," said Gilbert
Ainsleigh; "you and I have to reckon with each other."


A CONFESSION. 357
ring to my brother, Mr. Youle? He was in the house,
remember."
Harold had never thought of this contingency. "You
need not lay the blame on that unfortunate brother of
yours," he said, uneasily and angrily; "he is perfectly
innocent."
"You will have to prove that," snapped Gilbert; but
the cigarette shook in his hand. The moonlight was
fairly strong, and although the face of Gilbert was in
the shadow, the lower part of his body, and his hands,
were in the thin, cold light.
"I think that can be done by Tuckle. He saw your
face, remember."
"The young liar!" Gilbert spoke violently. "He
could not have done that. The hood was over my face."
"Oh, indeed!" said Youle, calmly, and noting the
trap into which Ainsleigh had fallen; "so it was you
after all?"
"I did not say that," retorted the other quickly.
"You inferred as much. At all events, whatever
defence you will set up, I think you will find it hard to
escape hanging."
"I don't intend to be hanged, or even arrested," said
Gilbert savagely. "You have won the game, which you
have played so cleverly. But for you the truth would
never have been found out. As it is, I am quite aware
of my danger; and I am aware also, that unless I can
bring the crime home to Robert I must submit to my
doom."
"Robert is innocent. You brought him here so as
to implicate him in the murder, if necessary. Also, you
tried to implicate Captain Rug by making him come
to the postern gate. Mrs. Brady also was accused by
you, because of the accident to the motor and her subse-
R


258 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
quent wandering round the place alone, which prevented
her offering an alibi."
"You forget Ur. Parsons," said Gilbert jeeringly.
"I could get up a case against him also."
"I quite believe it. My only wonder is that you did
not try to make out that Tuckle had strangled your
wife."
"I had other uses for the boy," said Gilbert tartly.
"Naturally. You used him as a shield for your crime."
Gilbert was silent for a few minutes, and shook off
the ash of his cigarette on to the floor. "You seem very
certain that I am personally responsible for the death
of my wife."
"With my whole heart I believe you strangled her
yourself."
"And yet you and Alix saw me in the pagoda
asleep."
"I know that . I can't understand how you brought
the matter about."
"Had I time after you left me to get into the house,
assume the dress, and enter the parlour and kill my
wife?"
"No. We were only a few minutes in getting under
the parlour window."
"In that case I must be innocent. I can call you
and Alix as witnesses to prove an alibi."
"But the ring?"
"I gave that to Robert."
"I don't believe it. Besides, you admitted that
Tuckle could not have seen your face, and thereby
showed that you were the disguised man."
"I admit that to you, but I would do so to no one
else," said Gilbert, laughing coldly. "What takes place
between us here will never be known, Mr. Youle."


A CONFESSION. 259
"You intend to stab me, then?" said Harold, lying
perfectly still. "I am at your mercy. I have no weapon,
and I am weak with illness. If you choose to be a
coward—but you are one already, else you would
scarcely have murdered a harmless old lady, andorw to
whom you owed so much."
"You had better keep a civil tongue in your head,"
said Gilbert; and his voice shook with rage. "I have
quite enough to bear as it is, without listening to your
taunts, Mr. Youle. You have the money and the girl I
love"
"The girl you love? Pah!"
"Sneer as you like; Alix Parsons is the woman I
love. I have always loved her, and would have mar-
ried her"
"If she would have accepted you."
"If I had possessed sufficient money," corrected the
other quietly. "Her father was on my side, and she
would have yielded."
"I don't think so."
"I do. I know that Alix has developed a will lately,
but in those days she obeyed her father, and I knew
quite enough of Dr. Parsons' secrets to make him do
what I want. But I am accustomed to luxury, and there-
fore was forced to marry money."
"Your vices forced you."
"Perhaps. But of those vices, morphia-taking was
not one."
"Oh!" Harold drew the clothes more comfortably
up to his chin. "I guessed long ago that you never
really took morphia to excess. You were playing a
game, for some reason which I cannot tell you."
"Can't you guess?"
"No. Only I am certain that the reason had to do


a6o THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
with the death of your wife. Why did you marry the
poor lady if you intended to kill her?"
"I never intended to kill her. But I grew weary of
her. I wanted her to give me half her income and then
divorce me. In that case I could have married Alix,
and been happy for life. But Barbara perhaps guessed
my intentions, and refused to give me anything more
than the poor five hundred a year which she settled on
me at our marriage. I grew weary of being tied to a
woman I did not love, and of seeing constantly in the
house a girl I adored."
"Yet you intended, when freed by your own act, to
marry Mrs. Brady."
"I did, because Barbara, by making a new will, left
me penniless. Had she not tricked me in that way, I
should have got the money and have made Alix my
wife."
"In spite of the fact that she was engaged to me."
Gilbert gave a low laugh. "Oh, you saw how easily
I arranged that."
"By accusing an innocent man of a murder of which
you were the perpetrator," said Harold scornfully.
"I admit that."
"You do?" cried Youle, wondering at the hardihood
of the man.
"To you, but to no one else," said Ainsleigh rapidly.
"You fool; do you think I would speak so freely to you,
unless I knew that you were in my power?"
"I don't see what good that will do," retorted Youle
sneeringly. "Tuckle is the principal witness against
you. Kill me, and you only add to your crimes, yet do
no good to yourself."
"I may be able to get rid of Tuckle also," said Gil-
bert, lighting another cigarette in the most nonchalant


A CONFESSION. 261
manner. "He is sleeping in the house, remember. I
know every room and passage"
"Including the secret one."
"Quite so. I entered by the secret passage. Even
Barbara did not know that it existed . I found it when
looking over some old family papers in the muniment
room. Thinking the information might be useful I kept
it to myself, and searched for the passage. It gives ad-
mittance by a panel into a room in the West Wing,
which is, if you remember, uninhabited. The passage
comes out into an old well near the postern gate, half-
way down, above the level of the water. Rough stones
project from the sides of the well, and one can climb up.
To close the passage I expect the well had only to be
filled with water, and the means of entrance was sealed.
But how the well can be filled I confess I do not know.
The water, to my knowledge, has always remained at
the same level. But as the door into the passage is some
way down, and the well is dark, no one ever suspected
the truth. Well?"
"Well?" echoed Youle, calmly; "what do you ex-
pect me to say? You found the secret passage and
made use of it in that ghost business."
Gilbert laughed again. "Yes. I knew that my wife
had heart disease, and thought that the ghost might
frighten her. I used an ordinary monastic robe on
several occasions, until I procured a genuine Cistercian
dress from Mrs. Brady. Some of the servants saw me,
but I don't think Barbara ever did. Parsons saw me in
the gallery. I assure you, Youle, that I never intended
to strangle my wife."
"You intended to frighten her to death?"
"Yes; but that is an easy death."
"Ainsleigh, you are a scoundrel!"


A CONFESSION. 263
I can catch a steamer that sails in the morning. I
won't tell you where I am going, and it really doesn't
matter much, as you will be past harming me."
"Then you are going to kill me?" said Harold again.
"I am going to dispose of you," Gilbert assured
him coolly. "You know now how I can escape from the
Grange after settling you. But you do not know how
I killed my wife."
"You admit it, then?"
Gilbert made an impatient gesture. "How weari-
some you are, Youle! We agreed to come to that
conclusion some time ago. Yes; I did kill my wife,
because I wanted to marry Alix; because she wearied
me, because she would not give me money, and, in short,
because I wished to get rid of her. She found out too
much about me, and I have not a clean past, I regret to
say."
"So I should imagine," sneered Harold.
"For a man who is on the point of extinction you
are uncommonly cool, my dear fellow," said Gilbert
calmly. "Well, I'll try and make you suffer as little
as possible, as I am not a brutal man. The suspense
is the worst thing you will have to bear."
"Oh, drop talking, and tell me how you killed your
wife."
"Humph! You wish to carry the information with
you into the next world," said Ainsleigh; "well, so be
it. Far be it from me that I should deny you this last
pleasure. Well, then, I tried, as I said, to frighten Bar-
bara with the ghost, hoping she would die of her heart.
But she lived, so I was obliged to adopt stronger mea-
sures. I pretended to take morphia, and I really did
take sufficient to make me more resemble my brother
Robert."


264 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"I see; you wished to place the crime on his shoul-
ders."
"Of course. That was why I brought him down
secretly. I took him to London, and said that I would
introduce him to my wife. He therefore came down with
me to Gravesend on that occasion, when I went up to
town after the quarrel with my wife. I really went then
because she told me who Captain Rug was, and gave
me his address, so as to settle the matter. Remember-
ing that he had threatened Barbara, I fancied if there
was trouble over the murder that I could bring home the
crime to him, and save poor Robert."
"You infernal scoundrel; I know how you brought
Rug to the postern."
"Oh, do you? Then it will save me making my
story too long. Well, then, Robert was pretty bad with
the drug—dazed, and easily managed. I brought him
to Gravesend, and then in my friend's motor car, here,
late at night. I sent away the motor car and brought
Robert into the West Wing by the secret passage. He
was pretty dazed with the drug, and it was no easy
matter to get him down the well, as he was frightened.
I left him in a disused room in the West Wing, and
then made my appearance at breakfast to make it up
with my wife."
"Whom you intended to murder?"
"It was her own fault," said Gilbert coolly, "as she
would not give me the money I wanted. I kept Robert
in the West Wing, and quiet, by giving him plenty of
the drug. On Sunday I dressed him in a suit of old
evening clothes which I possessed, and drugged him
deeply, so that he might sleep. When you were at
dinner, and I retired, I went to the West Wing, and car-
ried Robert out by a side door into the pagoda."


A CONFESSION. 365
"Why not by the secret passage?"
"I could not have got an insensible man up that
well," retorted Gilbert.
"And I don't think you could have carried him,
either."
"Oh, but I did. I am something of an athlete, you
know, and am much stronger than you think. I don't
say that it was an easy task; but I managed when the
servants were at supper, and you at dinner, to place
Robert on the form in the pagoda, and throw a cloak
over him."
"I see; so when Alix and I came we thought
Robert was you?"
"Of course. Robert and I are very much alike, and,
of course, my indulgence in the drug made us still more
alike. I thus provided an alibi, you understand."
"You clever scoundrel!" said Youle, hardly able to
hide his admiration at this diabolic ingenuity. "Well?"
"You can guess the rest," said Ainsleigh with a
shrug, and rising. "I waited till you and Alix had gone
into the garden, and Parsons was in the billiard-room.
The servants were still at supper. I then put on the
monk's dress, and went into the parlour. I thought that
my mere appearance would startle my wife, and perhaps
kill her; but she started up and caught at the hood. It
fell off, and she knew me at once. I was so angry that
I—I—well, I strangled her. Then I heard the cry of
Alix, and the noise of your scrambling up. I fled, as you
know, and slipped through the door, locking it behind
me. If that brat Tuckle had not met me, and collared
the ring, no one would have been a bit the wiser. As
it was, I had to make him my accomplice and bribe
him."
"He knows all?"


266 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
"Of course, and has known all for many a day.
Well, I went back to my room, and took off the dress.
When everyone was within, excited by the death, I
slipped out and brought Robert back by the side door."
"But the servants?"
"They were on the other side of the house, and so
were you all . I counted on that . It was a risk, of
course, but it had to be taken. I got Robert back to
the West Wing, still insensible, and then returned and
lay down in the pagoda, when I was awakened by your-
self and the doctor to play my part of chief mourner."
"Ainsleigh, you make me sick."
"I'll make you worse before I've done," was the re-
joinder. "Late that night I took Robert out of the
house by the secret passage. He could get about by
that time, and then"
"You met Rug at the gate, and Barnacles, for the
sake of Rug, drove both out of the district . I know
that."
"Then you know more than is good for you. Not
that it matters," added Ainsleigh suavely. "I'll settle
you shortly. Is there anything else you want to know?"
"Yes," said Harold coolly, although he knew that he
was lying in the shadow of death. "Did you shoot at
me?"
"I did; but unfortunately did not kill you!"
"Thanks," said Youle lightly. "One other question.
Did Tuckle pretend to be the ghost seen by Mrs.
Allison?"
"Yes; by my direction, so as to avert suspicion. He
was not tall enough, and elevated the hood of the dress
on a stick. Someone tore it off."
"Old Barnacles did, and it passed into my posses-
sion."


A CONFESSION. 267
"Oh; so that old rip interfered. I wish I could
punish him also, but I have not the time. Well, any-
thing else?"
"Did Dr. Parsons know anything of this matter?"
"No. I could not trust him, as he is a fool, and
timid. However, I placed him in a sufficiently difficult
position to make hiim think twice before he offended
me."
"Tuckle, then, was the sole person who knew that
you were guilty?"
"Yes, and if he had split I could have made it hot
for him."
"He has split," Harold reminded the man.
"Well, then, I'll keep my promise, and make things
hot for him. Very hot for all, my dear friend. I in-
tend to set the Grange on fire."
Youle tried to spring out of bed. "You devil!"
Ainsleigh jeered, and laughingly held him down. "I
long ago stacked stuff soaked in petroleum in the secret
passage. I had intended to burn down the house to get
rid of Barbara, but ended her life in another way. But
the fire will finish you and Tuckle and Alix. This is
an old place, and will burn like tinder."
"Let me go!" Youle, frenzied with horror at the
danger which was coming to Alix, struggled vehem-
ently, but could do nothing in his weak state against
an athlete like Gilbert. Further, when he fell back
for a moment exhausted, Ainsleigh whipped out a
handkerchief, and pressed it over the sick man's
mouth.
"How do you like chloroform?" jeered the villain.
"Let me—let me "mumbled Youle, but his voice
grew weak, and his struggles less violent. In a minute
or two he was quite unconscious, and lay on the bed still


»68 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
as death. Gilbert lighted a match and held it to his
face. Then he laughed.
"You're done for," said Gilbert; "now for the fire.
I have lost all, but my enemies shall gain nothing," and
he left the room quickly to complete the measure of
his iniquity.


270 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
wrist from his grasp. "Harold—oh! Harold, my dar-
ling!"
The bell was still ringing furiously, and the front
portion of the house was filled with servants in various
stages of undress, and all more or less overcome with
terror. Thomson met his mistress.
"Oh, miss," he cried, " what a mercy Tuckle woke up
and smelt the fire, else we might all have been burnt in
our beds!"
"Tuckle!"
"He rang the bell at once. The villagers are on
the lawn, the engine has been sent for, to Helstone. Oh,
what will we?"
Alix stopped to hear no more. She darted past the
butler, and sped along the passage towards the West
Wing. Just as she was nearing Harold's room a burst of
flame and smoke drove her back. Nevertheless, she
made a bold effort to get through, and, gasping,
struggling, fighting every inch, she crawled along the
floor, holding her shawl across her mouth. The fire
roared like a beast of prey, the passage was filled with
dreadful flame, and she knew that Harold was in the
midst of this fiery furnace, cut off from all human aid.
In vain, by pressing her face to the floor, and crawling
near the walls, did she strive to break through the
barrier. The floor grew hot, little spirals of smoke
came through the cracks, and then thin jets of flame.
With a sense of despair, blistered hands, and a stifling
shortness of breath, Alix had to confess that she was
beaten, and slipped back into safety.
In some way, she knew not how, she managed to
gain the grand staircase, and reeled down the stairs
towards the hall door, which was open. Emerging from
the house, she saw a crowd of villagers, men, women


FIRE! 271
and children, on the lawn, also many servants, who were
running about as though they were mad. Her father,
white and shaking, was standing at the foot of the
steps, and the bell had ceased its clangour. Alix sprang
down the steps, and grasped her father's hand. "The
West Wing, the window of Harold's room. Come!
come!" she gasped.
"It is too late—it is too late!" wailed Parsons.
"It is not too late!" cried the girl fiercely. "I'll
save him or die with him. Thomson! Herne!
Stavely!" she shouted to the servants who stood help-
lessly about. "Come round. Save Mr. Youle—the
West Wing," and she ran round the corner of the house
along the terrace, followed by the men.
The shrubbery, the wall round the park, the postern
gate—all these were illuminated in the fierce red glare
from the burning Grange. As in a dream Alix saw that
the postern gate was open, but never gave this a thought.
All her mind was bent upon saving Harold Youle, who
lay on the first storey, helpless in bed. That he was
insensible she did not know—that he could not move
by reason of his wounded ankle she was well aware.
The West Wing vomited flames and smoke from every
window, but the fire had not yet reached Harold's room.
She saw the window plain enough, and the red tongues
of flame were creeping nearer to it with terrific speed.
"A ladder—a ladder!" she cried to the men now
grouped around her.
"Theer's none long enough to reach the window,"
said Herne the groom. "We must wait for the Helstone
fire-brigade."
"And Harold will be burnt to death by that time,"
cried Alix, turning her distorted white face on the
speaker. "You coward! Five hundred pounds to the


273 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
man who fetches out Mr. Youle!" There was no
response. "A thousand pounds! Two thousand
pounds! Oh, my God! Is there none of you man
enough to save a man's life?"
A tongue of flame shot across the window of Youle's
room, and Alix shrieked and wrung her hands. She
would have attempted the rescue herself, but had not the
physical strength to lower Harold, even had she good
fortune enough to reach him. It seemed as though
death would claim him before her very eyes.
"Save him—oh, father! Oh, Harold, Harold! Let
me—let me "She rushed forward, but Thomson
held her back.
"It is useless, miss. See, the flames have burst out
of the window."
"I must, I must—let me go—you coward—you mean
—mean "Alix struggled and cried; then, with a
sudden faintness, fell on the grass. Thomson pulled
her back, and some women servants took posses-
sion of her. "Harold! Harold!" she continued to cry
heartrendingly. "Oh, God! will no one save him?"
Then a strange thing happened. Dr. Parsons, the
timid, shy, nervous man, who whimpered and winced at
the little troubles of life, suddenly became a hero.
Before the eyes of all, stirred by his daughter's agony,
he went Baresark. The cowardliness and feebleness of
his ordinary ?elf went away suddenly, and a great wave
of determination braced his frame to save Harold Youle
or die. He went as Baresark as any Viking, and his
mean, squat figure dilated as he ran shouting forward.
Alix, on her elbows prone on the grass, saw him race up
the terrace and fling himself against the wall of the
house. A dead silence of amazement fell upon those
who knew what a coward the man ordinarily was, and


FIRE! 273
nothing could be heard but the roar of the flames and
the crackling of the beams within the house.
"He's mad—he's mad!" breathed Thomson, and
everyone else thought the same as the butler.
Against the wall the ivy grew thick, and Parsons,
grasping the tough roots and stems, swarmed up like an
athlete. Higher and higher he went, watched by the
silent crowd below, until his squat figure disappeared
in a cloud of smoke and flame. The wind was blowing
strongly, and a great gust swept aside the curtain of fire,
showing the broken and smashed window of the bed-
room. The crowd saw Parsons swing himself along
hand over hand, and get level with the window. He
placed his knee on the sill and hurled himself into the
room. As he disappeared a sob broke from the women
below, but Alix sprang to her feet with an access of
strength. "Father will save him—father will save
him!" she cried, and clapped her hands in a frenzy of
fear and delight . Then again came the roar and bellow
of the flames.
The West Wing was now one fiery furnace of flame
and black smoke, and the crackling and riving of the
beams sounded loudly in the pauses of the wind. Men
with buckets were bringing water, vainly endeavouring
to put out the flames. The old well near the gate still
had water in it, as Alix knew, and she ran towards this,
calling to Tuckle, who hurried by with a bucket. "Get
water from here," said Alix, and snatched at one of the
buckets. In a moment she had dropped the bucket of
the well, and was working furiously at the windlass.
Tuckle, his face begrimed with smoke, assisted her
eagerly, and the men swarmed around. But there was
no sign of the doctor, or of the man he had gone to
save.


274 THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
While the buckets of the well rose and fell, and a
chain of men was formed to carry the water towards the
burning house, Alix, labouring like a heroine at the well,
suddenly saw the head and shoulders of a man appear
above the stonework. She beheld the white face of
Gilbert Ainsleigh, who was trying to escape. With a
sudden cry of terror at the unexpected sight she re-
coiled. Gilbert, seeing her startled face in the bright
glare of the fire, and with his nerves unstrung, lost his
grip of the stones and fell down the well with a lament-
able cry. The men around had just caught a glimpse of
him, and were hurrying forward in response to the cries
of Alix, when a shout went up from those watching the
house. Alix turned, and saw her father at the window
lowering the unconscious form of Harold . He had tied
the sheets together, and was lowering the sick man with
a gigantic effort of strength. Alix ran forward to the
terrace steps, and the men followed her, leaving Gilbert
to his fate. Only Tuckle remained by the well, and he
stared down into the blackness, hearing the vain cries of
the man who was drowning at its bottom.
"Catch him—catch him!" cried Alix, running towards
the steps. She saw that Parsons' strength was giving
way, and that he could not hold out much longer. She
forgot Gilbert, she forgot herself, she forgot everything
but the one thing, that Harold would soon be in safety,
and ran forward on to the terrace immediately under
the window. The men also came, holding out their
arms. They were just in time. The flames behind
the doctor drove him over the sill, and he could no longer
maintain his grip on the sheets. He let go with a cry of
pain as his clothing caught on fire, and the unconscious
form of Harold dropped from a considerable height into
the outstretched arms of those waiting to receive him.


Tº 5 NRW Yorf
| *U3,10 LIBRARY
| *** * -*N or
#”. ** * * *


FIRE! 275
The next moment, with Alix holding his head, he was
carried down the terrace steps and into safety. At the
same moment Dr. Parsons tumbled, spread-eagle
fashion, and with his clothes on fire, on to the stones of
the terrace. Thomson ran up and, catching him in his
arms, took him to where Harold was lying. At the
same moment a rattle of wheels and a wild shout
announced the arrival of the Helstone brigade. Alix
gave one gasp and fainted.
When she came to herself she was lying in
the drawing-room of the Grange, and beside her
stood her father with his arm in a sling and his
head bandaged. He still wore his burnt and blackened
clothes.
"He is safe, dear. Don't trouble. The fire is being
got under. Only the West Wing will be lost."
"And you are safe?"
"Yes. The ivy broke my fall . I have smashed my
arm, and am rather bruised, but I am all right. Take
this," and he held a glass of sedative to her lips.
The girl brushed it aside and arose, to fling her
arms round his neck with warm affection. "Oh, father,
father, forgive me—forgive me! What you have done
can never, never be repaid! Oh, if—if—if "then
she fainted again. But this time she knew that Harold
was safe, that her father had behaved like a hero, and
so had redeemed the past, and that the Grange would
not be burned to the ground. But what she did not
know was that Gilbert Ainsleigh, in trying to escape from
the house which he had fired, had fallen into his own
trap, and was now lying a stark and stiff corpse on the
lawn. Beside him Tuckle watched, as he had watched
beside the corpse of the woman whom the dead man
had so cruelly done to death.


THE MYSTERY OF THE SHADOW.
A fortnight later and the young couple were in town,
seated in Harold's chambers in Half Moon Street. Dr.
Parsons had just left them to call on Mrs. Brady, who
was prostrate from the shock of Gilbert's dreadful death.
AHx also had been ill, after the terrible experience of the
fire, and Harold had insisted upon taking her to London,
so as to distract her thoughts. He had hobbled in some
minutes before, and was laughing when he came forward
to the chair where Alix was seated.
"What is it?" she asked smiling, for the colour was
coming back to her cheeks, and the strength to her
frame.
"I have just seen Sparrow, the detective, in the next
room," said Harold, lying down on the sofa, and placing
his crutch beside it. "He has been painfully and
conscientiously searching out evidence so as to learn who
killed Mrs. Ainsleigh. I have just informed him that he
has arrived a day after the fair, and that we know who is
guilty."
"What does he say?"
"Well, my dear," replied Youle, taking the soft
white hand of his beloved, "he does not say much.
He has learned that the costume of the monk was
made for Mrs. Brady by a firm in the city, and
traced it by the thin purple silk lining on the hood.
I rather think that he intended to prove that Mrs.
Brady killed Mrs. Ainsleigh out of jealousy, as he
knows all about her love for the dead man. But I
told him she had passed on the dress to Gilbert,
and related everything. Sparrow was astonished
and downcast at his failure. I could not give him the
reward of a thousand pounds, as that has gone to Tuckle
for the way in which he behaved over the fire, but I
have written out a cheque which will satisfy him. Also,


FIRE! 279
A near clock chimed the hour of five. "It sounds
like wedding bells," said Alix, laughing softly, and in-
tensely happy.
"Ringing for the prettiest bride and the happiest
bridegroom in the three kingdoms," whispered Youle,
and he kissed her fondly.
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