/vº
- -
i
, r * * * * * *


(P. 21.)
-
On the floor, almost at the girl
s feet, lay a dead man!
------------------------ - - -
---


The Silver Pin
Tºy
ALFRED wiLSON BARRETT
ILLUSTRATED
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
NEw York AKRON, OHIO CHICAGo
! - 1905]
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THE NEW Yºk
PUBLIC Ltº by
74 2.É
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TILuis
R 1:4 tº L
CopyRIGHT, 1905,
BY
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
propºs
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Made by
Robert Smith Printing Co.,
Lansing, Mich.


;
s
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I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
XXIX
XXX
XXXI
XXXII
XXXIII
XXXIV
XXXV
XXXVI
XXXVII
XXXVIII
XXXIX
chapter
CONTENTS
Pa-E
Scotland Yard Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Struck by a Silver Pin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
A Self-Confessed Murderess ............ 22
Opposing Scotland Yard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Weaving the Web . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
The Spider and the Fly . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
A Gleam of Light ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Playing to Win ............. . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
For Her Sake . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
A-Newspaper Sensation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
A Visit to Headquarters ................ 74
Mr. Usher's Reputation ................. 83
A Duel with Cards . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Shadowing and Shadowed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
The Arrogant Visitor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
Miss Gaunt's Decision . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
A Sudden Departure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
The Empty House ...................... 118
A Struggle in the Dark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Gordon's Discovery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
A Photograph and a Letter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
A Visit to the Writer ................... 155
Corporal Sterrett ....................... 163
Assailed by “Hooligans” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174
Footprints in the Dust ".................. 182
A Startling Question .................... 189
The Tiger's Cage ....................... 195
Gathering up the Threads ............... 203
The Accusation ......................... 210
In the Power of a Fiend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
Treachery Revealed ..................... 223
An Interruption ........................ 229
A Reckless Confession .................. 233
Trailing the Murderer .................. 238
Trapped with the Tiger ................. 245
The Happiest of Men ................... 252
Enmeshed in the Web .................. 260
In the Hands of the Law ............... 268
The Colonel's Reward .................. 274





I
SCOTLAND YARD METHODS
N THE gilded dining-room of the newest Ritz
hotel, two men were seated at a small table.
They had made their way leisurely through
the latest triumph of a French dinner, served
to a smart London crowd, and were now conversing
easily over their coffee and wines. Though both
of them were perfectly turned out, and evidently
men of the world, neither seemed entirely the sort
of man one would expect to find in such a place.
From the manners of their neighbors, both men
and women, it was evident that the two were there
to see and be seen quite as much as to dine. Our
two friends apparently knew few in the crowd
around them, and cared little for their proximity.
The elder of the couple, a well set-up man of
forty-five or so, with a military bearing and rather
heavily-lined face, looked up quickly every now and
then, as some new arrival entered the room, or as
a rustling of silk and lace, and movement of chairs,
announced the breaking up of a party at one of the
tables; but his glance had in it more of a quietly
amused intelligence than interest. It seemed almost
to say to those upon whom it rested for a moment,
9
-
".
-
;
:
~


10 THE SILVER PIN
“I know all about you, and I don’t think much of
you, but I'm not greatly interested anyway.”
The younger man, in a different manner, implied
the same abstraction. Like his companion, he had
singularly keen eyes, a keenness which an occasional
glance revealed in a flash, that was like the sudden
drawing of a sword; but for the most part they had
the far-away look and wrinkles at the outside cor-
ners, which betoken the man of the open air and
huge distances, a theory which his bronzed face and
hands, and strenuous look, gave color to.
Evidently a soldier, a man of thirty-three or so,
he had a noticeable personality, though it would
have been hard to say precisely in what the attrac-
tion lay. With a keen, though good-humored face,
aquiline nose, strong chin, small dark mustache, and
square jaw, he was no more than merely good-
looking; yet there were few of the pretty women
in his neighborhood who had not glanced more than
once in his direction, and been slightly disappointed
that his eyes wandered so seldom.
Perhaps their interest lay precisely in this care-
lessness to their proximity, or more probably in an
indescribable air of reserved force and readiness for
emergency which was his, an air which seemed to
say that, were something untoward to occur in that
crowded room, he would be the man to turn to, and
probably the man who would assume command.
“I daresay you are right,” he was saying, with
rather an amused smile, to his companion, whose
heavily-lined features had expanded under the in-
fluence of the wines. “You know what you are
- -
- - -
-


SCOTLAND YARD METHODS 11
talking about, but if I had trained my men as yours
are trained, with all respect to Scotland Yard, ”
“Rothville would have fallen,” returned the other
man, smiling. “Possibly; but the cases are quite
different. You employed the means suitable to your
situation, and you were successful. We do the
same, here in London, and I flatter myself we do not
utterly fail. After all, the theory is not mine. It has
been built up on the experience of centuries. We find
that to know the history of a man, is to know what
the man is likely to do under certain circumstances.
Without conceit, I may say that the criminal popu-
lation of London is known to us as an open book.
A crime committed, we have only to set the beaters
to work, narrow down the bounds, and find the par-
ticular likely criminal who is unable to explain his
whereabouts at the particular moment of the crime.
That is the broad theory, and to us it seems the
best.”
“And yet to start from the crime itself, ”
“Occasionally we do. In a certain sense, always
we do!” returned his companion. “But London is
different to South Africa, my dear Gordon. The
wonderful instinct of the trained scout, the science
of the displaced leaf, the broken branch, the startled
bird, the moving shadow in the distance, the faint
print of a flying foot, for South Africa, yes! But in
the crowds of London, among the hurrying mil-
lions, in the enormous and constant traffic, where a
clue once gained is lost a thousand times, no! We
seldom have to track our man down: we know


12 THE SILVER PIN
where to find him already, and we are there before
him; or very soon after he arrives.”
“And supposing that he isn't one of your men
after all—these wonderful criminals of yours whom
you keep your fatherly eyes upon, and apparently
treat, save for the cages, like some quaint sort of
pet; supposing he or she were one of these fine birds
here to-night—that dark bird of paradise, for in-
stance, or that golden-haired woman next to her,
who certainly is rather like a canary, or one of their
men, eh—Major P”
The Major laughed.
“Stranger things have happened,” he said. “I
really wouldn't like to swear that there are not
some present in this room, who have done time at
some period in their lives. But my theory holds
good even in the case you suggest. Even the be-
ginners in crime; even those who seem as remote
as it is possible to conceive, from what you call my
pets, must inevitably become joined to them by
connecting links, the moment they commit a crime.
Their very innocence makes them obliged to seek
the assistance of those more hardened than them-
selves. Suppose that very pretty lady, whom you
call the bird of paradise, were to find herself hard
up, and cast a longing eye on the jewels of that other
lady, whom you call the canary. She steals them.
IHow is she to realize on them 2 She cannot sell
them to her friends. She cannot pay her bridge
debts with jewels for which a reward is offered.
Jewelers wouldn't buy them, and she would be
caught if they did. No; she must keep them hidden


SCOTLAND YARD METHODS 13
away in her jewel case, or she must make the ac-
quaintance, somehow or other, of Mr. Moss, or
Cohen, or Samuels, the “fence,” who will give her a
tenth of their value for the jewels, but on the other
hand will ask no questions. And that link once
forged, there she is and there we are, my dear Gor-
don.”
“Very likely, but what of crime when it takes
the form of murder: what of the crime of passion?”
“Then, in nine cases out of ten, one can put one's
fingers on the criminal by finding out who profits
by the crime, or who from jealousy or other cause,
has the impulse toward it. There are not many
mysteries of murder unsolved in England in a year.
However, with all my talk, we do make mistakes.
Good men are hard to find; it may be our training,
as you say. I wish you would go broke, Gordon,
and join the force. We could do with a few men like
yourself, in spite of the difference in our views.”
George Gordon laughed. “No, thank you,” he
said. “I retired into private life because ‘policing'
the country after the war, didn't appeal to me; polic-
ing this country appeals still less. All the same,
without any vanity, I wouldn't mind, just for once,
backing myself against Scotland Yard. However,
it isn't possible, unfortunately. I should have to
turn either criminal or policeman, and I feel too
lazy after that Rothville affair to do either. The
question must remain forever undecided.”
The two friends left the table and made their way
down the room. At the entrance of the hotel they
parted: the Major going off in a cab to some of his


14 THE SILVER PIN
arduous but rather mysterious duties: George Gor-
don turning to the left along the pavement and mak-
ing his way in the direction of Regents Park, where
he was living.
He sighed a little as his friend left him; why he
could hardly have said. “I wonder if I should have
been better out there, after all,” he thought. “I
should at least have had something to do. I wanted
to be lazy—yes—but now I begin to be afraid that
being lazy means being bored.”
George Gordon had distinguished himself in
Africa; promotion had come rapidly; for a week he
had been the hero of the man of the street; for a
few months correspondents wrote his name often,
and large; and then came the end of the war. In the
reconstruction which followed, there had been a con-
test at headquarters between petticoat influence
and merit. The petticoat had won in a canter; and
George Gordon, needing a rest, and piqued into the
bargain, had chosen an idle life at home. He was
young, master of five thousand a year, clever, good-
humored, and full of life, with, if he chose, nothing
but a long holiday before him; and after a few
weeks, he was already beginning to wonder what on
earth he was going to do with himself.


II
STRUCK BY A SILVER PIN
HE night was damp and dull. As George
Gordon made his way along the Haymarket,
a fog, which had been clouding the atmos-
phere for some time, commenced to fall,
shrouding everything. Fortunately, it was not a
genuine yellow fog, and did not interfere much with
Gordon's progress; but by the time he had crossed
the Circus and turned up Regent Street he was com-
pelled to walk more slowly.
A London fog deadens the usual sounds of the
great city, and causes a peculiar sense of isolation,
and this feeling, combined with the cessation of
traffic natural to the hour, made George think pleas-
antly of his cigar case. He stopped and, selecting a
cigar, made for the nearest doorway to get a light.
But here the posts had been newly painted, and the
match merely slid helplessly down the greasy sur-
face without igniting. Taking another, he walked
on a few steps and halted before a second doorway.
Speculating on what might have occurred had cer-
tain other things not happened, is a common occu-
pation, but a very futile one; nevertheless, there
were many moments in Gordon's future, when he
could not help wondering what his life would have

15


STRUCK BY A SILVER PIN 17
however, and everything remained silent.
For a moment George stood still, with the pin in
his hand, irresolute.
“All the same,” he said at last, “it is quite evident
there is someone there, or there was a moment ago.
It is evident also, as they could have no reason for
wishing to attract my attention, that this pin has
fallen by accident, and that the fair owner is not
aware of her loss. Queer things, women In these
days of inventions, to stick a smooth pin like that,
with a heavy knob, into a bunch of hair, and expect
it to stay there when the owner leans out of the win-
dow ! Queer thing, too, to be leaning out on such a
night, when one can hardly see three feet ahead, and
there is no one to be seen—but me—and she couldn't
have seen me—though that's Irish
“What the deuce am I to do with this pin P Re-
turn it, I suppose. I think I know where it came
from. I wonder if she will think it cheeky 2 Per-
haps, however, it was only a man, after all, and he
has been cleaning his pipe with it.”
George sniffed at the pin, but certainly there was
no smell of nicotine about it; rather it seemed to
him as if some faint fragrance of the wearer still
clung to it; as if it had fallen still warm and scented
from a woman's hair. He laughed at the idea the
12ext moment.
“Probably old and ugly,” he said, “or not all she
should be. Who lives in Regent Street? I'll cer-
tainly make an effort to return it.”
Unless he was mistaken, the pin had fallen from
a third story window of the house by which he


STRUCK BY A SILVER PIN 19
It shone through glass panels, from a room be-
yond, and for a moment Gordon hesitated again.
“I must go on now,” he said at last. “If I re-
treated to the bell at this crisis, I might be surprised
before I reached it, and then I should certainly have
the air of a burglar running away, and, by George'
with some of the property in my hand"
He looked at the pin, and, deciding rapidly, walked
up to the door. When he reached it, and glanced
through into the room beyond, with a quick in-
voluntary movement he took off his hat; and then
his heart seemed suddenly to stop beating, and he
passed his hand across his brow. He recovered him-
self almost instantly, but, nevertheless, for a space
of time, of whose duration he was unaware, he re-
mained in the attitude he had taken, staring at the
sight which had startled him.
In front of him, at the farther side of the room,
in a great arm-chair was seated a girl. She was fa-
cing him, and her eyes met his. At first sight, her at-
titude seemed ordinary: it was only afterward,
when the expression of her eyes had impressed itself
on him, that he noticed the tenseness of her rigid
figure, the pressure on each other of her hands
clenched in her lap, the deadly stillness of her
rounded bosom—but the eyes! Had he threatened
her with some terrible gesture of murder, had he
held out to her from behind the glass some blood-
stained and horrible head, only that, it seemed, could
have explained the sickening fear, despair, death, in
those lovely eyes, now strained and open wide.
Invºluntarily, Gordon turned and glanced behind


20 THE SILVER PIN
him, but there was nothing there save the darkness
of the passage. Besides, the girl was looking
straight at him : her glance met his ; and yet he felt
she did not see him ; she could not, he knew—she
in the brilliantly lighted room, he against the back-
ground of the darkness. And though he had moved,
her expression had not changed.
Gordon, still stupified, cast a quick glance round
the room. It was a handsomely furnished apart-
ment, to all appearances a man's, for there were no
feminine trifles adorning it. It was almost exces-
sively lighted by means of electric globes, and there
appeared no disorder in the rich comfort of its fur-
niture.
Gordon's eyes turned again to the girl in the chair.
She was beautiful, more beautiful, he thought,
than any woman he had ever seen. Very pale, her
pallor seemed natural to her, and was rather that
ivory paleness which comes sometimes with very
dark hair, and deep violet eyes. Her features might
have been almost severely handsome, but for the
warm depth natural to the eyes, and the charming
curves of her crimson mouth.
And then her glance, which had never wavered
for an instant, made Gordon start afresh, and,
hastily turning the handle of the door, he entered the
IOO111. -
Knowing the girl had not seen him, he had ex-
pected to startle her, and even while he had almost
involuntarily made his decision to enter, he had
prepared a stammering apology for his daring; yet a
further surprise awaited him: for, instantly on his


III
A SELF-CONFESSED MURDERESS
º "º
HE girl's eyes followed Gordon's horror-
| || stricken glance, with a terrible calmness.
| “He is quite dead,” she said. “You can see
for yourself, if you wish. He was stabbed to
the heart and died instantly. There is the knife. I
drew it out because—because I thought there might
be hope—hopel Ah, heaven! hopell”
Gordon hardly heard this last exclamation. He
had hastily flung himself down by the body, and
was feeling the cold bosom of the form at his feet,
but even while he did so, he knew there was no
chance. He had seen too many dead, not to recog-
nize death in that stern rigidity. Quickly con-
vinced, he yet gave a moment to an examination of
the dead man's appearance. “Young, handsome,
sensual, rich ; stabbed to the heart from the front;
one blow, but it was a fearful one.” That was his
conclusion. -
“He died at once, you say?” he asked, half turn-
ing to the girl, who stood watching him, motion-
less.
“At once,” she said. “He just fell down as he is
now. He never moved afterward.”

22


A SELF-CONFESSED MURDERESS 23
“Who did it?” said Gordon. “Why did you let
him escape? Where is he?”
The girl looked at him for a moment with the
calmness of an unutterable despair in her lovely
eyes. “I did it!” she said at last.
Gordon started to his feet and faced her.
“Good God! you did it! You!!”
“Yes. It" and then, without a sign, her strength
seemed to give way, and she slipped unconscious to
the floor.
George darted to her assistance, but he was too
late to save her. Placing her head so that it was
lower than the rest of her body, he stood helplessly
watching her.
Then, pulling himself together, he made a move-
ment to the door, to call for help; but he stopped
half way. He knew that help would mean discovery
of the crime; a crowd, the police, the girl's instant
arrest;-and yet she had sat there so calmly beside
her victim, why had she not fled?
Gordon dropped on his knees beside the beautiful,
helpless figure, and looked long and intently at the
pale face and half-closed violet eyes.
“She did not do it! She couldn’t have done it!”
he said at last. “Not that she is too beautiful—I am
not such a fool as that, though, by jove! she is lovely
—but I feel she didn't. And yet she says she did.”
He bent to look at her hands. Those delicate
white fingers, those slim firm wrists, might have
hidden in them the strength to have struck that fear-
ful blow, but they told no tale; they made no con-
fession.


24 THE SILVER PIN
“She is coming round,” he thought. “Perhaps
it would be better for her if she died there where she
lies. It would be so if I thought she had done that
infernal deed; for with all her beauty and helpless-
ness, it wouldn't be a moment before I called for
the police But I don't think so. Why don't I?” he
asked himself, gazing around the room, and back
again at the prostrate girl, who was commencing to
move restlessly. “What the deuce have I noticed
which makes me so sure?”
Gordon had relied so often on an instinct which
had never failed him, and had been so accustomed to
inquire—if he did inquire—into the motives which
had impelled him, only after escaping from a pre-
dicament, that he often found himself entirely unable
to explain from what source these motives had come.
In this case he would have been puzzled to say
exactly why his belief in this mysterious girl's inno-
cence was so assured; yet he felt that given time to
collect his impressions, he could put his finger on
the facts to account for it.
The girl's eyes, which had opened wide by now,
passing his carelessly, had lighted on the body of
the dead man, and with a cry she rose to her feet.
“Claude! dear Claude!” she cried piteously, and with
a spring she put half the length of the room between
herself and Gordon.
“What do you want? Why do you look at me
like that, and say nothing?” she cried wildly. “Ah,
I am not strong enough to stand this ' Why don't
you arrest me! Why don't you call for help and
take me away!”


A SELF-CONFESSED MURDERESS 25
“You fainted. It is all right! You are better
now,” said Gordon soothingly. “But arrest you?
You will excuse me for reminding you that I am not
a policeman, or even a detective. And, by the way,
that reminds me. I came here quite by accident.
You dropped—I suppose that it was you—this pin
from the window just now. I presume it fell from
your hair. I guessed where it came from. The
doors were open and I came in.”
“Yes, I was looking out of the window,” she
said wearily. “I meant to call the police but I was
not brave enough. But—then you know nothing of
this? You are not, it was accident that you came?”
she murmured, taking the pin which George held
out to her and fixing her dark eyes on his.
“Accident, entirely,” said Gordon, meeting her
look with his keen glance. Then, hesitating for a
moment: “Tell me you did not do that,” he said at
last.
His tone and manner, his strange frank gaze, his
air of power, seemed to affect the girl. For a mo-
ment, a piteous look trembled in her lovely eyes,
and then she recovered herself with a sudden effort.
“I did it! I must suffer for it—I must suffer for it
—I must suffer for it! Oh, quick, quick! for God's
sake call for them, and have me taken away!”
Gordon shook his head.
“Perhaps I ought to,” he said, “But I'm not going
to. There is some mystery here. I can’t think you
killed that poor wretch there, and sat so calmly
watching his body; and if you did, God help you,
perhaps you had cause to, -but that's absurd ' You


26 THE SILVER PIN
did not do it. I am sure of it. What are we to do?”
Her eyes had the hunted look of a stag pressed by
hounds, and her lip trembled; it was evident that
only by the greatest effort she had kept on her feet,
but her determination, so apparent in every line of
her rigid figure never wavered.
“Since you came here by accident,” she said,
“since you were not brought here by this—this
crime, you must go.”
“And you,” asked Gordon. “What of you?”
“Don’t think of me! Go, yourself, quickly. After
all, there is perhaps danger here for you, too. You
would have to explain, and they might not, but ah,
I cannot talk any more! Why trouble about me,
sir? Leave me, I beg you. Ah, leave me, leave me !
Go!!”
Her voice told Gordon that she was on the verge
of breaking down; and he stood irresolutely, biting
his mustache, and hunting vainly for inspiration.
“I don't believe she killed that man,” he said to
himself, “but she swears she did. Either I am mad,
or she is. If I leave her here someone will find her;
if not before morning, at all events, then; and she'll
stick to her story. Then Lord knows what will hap-
pen. If I could only get her away; give her time
to think over it all in cold blood. If she really did it,
there's plenty of time to say so afterward. But it's
absurd I Look at her! She did not do it. All the
same, if she sticks to her tale, who's to say she did
not? Give me time and I think I'd prove it, but how
to get time when she herself refuses to help me.”
Gordon was still vainly racking his brain when


A SELF-CONFESSED MURDERESS 27
a shriek from the girl, and the direction of her
gaze, made him turn quickly to the body on the
floor. A strange incident had come to his assist-
ance. One of the arms of the corpse which had lain
across its breast, straightened itself suddenly and
fell with a thud to its side.
Possibly Gordon, in his examination, had placed
it in a position opposed to the approaching rigor
mortis, possibly there may have been some other
cause which only a physician could explain; the
shock at least of the strange phenomenon had an
immediate effect. Repeating her first cry of sur-
prise and fright, the girl flew across the room and
sank on her knees beside the murdered man. “Ah,
he's not dead after all ! Ah, Claude, dear, dear
Claude! Thank God, he's not dead! Ah, sir, come !
come quick! he's not dead! he moved he moved "
Gordon shook his head sadly, though at her wild
cries he approached.
At his gesture she shrieked again, “No, no! don't
say it,” she cried. “He moved But no—ah, no! It
is useless! You are right—he is dead—dead!”
She was off into a fit of hysterics—wild laughter
and wilder weeping, but Gordon seized her by the
wrists and drew her from the body. “This must
stop,” he thought, “or she will go mad.”
“Come!” he said firmly, “this must cease. You
are overstrained—you don't know what you
are doing or saying. You force me to think for
you, and I will do so. Come now, you must obey
me. I am used to being obeyed, and I will be so
now. To stay here all night means death or mad-


28 THE SILVER PIN
ness for you. You say you killed that man—very
well: you shall say that in the morning. At present
you will come with me.”
The girl made a wild struggle to free her wrists,
but Gordon's hands were steel.
“Don’t struggle,” he said; “it is useless. You
heard what I said. Where is your hat? Your coat?”
For a moment there was a struggle; for a mo-
ment, shaken with hysteria, the girl fought on ; but
Gordon held her powerless. His voice, which his
men had often trembled to hear raised, even while
they loved it, frightened and subdued her. Her eyes
turned almost unconsciously toward a chair in the
corner of the room, where was laying a sable coat.
Drawing her toward the corner, he seized the
coat with one hand and flung it over her, holding
her with the other. A hat was laying where it had
fallen from the chair to the floor, and picking it up,
he placed it on her head. “It is dark and foggy
and long past midnight,” he said ; “no one will see
us. Now, come on.”
Still leading the now terrified and half-uncon-
scious girl, he made his way from the room into
the passage. At the entrance he paused and gave a
rapid glance at the room.
“I’m in for it now, right or wrong,” he said, “and
the more time I have the better. Someone might
notice that light.” And groping for the electric
light button he turned one that came to his hand.
Fortunately it was the right one, and, through the
panels, he saw the light go out, and made his way
down the stairs into the street, half leading, half


A SELF-CONFESSED MURDERESS 29
carrying the girl, whose sobs had entirely ceased
by now.
The fog had disappeared, at all events for the
moment, and the wide thoroughfare was not so de-
serted as Gordon had expected. He was standing
anxiously watching his companion, and casting oc-
casional glances around him, when the rattle of a cab
sounded in the distance, and as it drew nearer, to his
relief he saw the man hold up his whip and drive
quickly towards him at his affirmative gesture.
He turned to the girl, pressing his fingers into
her wrists, and with his face stern and fierce. “Not
a word or a sound now,” he said harshly; “I am go-
ing to take you somewhere, where you will be safe
for to-night. What you like in the morning—at
present you must obey me.”
It hurt him to see her face, pale, terrified, dazed;
to feel her white wrists shrink as he crushed them;
to see her reel, and recover with an effort under his
stern gaze; but he had no mercy.
“Get in,” he said, as he opened the door of the
cab, and half lifted her inside, watching from the
corner of his eye the cabman's blank stare of amaze-
ment at this beautiful girl, whose costly fur coat was
hanging to one shoulder and whose plumed hat, the
wrong side before, trembled over her eyes.
“No. 12, Park Corner,” he said firmly. “All right,
cabby, only a supper party—rather late, you know.
Our other cab broke down and left us.”
“And may you never know, my beauty, that I
once insinuated that you drank too much,” he mut-


A SELF-CONFESSED MURDERESS 31
us from—from the corner of Rupert Street and
then broke down. Here you are. Don't bother to
get down.” And he turned back to the cab.
There was not a sound from the occupant, and
when Gordon touched her hand it was icy cold.
“Thank goodness, she has fainted,” he said to him-
self. “So far so good.”
It was not an easy task to raise the senseless form
and lift it from the vehicle, and Gordon thanked
Providence that his muscles were of steel, as he bore
his burden across the footpath and opened the gate
with difficulty, the cabman's parting chuckle greet-
ing his ears meanwhile.
“The worst part's over now,” he muttered, as the
wheels sounded farther and farther away. “I hope
I took that cabby in. I don't see why he shouldn't
believe my yarn. It was the best thing I could think
of. Confound the fellow for laughing! Drunk?
The brute!” -
The fog had disappeared, and the moon had risen.
Coming out behind the trees, it shone for a moment
on the white face of the senseless girl, as Gordon
stood holding her in his arms. He looked down at
the lovely eyes, closed now, and covered by their
long dark lashes, at the rich waves of her hair, and
her pure curved lips.
“Thank God I did it!” he said involuntarily.
“Thank God I saved her l’’


IV
OPPOSING SCOTLAND YARD
gºloRDON had never before felt so thankful
(i. for the independence of his position as when
Ç #| he opened the door of his home on that
*=r eventful night, and deposited his precious
burden on the couch in the hall.
The house, a pretty two-storied building, stand-
ing in its own secluded grounds some distance from
the street, had been his home and that of his parents
from the days of his childhood. His parents had
been dead some years; his only sister had married,
and George had spent the later part of his life in
many distant lands, but he had never sold or let the
house, and when he had left the army and decided
to take up an idle life, he had returned naturally to
the old home and “Mother” Crump, the old family
servant, whom he had never wished to get rid of,
and who cared for the house and furniture with in-
creasing watchfulness against the day when Master
George should return.
The old lady was fast asleep when George ham-
mered at her door, but she arose, and dressed with
wonderful speed, at his command, and soon made
her way downstairs into the hall. Here she gazed,
speechless, at the senseless form on the couch. “Lor,

32


OPPOSING SCOTLAND YARD 33
Master George, and you never even told me you was
going to get married,” she murmured reproachfully.
“And she's asleep, poor young thing, tired out!
Why, wherever have you come from ?”
“Not far. But you're right, she's tired out. I'm
even afraid she has fainted. You must get a room
ready for her at once. Hem she's not my wife,
Mother Crump.”
“Not your wife, Master George' And at this
time of night? Why, whatever—”
“It's all right, mother; the poor girl's had an acci-
dent. She's in great trouble, and ill, too, I fear.”
“Why, she do look ill, too, Master George Poor
young lady! What a sweet, pretty, innocent, young
thing.”
“Innocent? Yes, she's innocent, mother, I'm sure
she is; but, bah, what am I talking about? We must
get her upstairs quickly. Is the blue room aired
and all right?”
“I always keep all the rooms aired, Master George,
but the big front room would be the warmer.”
“Very well, anywhere! but quick, can you help me
to carry her?”
Mrs. Crump took the young girl's feet, and George
gently raising her head and shoulders, they made
their way upstairs, and deposited their burden upon
the bed in the front room.
As they lay her down, the unconscious girl moved
restlessly, and her eyes opened slowly.
George bent over her, expecting her to speak, but
she only gazed around her, rather dazedly for a lit-


34 THE SILVER PIN
tle, seemed to struggle with a great fatigue; and
then with a gentle sigh appeared to fall to sleep.
“She has gone to sleep. It is the best thing that
could have happened,” said George quickly. “Get
her to bed as soon as you can, mother. I'll go down-
stairs and have a smoke.”
“Hadn't you better go to bed, too, Master George?
I will look after the young lady. I've had four
hours sleep, and that's all I want at my age.”
“I’ll see; I’m not sure. But in any case, don't
bother about me,” returned George. “I’m going
down now. It is just possible I may go out again.”
“Go out again?” echoed the old lady. “Go out
again? Why, it's nearly two o'clock! Why, what-
ever is happening?”
“Nothing much, the worst's over now. Don't
you bother about me. Good-night, mother; I leave
her in your care.” And George, to avoid further
questioning, hastily left the room, and made his
way downstairs, where, after a moment's hesitation,
he seized his hat and, opening the door quietly, made
his way out again into the street.
The truth is, he wanted to return to the mysteri-
ous house in Regent Street; or rather, he felt that he
could not keep away from it. He knew that he had
done a dangerous thing in bringing this young girl
home with him; in sheltering her, in keeping her
from the hands of justice, when even she herself ac-
cused herself of a terrible crime. He knew he was
doing a still more dangerous thing in venturing back
to the house, where even now someone might have
discovered that awful deed; but Gordon hardly


36 THE SILVER PIN
may not put me on the real truth of the affair, and
that's what I’ve got to get at, if I want to give this
girl more than a temporary sanctuary. By jove, if
I am a fool all along; if she really did murder that
man, what kind of a maniac shall I look? And
where shall I find myself? Accessory after the fact.
What's the penalty? I am beginning to wonder if
I didn't drink too much at dinner. Yet, if she is in-
nocent—if this is, as I think, some terrible misunder-
standing, how well worth the risk is that girl! I've
never seen one lovelier, or one who looked more
pure, more innocent. Mother Crump's remark must
have been a good omen, I feel sure. But here we are
at the Circus! I must be careful now.”
Gordon halted for a moment by Jay's and looked
about him. It was past two o'clock, and the fog had
commenced to fall again; the streets were entirely
deserted now, save for an occasional cab, and the
only footstep was that of a policeman who paced
leisurely along on the other side of Oxford Street.
Gordon waited until the heavy tread died away in
the direction of Stratford Place, and made his way
quickly down Regent Street.
Nearing the spot where the pin had fallen, he
slackened his pace again; but this time no sound of
any kind came to his ears. For a moment even the
few belated vehicles had ceased to run, and he might
have been in a city of the dead. He walked boldly
toward the house of the tragedy, as if he meant to
pass it, gave a quick look around, and turned in.
At the time he left the house he had had no inten-
tion of returning to it, yet he had not troubled to


OPPOSING SCOTLAND YARD 37
shut the doors behind him, and as he mounted the
stairs, he was thankful for the fact, for a latched
front-door would have meant a serious obstacle to
his task.
Entering the flat he hesitated for a second whether
to close the entrance behind him or not. “I can hear
better if anyone should chance to come up, if I leave
the door open,” he decided, and he entered the apart-
ment, turning on the electric light as he did so.
The room was exactly as he had left it. The glare
of the brilliant globes shown down again on the
rich furniture, on the silk-covered walls, on the pale
face of the dead man, who lay staring up at the ceil-
ing with glazed, impassive eyes. By his side, where
the girl had pointed it out to Gordon, lay the knife
with which he had been killed, a plain, horn-handled
weapon, with a catch which kept the single blade
from closing until released—a nasty-looking weap-
on, made more disagreeable now by the blood that
had dried upon its pointed blade.
Gordon took up the weapon and put it in his
pocket after a hasty glance at it. “Possibly trace-
able, probably not,” he said, “for it is by no means
a new one. Certainly not the kind of knife a girl
would be likely to carry about with her. However,
there's nothing in that.”
He turned and looked around the room.
“I wonder who this man was 2" he thought.
An examination of the room told him little. The
mantlepiece and walls were covered with pictures
and costly china, but none of the pictures were por-
traits, and—a very unusual thing in a young man's


38 THE SILVER PIN
rooms—there were no photographs anywhere to be
seen. “Yet there have been some,” thought George,
gazing at several marked impressions in a slip of
salmon colored plush, which was let in to the man-
tlepiece, “and lately, too. Where have they gone?”
Quickly and carefully he made an investigation of
the apartment. There were three rooms: a bed-
room, a drawing-room, and another room, appar-
ently a smoking-room. Here again there were no
photographs in evidence, though here also there had
been some, and that recently.
He turned to the drawers and cupboards. In the
bed-room there was a wardrobe full of clothes, with
the name of a well-known tailor on their buttons, a
name which Gordon made a careful note of. There
were letters in some of the pockets, he felt sure, but
he also felt that there were limits beyond which his
investigations could not go, and he continued his
search for the photographs he felt sure existed, and
which he hoped would tell him something of the
owner and his friends.
Neither the bed-room nor the drawing-room gave
him any results, though he searched everywhere
with care. He was about to conclude that a large
safe, which he had seen in the corner of the bed-
room, and which he assured himself was locked, con-
tained what he sought, when he discovered that
there was a drawer left which he had not examined,
in a small table in the smoking-room. He had not
noticed it at first, as a cloth covered the knobs in
front, but as soon as he opened it, he congratulated


OPPOSING SCOTLAND YARD 39
himself upon his penetration, for the receptacle was
crammed with photographs.
They had evidently been taken down from their
positions and shoved hastily away pell-mell, for
some of their corners were doubled up, and here and
there the frames were marked with scratches, as-
suredly recent.
Gordon looked them quickly through, only to give
a sigh at the result. Actresses, ballet-dancers, pro-
fessional beauties, ladies of dubious quality, there
were plenty of these, with here and there a picture
which might have been that of some member of the
owner's family, but Gordon knew none of them, no
names were on them, and of their former possessor
they told nothing.
“That fellow—(Carlton, I suppose he was)—was
handsome, rich, and evidently a bachelor. That ac-
counts for the photographs, I suppose,” Gordon
thought. “Evidently a pretty rapid character. But
why were they all put away?”
And then he thought of the girl he had found
there. Was it because of her? Had the dead man
been awaiting her that night, and had these dumb
evidences of former loves, of former fancies, been
smuggled hastily away lest they should offend her
eyes? And what was she to him? Gordon sighed as
he pondered. Innocent of the murder, perhaps: but
what was she doing in these rooms at that hour?
A sentiment of jealousy, which he felt was absurd,
but which yet he could not conquer, touched him,
as he recalled the pale, handsome features of the


40 THE SILVER PIN
dead man, and remembered the girl's piteous cry of
“Claude! dear Claude!”
And then he shrugged his shoulders. After all,
what was it to him? He had not fallen in love with
this beautiful, but mysterious girl, or so he told him-
self; his wish had simply been to help her in mis-
fortune, as he would have helped her had she been
as ugly as she was lovely. It was not love which
had made him take the risk he felt he was taking,
and return to the house that night. It was curiosity,
love of adventure, fate, blind fate, which had led
him on, which was still leading him on, in a road
whose end he could not see, but it was not love, he
repeated to himself; he had never known love: it
could not be love.


V
WEAVING THE WEB
ºluT)DENLY a sound made him start
violently and, in spite of his excellent
nerves, turn pale. He listened eagerly,
remaining motionless, hardly daring to
breathe. For a moment he doubted, for a moment
he hoped wildly that he had been mistaken, and that
his ears had deceived him ; but no, his senses were
too acute, too highly trained to fail him—especially
now, in the stillness of that solemn house.
He was right. Someone was coming slowly and
cautiously up the stairs from the street. -
Moving his arm only, Gordon reached out and
turned the button of the electric light behind him.
The light went out, and he was alone in the smok-
ing-room hidden by the darkness.
Like the room where the dead man lay, and where
he had first seen the beautiful girl, the panels of the
smoking-room were of glass, and they faced directly
those of the drawing-room.
With breathless anxiety, as the footsteps came
along the passage, Gordon listened and wondered.
Was it the police already, and was he trapped 2 or
was it someone else, who might enter the always
brightly lighted drawing-room, and leave him a

41


42 THE SILVER PIN
chance to escape, now that his task was finished?
Who was it?
The steps drew nearer, growing slower and more
cautious, as they approached; and Gordon peered
from out the darkness of his room.
It was not the police, at all events, he thought,
with gratitude, as he caught the first glimpse of the
new-comer, clad in evening dress, covered by a well-
cut black overcoat, and wearing a glossy silk hat.
Certainly not the police, but perhaps as bad, for the
new arrival had gone straight into the drawing-
room. In another moment he would discover the
dead body, raise the alarm, and Gordon would still
be caught.
Should he make a rush for it, while there was still
time, while he had only one man to deal with? But
it was already too late: the new comer had walked
around the table and seen the corpse at his feet.
And then Gordon renounced all idea of flight and
set himself to watch as closely as a spider watches a
fly approach its web; for this strange man had
passed by the dead body, as if it had been a rug upon
the floor, hardly even deigning to cast an eye upon
it, and after a quick glance around the room was
leaning up against a corner of the mantlepiece, bit-
ing his finger-nails as if in deep perplexity.
Gordon looked at him full for the first time, and
instantly took a violent dislike to him.
He was a man about forty, tall and well-made, and
as the dead man on the floor had been handsome,
this man was handsome too, still handsomer, per-
haps; yet Gordon felt that no woman could have


WEAVING THE WEB 43
loved him, as he could well imagine women loving
the other; feared him, perhaps cringed to him, if
once mastered; hated easily.
His features were regular and rather heavily
formed; his hair was black and parted in the middle
—a thing Gordon himself had always disliked—his
skin was very white, not precisely pale, but as if it
had never been anything else but white; his jaw was
strong, and his mouth sneering and savage. As he
stood there, biting his nails, he seemed to remind
Gordon of nothing so much as the black panther at
the Zoo. There was the same savage curl at the cor-
ners of the mouth; the same strong jaw and green-
ish eyes with yellow lights in their depths; there was
the same sense of sinewy strength, the same in-
stinctive feeling of a necessity for being upon one's
guard—for constant watchfulness. Involuntarily he
found himself measuring his strength with this
man's; calculating the result of the first spring and
grapple.
Yet the man had never looked in his direction—
could not have seen him had he done so. He stood
there, still biting his nails, and giving an occa-
sional doubtful glance into the corners of the room;
and Gordon, with the quick observation which was
his, seemed to read at least something of his
thoughts.
He had taken no notice of the corpse upon the
floor, therefore he had known that it was there. It
was not for that he had come, yet his first anxious
glance around the room, his perplexity, told that he
had expected to find something or someone in the


44 THE SILVER PIN
room, and had been disappointed, puzzled, anxious.
It was the girl he was looking for
Suddenly he started, looked at the body at his
feet, and then commenced to search furiously upon
the floor, lifting the rugs, flinging the cushions from
the chairs, and even shaking the curtains in his task.
“I know what you are after now, my man,”
thought Gordon. “You are looking for the knife:
your knife? By jove, if it was your knife!”
The man ceased to search with a gesture of im-
potent rage; and for a moment his fingers went to
his mouth again. Then apparently arriving at a con-
clusion, he nodded, and turned to the door. Gordon
drew back further into the shadow, and the man
passed the smoking-room again, and closing the
front door after him, went out.
“My business here is done,” thought Gordon. “I
have a fancy to follow that gentleman and see where
he makes for. If I am not mistaken in my ideas, I
shall know now where my lovely guest lives, when
she is not sheltering under my own roof.”
And quickly and noiselessly he followed the man
into the street.


VI
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
|HE Major had told Gordon at the dinner,
| the outposts of a beleagerd town, a very
| different place to London, and scouting on
the outposts of a beleagerd town, a very
different affair to “shadowing” among the streets of
a great city.
Yet Gordon's experience stood him in good stead
on more than one occasion in his pursuit of this man,
whose destination he had determined to discover.
The streets were so deserted; slight noises rang
out so loudly in the quiet air, that it would have been
an easy matter for an amateur to blunder and betray
his presence during the journey which the two men
took. Gordon, however, made no blunders. There
was cover for him, even here in the empty streets;
a lamp-post, a doorway, a dark shadow cast from a
gabled house, anything served him for a momentary
screen, when his quarry stopped or turned; and to
keep his footsteps from sounding sharply on the hard
pavement was child's play, to one whose life had
been at the mercy of a breaking twig on many an
occasion, when the slightest noise would have been
followed by the snapping of a dozen Boer rifles and
an alarm for the whole town.

45


46 THE SILVER PIN
And so, though Gordon's quarry walked cau-
tiously, and occasionally glanced around, as if not
at all free from the fear of being followed, he caught
no sign of his wary pursuer and continued his way
confidently.
Gordon had decided that this man was about to
pay a visit to the lovely owner of the silver pin. Ac-
cording to his theory, he had come back to the scene
of the murder expecting to see the young girl there
still. Finding her gone he had been dismayed and
anxious. Then the recollection of the knife—tell-
tale weapon left in the dead man's breast—had come
to him. He had searched for it, found it gone, and,
concluding that the young girl must have taken it
with her, had determined to make certain by seek-
ing her at her home.
It was, therefore, with something of disappoint-
ment that Gordon saw him, after making his way
across Trafalgar Square, turn down Northumber-
land Avenue, and ring the bell at the door of one of
the big hotels.
It did not destroy Gordon's theory, for the young
girl might very well be staying at a hotel, but he
realized it was quite possible that this man himself
might also be residing there, and in that case it
would be much more difficult, probably, to obtain
particulars of the two people.
He edged as near as he dared to the hotel, but
when the night-porter at length opened the door, he
suceeded in catching very little of the brief conversa-
tion which ensued. It was evident that the dark
man inquired for someone, and that he was informed


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 47
after a short delay, that the individual was not in
the house; but the name which he had asked for
Gordon did not hear.
“So far I have lost,” thought George, as the dark
man came down the hotel steps into the street again.
“But after all, as I have the girl in my house, it
should not be difficult to find out as much from
herself as I could have discovered had I learnt where
she lived. This fellow will go home now, and I
ought to make pretty certain of getting into the way
of learning something of him at least.”
Gordon kept discreetly in the shadow where he
had ensconced himself, and the dark man stood for a
moment looking about him, irresolutely. He had his
hand to his face, and, though it was impossible for
George to make sure of the fact, he was morally cer-
tain that he was engaged in biting his nails again.
“Nibble away, old fellow,” he thought. “I have
plenty of patience.”
As if he had heard the unspoken thought, the
dark man started, and, turning up his coat collar,
walked away.
George waited a moment, and then followed care-
fully.
The dark man walked at a brisker pace this time,
and did not turn around, as he had done before. It
was evident from his manner that he had quite de-
cided on his destination, and that he wished to ar-
rive there as quickly as possible.
“He is certainly going home,” thought Gordon;
“and I am not sorry, for I want to go home myself.
I shall mark the house down and make my inquiries


VII
A GLEAM OF LIGHT
HE street in which he found himself was
narrow and short, but it was long enough for
| him to be convinced that the dark man had
= not got to the end of it. He was somewhere
in that street, Gordon was certain, but where?
He walked up one side and down the other. He
had heard no door bang, nor could he see lights in
any of the houses right or left. It seemed impossible
to guess into which of these gloomy and unhabited-
looking dwellings the man had vanished.
Gordon stood undecided, looking up at the win-
dows. Suddenly a gleam of light from the house
opposite, caught his eye, and he looked at it keenly.
It was a large house, standing a little way back
from the footpath, and appeared to be as still and
deserted as its fellows, but Gordon was not to be de-
ceived by appearances. He had an unlimited belief
in his quickness of sight, and he was sure that the
gleam which he had seen had not existed in his
imagination only, and that it came from a window on
the first floor. He determined to watch this house,
and with that view he took up a comfortable position
in the shadow of the garden opposite, and sat him.

50


A GLEAM OF LIGHT 51
self down on one of the stone steps to await further
developments.
He had not long to wait. In a few moments he
heard the door of the house open quietly, and saw
two men come out. He looked quickly through the
trees, but neither of them was the man he sought.
They passed quite close to him, talking rather loudly
and laughing, and Gordon had a good look at them.
“That beastly light may have deluded me after
all,” he thought. “Because there is a light in that
house and two men come out of it, it does not follow
that my man has gone in.” And yet he sat on.
His patience was rewarded after a fashion, for
again he heard the door open and again two men
came. This time they turned in the other direction,
but Gordon was sure that neither of them was the
man of the Regent Street flat.
“There must be a party on,” he thought. “But
what party goes on till this hour of the morning,
except a dance, and there is no music to be heard.
Besides,” he continued suddenly, “what kind of a
party can it be which men go to at this hour?”
For three men in evening dress, laughing and talk-
ing loudly, drove up at this moment in a hansom,
and, stopping the cab a little way off, got out and
walked across to the mysterious house.
Gordon watched them enter the gate and go up
to the door, where one of them knocked and followed
his signal by a rather peculiar whistle. The signal
was answered at once, but an altercation ensued,
between the party and the person who opened the
4


A GLEAM OF LIGHT 53
We're all in bed and asleep here.”
“Except you, eh?”
“Yes, sir, except me.”
“Look here,” said Gordon, pulling out a couple of
sovereigns. “It’ll be all right to let me in. I'm an
officer in the army. I'm sure to know someone
here.”
The man hesitated, but at last made his decision.
“It's no use, sir,” he said. “You had better go
away.”
Gordon saw the door closing again, and he knew
he certainly could not force his way in. He was
about to conclude that the game was up, when sud-
denly a door at the back of the man in livery opened,
and a young man in evening dress appeared.
“Gordon" he cried; “George Gordon, by all that's
holy.”
Gordon felt as if someone had suddenly presented
him with a hundred pounds.
“Billy l’’ he said, and darted forward, shaking the
young man's hand.
“Billy” was a young man of rapid tastes whom
Gordon avoided as a general rule, but whom, being a
sort of cousin, he was obliged to be polite to oc-
casionally.
At this moment he felt more than friendly to him,
and the young man, slightly intoxicated as he ap-
peared to be, was quick to notice the symptoms.
“Gordon, old fellow,” he said, hastily, “lend me a
tenner P”
“Certainly,” returned Gordon. “But, oh, by the
way, I want to get in here.”


54 THE SILVER PIN
“You do? You want to get in 2 Good Lord!
what's the world coming to. I didn't know bac-
carat was in your line. However, if you want to
have a flutter, I can soon put you up. It's only a
question of writing down your name, and paying a
pound. By the way,” he continued anxiously, as he
led Gordon through a dark passage into a bril-
liantly-lighted ante-room, “if you are going to play,
I suppose you will want all your money?”
Gordon laughed. “Oh, no, Billy, your tenner's
all right. I have enough on me, fortunately, for
both.”
The young fellow gave a heartfelt sigh of relief,
which made Gordon smile.
“Good, man!” he said. “I was just going home
broke. If I could have held out for a moment longer,
my luck would have turned. There's a man just
come in, who always brings me luck.”
Gordon started.
“What’s he like?” he said.
“What's who like? Oh, the man? He's a jolly
good-looking chap, and a good sort, too. But come
along in, and see the chips fly. I'll show him to you,
when we’re inside.”
They made their way along a richly-lighted pas-
sage, covered with costly carpets and adorned with
handsome pictures, to a large drawing-room still
more brilliantly lighted and more handsomely
decorated, where about twenty well-dressed men
were gathered around a table covered with green
cloth. Some were seated, some were standing, all
seemed to be breathlessly watching the large white


A GLEAM OF LIGHT 55
counters, that were scattered here and there in little
divisions on each side of the table.
At the head sat a fat, Jewish-looking man, with a
bald head and red nose, who was dealing cards, and
who held an ivory rake in his hand.
Gordon, after a glance at this individual and at
the familiar appurtenances of a high-class gambling
house, looked with eager eye among the players, for
the man he had hoped to find there.
For a moment he did not see him, but Billy
touched him on the shoulder.
“There's the man I told you of there on the
right,” he said.
Gordon looked in the direction designated, and
felt his heart beat quicker. He had not been mis-
taken, for there, with his eyes glued on the banker
and a little pile of chips before him, sat the dark
man with the white face.


VIII
PLAYING TO WIN
FilBS, that's the man. I’m sure to win now,”
| said Billy, who was a good-looking, boyish
| young fellow, with a very flushed face.
El “Come along with that tenner. My game is
to sit opposite to him. Then my side wins, and his
loses, you see. It's always like that. He's the most
unlucky chap in the world. There, what did I tell
you?”
It was true, for at that moment, as the young
fellow had predicted, the banker, with a quick sweep
of his rake gathered in the dark man's little pile, to-
gether with those of the other players on his side,
while he proceeded to cover with more chips the
piles on the opposite side.
“Don’t he look nasty when he loses, too,” said
Billy, as the object of his remarks frowned savagely,
and his fingers went to his lips with the gesture
Gordon felt he already knew so well. “I’ll intro-
duce you if you like.”
Gordon hesitated. The chance was certainly a
good one; but somehow he felt a disinclination to
grasp the hand of this man in whom he took such
an interest; a feeling of hostility which he could not
entirely explain.


53 THE, SILVER PIN
soon came to the conclusion that he had discovered
the master passion of that individual's character.
There was no doubt that this man was a gambler,
heart and soul; and it soon became equally certain
that he was a bad loser. As pile after pile of chips,
each representing a sovereign, was swept away by
the fat man's relentless rake, his face became al-
most terrible to watch. It was not, as Gordon had
decided, a pleasant countenance at any time, but
under the influence of his continued losses it be-
came at last almost demoniacal in its expression.
His white skin seemed to turn still whiter, and his
eyes glared more fiercely, while he always furiously
gnawed the finger-nails of the hand, that was not
engaged for the moment in increasing the piles of
chips, disappearing continually, like Snow in a Jan-
uary thaw.
The hour was drawing on, and the players were
all staking higher—some with the hope of getting
back at least part of their losses before the hour
came to rise, some with the feeling that luck was
running for them as it might never run again, and
that it was necessary to take advantage of the tide.
Billy, whom Gordon was carelessly allowing to
play for both, was showing himself a master at the
latter style, and was playing a game, which under
other conditions would have been reckless in the
extreme, for anyone but a millionaire; but even he
grew weary of such fortune at length, and was
struck with a doubt whether it was wise to tempt
Providence too far.
“One last grand flutter,” he said at length to Gor-


PLAYING TO WIN 59
don. “This can't last forever. Let's bang it all on—
no, I’ll keep fifty pounds—and if we win we'll clear
out. Are you agreeable?”
“If you like,” Gordon assented, and the youth
pushed the huge pile of chips forward with a laugh.
“If we win this time,” he said, “I’m in clover for
six months. But it's too exciting for me to watch.
I must go and have a whisky while it comes off.
Look after our chips for me.”
Gordon was about to protest, but the young fel-
low was already gone, and he was forced to turn his
eyes to the table. It was an exciting moment.
Nearly all the players, as if by agreement, had in-
creased their stakes: Usher, as Gordon could see,
had pushed forward all that he had on the table
and, by the expression of his face, the excitement
was terrible for him. Gordon himself turned a lit-
tle red under the influence of the moment, and
might well have been excused for doing so, if not
for his own sake, at least that of his young com-
panion, for the sum before him, and now awaiting
the turn of the cards, represented a small fortune.
In breathless silence the banker cut and dealt, and
the tension was over. Gordon heard a hasty excla-
mation from the other side, but took little notice of
it. His eyes were glued on the cards which lay face
upwards on the table. His side had nine, and the
banker, drawing to a four, had seven.
Gordon gave a sigh of relief, raked in the pile of
chips, and then remembered the other side. Their
faces had fallen, and the relentless rake had swept
the table before them clean; on the green cloth lay


PLAYING TO WIN 61
not to have lost sight of Mr. Usher that night.
Why, was not that why he was there at all?
“Billy, where's he live?” he asked.
“Live? Goodness knows! I haven't an idea.”
“But you know him—you called him a good fel-
low just now.”
“So he is, when he likes. But I know no more of
him, than what I’ve seen here.”
“But the other men? You know some of them—
perhaps they can tell me. This is a matter of im-
portance to me.”
“They may know him as I do,” returned Billy,
“as I know them and as they know me. We meet
here, that's all, and we punt out chips. We don't
know each other's family history, or even families.
You see, old chap, this isn't a club. The only quali-
fication here is that you are introduced by someone
who is himself a member, and that you pay your
pound, and, by the way, of course you're expected
to play. As that's what we're here for, we naturally
do it. However, as you seem keen, and as I've
won a little fortune through your friendly tenner,
I don't mind asking the men I know about your pal
Usher.”
“Do,” said Gordon, gratefully. And the youth
disappeared into the gaming-room.
He returned after a few minutes. “It’s as I
thought,” he said. “They don't know any more
than I do, or very little. Usher is a ‘regular here.
He plays high, and has been losing a lot lately.
From appearances he won't hold out much longer.
One man, Jervis, was at Oxford with him: hasn't


62 THE SILVER PIN
seen him for years, till just lately; says he has
been traveling a great deal, apparently; people had
a big place up North, Smashed up, and Usher disap-
peared for a time. Jervis doesn’t know where he
has been, or what he is doing now, but fancies he
heard somewhere he was going to marry a rich girl.
He doesn’t know her name though, and isn’t even
sure whether it is true. No one knows his address,
old chap, or anything more about him; but you can
bet your boots that he'll be back here again unless
he has lost his last sovereign.”
Gordon sighed. It appeared certain that he would
have to content himself with that, and he made his
way slowly into the street with Billy.
At the corner the two friends parted, the youth
dancing gaily down the street with his fortune in
his pocket, Gordon making his way slowly home-
ward. It was almost morning: this eventful night
was nearly over, but Gordon could hardly believe,
in spite of the hour, that so many events had oc-
curred since his dinner with the Major. It seemed
to him that two days and nights, at least, must have
gone by, since he had passed that mysterious house
in Regent Street and felt the silver pin fall on his
shoulder. And what a difference the fall of that
pin had made 1 Not so much as the fall of New-
ton's apple perhaps, but sufficient to make him
thoughtful about the future. This murder which he
had so strangely discovered, this lovely girl whose
story he had refused to accept, and whom even
against her own will, he had insisted upon trying to
save, this man who had come so cautiously creep-


IX
FOR HER SAKE
* |HEN Gordon returned home after his ad-
venture at the gaming house he found all
quiet; apparently both Mother Crump
and her charge were sleeping soundly.
He was awakened later from a heavy slumber,
however, by a hurried knocking at his door; and
opening it, he found his old housekeeper anxiously
awaiting him.
“The young lady, sir,” she said breathlessly, “the
poor young lady!”
“Yes, yes? What of her?” asked George.
“She is ill, Master George, I'm afraid; very ill.
She is quite delirious, and talking sol”
George gasped, as the events of the night before
came back to him, and he realized the importance
of this new development.
“Thanks, mother, for awakening me,” he said
quickly. “You had better go for Doctor Seymour
at once.”
“I’ll go, Master George, this minute. But you'll
just give an eye to the poor young lady, while I'm
away. She does seem so very wild-like,” said the
old lady, hastening off to put on her bonnet.
Startled, Gordon made his way to the front bed-

64


FOR HER SAKE 65
room, but however alarming the delirium which
had caused the old housekeeper to awaken him, he
saw that it had subsided now, and there was little
danger that the young girl would do harm to herself.
She lay calmly, with her flushed face turned up to
the ceiling, her eyes vacant, and her lips moving
quickly, but her voice hardly rose above a whisper,
and had it not been for the continual motion of her
fingers on the counterpane she might have seemed
simply asleep.
Gordon seated himself by the bedside and
watched her.
She was even more beautiful by daylight, than
he had thought her on the previous night, and she
seemed even more pitiful, as she lay there uncon-
scious of his presence; her mind evidently wander-
ing far away among other scenes, and her lips fol-
lowing the broken, troubled sequence of her
thoughts.
“The shock of that tragedy last night has been
too much for her,” he thought, “and her brain has
given away for the time under the awful strain.
May it be only a slight attack of fever! Is she
thinking of that scene, I wonder?”
He bent his ear over the murmuring lips. “Ought
I to listen?” he thought. “The whole affair is so
outside all convention, it is difficult to say what is
right or wrong. Certainly I must discover the
truth, if it is possible to do so, for her sake. I am
sure she is innocent; ah, why can she not tell me her
secret, while she lies there unconscious.”
But in the whispered words, the disconnected sen-


66 THE SILVER PIN
tences, the occasional broken cries, he could read no
story of this crime, which he felt sure the young
girl's mind was engaged in reviewing.
“Claudel Claude l’’ the name of the murdered man
recurred constantly to the girl's lips, as did often
the word “father;” and once the name of the white-
faced gambler “Usher,” made Gordon start, mur-
mured with a peculiar intonation which, with a
ready sympathy, he decided re-echoed his own dis-
like, but the rest of her speech was incoherent and
vague, and he sank back in his chair after a time, re-
signing all attempt at comprehension.
Suddenly, however, he started, and bent forward
again. The word “father” had come from the
girl's lips once more, but this time with such an em-
phasis that Gordon could not pass it by, and com-
paring it with the manner in which she had spoken
it before, his mind commenced to follow out a chain
of reasoning.
It had not been a cry of affection, the natural ap-
peal in an hour of distress of a child to a parent, but
rather there was something in it of sudden fright,
horror, and momentary repulsion which made it
ring strangely in his ears, and caused him to wonder
if it were not there that the clue lay hidden which
he sought so eagerly.
He was aroused, however, from his musing by
the sound of voices in the hall below, and presently
Mother Crump appeared again, accompanied by a
round-faced, jolly-looking man of fifty or so, who
shook Gordon heartily by the hand, and turned
without further delay to the patient on the bed.


FOR HER SAKE 67
“Brain fever,” he said, after a moment or two.
“I’ll just give Mrs. Crump some directions and
join you downstairs in a few minutes, Colonel. This
is a case of sudden shock, I suppose? You can tell
me how it came about, when I come down.”
IHe joined Gordon in his study presently, and
shrugged his shoulders slightly, in response to his
inquiries.
“One can never tell in a case like this,” he said.
“Probably, I say probably, all will go well. The
young lady has a splendid vitality, and she has
youth on her side. But in any case it might be a long
business, and will require too much watching for
our old friend up there. You must get a trained
nurse. I will give you a note to one I know, who
will do everything admirably.”
“Certainly,” returned Gordon eagerly. “Only
tell me all that is necessary. I want everything to
be done that possibly can be done.”
“I imagine so,” said the doctor, with a little
glance, half humorous, half sympathetic. “You can
rely on me. But now tell me how this came about;
and who this young lady is.”
Gordon looked into the fire for a few minutes be-
fore replying.
“I wonder what you will think of me, doctor,” he
said at last, “if I say that I cannot tell you; or rather,
if I ask you to let me tell you at some later time?
You know me?”
The doctor laughed. “You and your family. I
should know you, if twe acquaintance
means anything.” Zºš
5 f & or ºf . \
i. - * {###. < * *
- * 2. §§


AOR HER SAKE 69
thought, “some days! And this afternoon London
will be ringing with the news of this murder; some
days before she can tell me her story, before I can
be sure if she is really innocent or guilty; and,
meanwhile, Scotland Yard may be searching all
England for her. And she will be hidden in my
house ! Surely when I made that rash declaration
to the Major last night, I had no idea I should so
soon be in opposition to him l’”


X
A NEWSPAPER SENSATION
FlCRDON had been right when he said that
| by afternoon London would be ringing with
|| the news of the Regent Street murder.
He had hardly gone a hundred yards from
his house, on an after-lunch stroll, before his ears
were assailed with the cries of the newsboys and his
eyes dazzled by the contents bills of the various
evening journals, all making the most of what they
could not disguise was a welcome sensation,
and all vying with one another in spreading over
the largest surface their small amount of informa-
tion.
For it was really very little they seemed to know
about this mysterious crime, Gordon noticed, half
sorry, half relieved.
The young man (Claude Carlton, as George had
imagined) had been found dead that morning by the
housekeeper who waited on him and attended to his
rooms. She did not sleep in the house, but came
early and left late at night... She had not discovered
the body for some time after her arrival, as she had
not gone into the drawing-room, and had thought
Mr. Carlton yet in bed. She at once raised an alarm,
and the police had taken possession of the apart-

70


A NEWSPAPER SENSATION 71
ment. The woman, who was very upset, could,
however, give no information that could be of the
least service in solving the mystery of her master's
death. She had noticed nothing suspicious when
she left the apartment the previous night; she had
not been informed by her master that he expected
any visitors, nor had she noticed anything in his
manner which could cause her to imagine he was
in trouble, or anticipated any danger. Her master
had been, she explained, a very open-handed, pleas-
ant gentleman, but he talked to her very little, and
he seemed to prefer to get her off the premises, as
soon as her work was finished, so that he might
live his own life his own way, she imagined. In
this manner she had seen nothing of any of his
friends, who came, when they came at all, only in
the evening; and she knew very little about him;
indeed, she had only been serving him for two
months (the time he had occupied the apartment),
and, as it happened, no one, so far, had been able
to add much to the woman's story.
It transpired later that Mr. Carlton had only
lately arrived in England from abroad, and appar-
ently had few friends or acquaintances, and also
that even they knew very little about him. His so-
licitor, who appeared on the scene presently, was
able to identify him as a man of considerable means
who had been for some years a great traveler. So
far as he knew, he had no near relations, nor was
he aware that there was anyone who bore a grudge
against his client: but he was compelled to confess
that he had never been on intimate terms with the


A NEWSPAPER SENSATION 73
the young girl's delirious murmurs, from the con-
tinual association of her father's name with those of
the murdered man and Mr. Usher, and from the tone
in which she called upon him, that the former had
also been present at the young man's murder, or at
least during that evening, and he felt that from him
at least he might learn the truth.
Yet why had he not appeared. He must have
missed his daughter; he must have heard of this
murder; how was it he had made no sign?
The whole affair was so mysterious, so apparently
impenetrable, that Gordon hardly liked to let his
mind rest long upon any of the numerous hypo-
theses which occurred to him; but he determined at
least to attempt to put himself into communication
with the white-faced Mr. Usher and this mysterious
father; and he felt a thrill of satisfaction, that his
intimacy with the Major would help to keep him in-
formed of the progress which Scotland Yard was
making in the affair, while those authorities could
not, for some time at least, have any idea whence
came his interest.


XI
A VISIT TO HEADQUARTERS
|EORGE Gordon formed a theory, that when
| Usher had stopped at the hotel in Northum-
| berland Avenue on the night he had so
closely followed him, he had done so in or-
der to inquire for the young girl, whose absence
from the flat in Regent Street, Usher could not ac-
count for. It was therefore at this hotel that he
commenced his researches.
They brought him little result, however. The
hotel, one of the largest in London, was crowded
with visitors, and, as Gordon did not even know the
name of the people he sought, it was some time be-
fore he could make the hall-porter, whose assist-
ance he obtained, understand whom he meant. A
little money spent judiciously, however, soon had
the wits of the employees exercised in his service;
and he fixed at last upon a couple of visitors who,
it was evident, were the objects of his inquiries.
These were a gentleman and his daughter who had
arrived but lately from the Riviera. Their name was
Gaunt—Mr. Gaunt and Miss Vivienne Gaunt, as
they were entered upon the hotel books. They had
taken rooms for a stay of some duration, but they
had not been seen for a day or two. This fact did

74


A VISIT TO HEADQUARTERS 75
not, however, appear to disturb the hotel people, as
Mr. Gaunt and his daughter were in the habit of
spending a good deal of time out of doors, and,
moreover, they had paid for their rooms in advance.
It was supposed they were visiting at the house of
some friend or other, Gordon gathered, and, of
course, in a hotel of that size, the doings of a couple
of guests did not attract much attention.
They were entered as “from the Riviera,” and
Gordon could discover nothing further concerning
them, save that one of the chambermaids described
Miss Gaunt as “very beautiful,” and Mr. Gaunt as
“a fine, handsome gentleman.”
Gordon's next intention was to return to the
gambling house off Park Lane, where he hoped
Sooner or later to come across the white-faced
gambler, Usher, but at the time he concluded his
inquiries at the hotel it was still early in the after-
noon, and the idea came to him to spend the time
before dusk in paying a visit to his friend, the Major.
This latter must be fully cognizant of the progress
made by the police in the affair of the mysterious
murder, and Gordon was intimate enough with him
to feel sure he might gather a considerable amount
of information from him, without the official having
the least idea of the vital interest he would take in it.
He found the Major seated at his desk in a very
comfortable room, which he called his study, at
headquarters. He was pulling away at a big cigar,
and before him on his desk, in a space hollowed out
from the mass of papers which littered it, stood a
whisky and soda. There was a cheerful fire burn-


76 THE SILVER PIN
ing in the grate, and the room looked warm and
cosy, but the Major's heavily-lined face wore a wor-
ried look, and his fingers were drumming doubtfully
upon the table, as Gordon entered. 2
“Just the man I wanted to see,” he said, looking
up; “you never bore one, Gordon, and you've got a
way of putting your finger on a weak point which
is peculiarly your own. These fellows of mine, you
know, they're always boring me, and, well, some-
times I think their skulls are as thick as–as my
own.”
“What's the matter?” asked Gordon, seating him-
self, and helping himself to a cigar.
The Major grunted and bit savagely at his cigar.
“The matter is that I am sick of this job,” he said,
“I am going to resign. I've got a poor lot of men,
and I am beginning to think I'm not much good my-
self. You know what I said to you the other night.
I wished you would join us. I wish to goodness you
would. I wish you were in my place!”
“What is the particular cause of this display of
pessimism P” asked Gordon.
“The particular cause? This beastly murder's the
particular cause, or, rather, the last straw.”
“Which murder?”
“Which? Well, thank goodness, there's only one
on our hands at present. The Regent Street affair.
You must have heard of it; the papers are full of
the thing.”
George listened with a calm face, but a beating
heart.
“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” he said. “But you don't


78 THE SILVER PIN
“No history? no friends?”
“Well, of course he had, but they are of no use to
us. That is to say, what we have been able to find
out is of very little use. If the man had wanted to
make the discovery of his murderer difficult, he
could not have managed better. To all intents and
purposes, so far as we are concerned, his life began
six months ago, and in that six months there isn't
a blessed thing we can discover which seems to bear
directly on this Regent Street affair.”
Gordon was sitting with his back to the light, and
otherwise attempting to disguise any expression his
features might be showing, by pulling fiercely at his
cigar and wreathing himself in smoke. He felt that
the Major was speaking frankly, and that, at least
for the moment, there was no danger brewing; and
he replied with just as much of interest in his tone,
as he felt might lead his companion on to talk,
while not exciting suspicion.
“Unfortunate,” he said. “But what do you mean
about the six months?”
“Why, the man had only been in Europe six
months. He had apparently been some years in
Australia, where he made a good deal of money.
Then he came to Europe—for a good time, I sup-
pose. He seems to have been a pretty rapid char-
acter, and he made things hum for a while, but that's
just where our misfortunes come in. He made no
friends, contracted no binding relations. A young
fellow of lively tastes, with plenty of money, runs
through Europe for a holiday, and sets himself to
have a good time. He makes plenty of acquaint-


A VISIT TO HEADQUARTERS 79
ances, women chiefly; he plays a little, goes to the
theatre, gads about and moves on: the kind of peo-
ple he meets are on the same game themselves; they
don’t trouble about him, he does not care what
becomes of them. I can lay my hand on fifty people
who met this man Carlton; I can’t find one who
knew anything of him, save that he was a pleasant
acquaintance who had plenty of money and kept his
private affairs to himself. His own lawyer knows
very little more. He was passed on to him by his
Australian agents in Melbourne. Credentials of the
best, as regards finance. What more does a lawyer
want to know? I can't find the name of a single
person who was in the habit of going to the Regent
Street rooms. Carlton apparently kept his pied-
à-terre to himself; his housekeeper used to leave
early in the evening, but she has an idea that not
many people came to see him, and no one came
often.”
“But his life in Australia?”
“Well, of course we can trace him there, but think
of the time it will take to contrive it. No, there is
only one chance for us.”
“And that?”
“The man was engaged to marry.”,
Gordon started, but held his breath.
“Engaged?”
“Yes, his letters show that. He met the girl on
the Riviera.”
“The Riviera?” Gordon felt himself change color.
“It was apparently a rather rapid affair,” con-
tinued the Major, “for they could not have known


80 THE SILVER PIN
each other for long. However, Carlton was very
rich, and that goes a long way. He must have been
a bad lot though, for it is quite evident getting en-
gaged made no difference to his mode of living. He
seems to have carried on just the same in spite of
the young lady.”
“And who was the young lady?”
“Ah, that's where our bad luck pursues us again!
She is a Miss Gaunt, and she's got a father. But
they, too, are as mysterious as the rest of the people
in this devil of an affair. In fact more so, for we
know practically nothing of them. The letters tell
us very little but their names. Carlton met them on
the Riviera, where they were traveling, and became
engaged to the girl. We have only her letters, and
one or two of the father's, and these contain, as it
happens, nothing which could put us on their
permanent habitation, or their friends. It is bad
luck, rank bad luck all through. But that's noth-
ing to the last thing.”
“And that is?”
“Why, they followed Carlton to England; came
to London, put up at the Dorian Hotel, stayed there
a few days—and disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Disappeared Of course we shall find them.
They probably haven't run away. They seem per-
fectly respectable people. They paid for their
rooms, and their luggage seems quite right. Still,
of course, we must get hold of them, for what they
could tell us must be valuable. The strange thing is
that they haven't turned up already; they must have


A VISIT TO HEADQUARTERS 81
seen the news. And I am bound to say that I don't
think they can have had anything to do with the
poor fellow's death.”
Gordon gave a sigh of relief; that was something
at all events.
“Of course,” the Major continued, “it will begin
to look fishy if they don't turn up very soon; but,
on the other hand, why on earth could one suppose
they had any hand in this affair? The girl's letters,
and the father's too, are most friendly. There was
certainly, up to the last moment, no quarrel on. Be-
sides, Carlton was very rich, the girl was about to
marry him, the father was agreeable—why on earth
should they murder him? No, my idea is that the
blow came from some other direction. You can
guess what I mean—what do you think?”
Gordon nodded. “Another woman?” he said. “If
you are right, if this man Carlton was leading a fast
life, a double life, as you suggest, certainly there
might be another woman who was jealous of this
marriage, and certainly she might have done, or
instigated, this murder.”
The Major nodded with a relieved expression. “I
am glad you agree with me,” he said. “I think that
way will lie our chance. But why the deuce have
these people disappeared, and why don't they turn
up again, now that every paper has an account of
this murder! However,” he continued, taking a
pull at the whisky and soda, “in worrying myself
like this I am unjust to my men, who really are
pretty smart fellows after all. You shan’t have a
laugh at our expense, Gordon, over this affair, I


82 THE SILVER PIN
promise you. We'll soon unearth these Gaunts, and
if they won't tell us anything, why we'll try an-
other tack, that's all !”


XII
MR. USHER'S REPUTATION
|ORDON left the Major's quarters with
| rather a heavy heart. He was sure he had
| been frank with him, but it was equally
! probable that he had not by any means told
him all the police knew. He could not resist a feel-
ing of anxiety, or even worse, as he realized that the
authorities already had the Gaunts on their list, and
were engaged in trying to trace them. How quickly,
in reality, they had put their finger on the right
place, in spite of the Major's apparent depression.
But it was a relief to Gordon to feel that they did
not at present suspect the Gaunts of the crime.
Yet Gordon knew that, if they had the knowledge
he himself possessed, and were aware that the young
- girl was present that night in the Regent Street
rooms, they would not refuse, as he had done, to
accept her confession, but would at once believe her
guilty.
For a moment Gordon had hoped that he saw a
glimmer of light himself in the Major's theory of
the jealous woman, but he could not convince him-
self. He already fancied that there had been three
persons present at the murder of Miss Gaunt's
fiancé How was it possible to imagine that there
83


84 THE SILVER PIN
had been a fourth, the jealous woman, and that
she committed the deed in their presence, and why,
if this had been the act of a rival, should the young
girl accuse herself of it?
Yet in spite of the ideas which ran through his
mind, and made him depressed and anxious, Gordon
still stubbornly refused for a moment to credit Miss
Gaunt's story. She was innocent, he was sure, and
he would prove it in spite of herself, in spite of every
one; but the police were on the scent! He must
act, and quickly too, if danger was to be averted,
and where to turn first, he hardly knew. However,
it must be nearly time for the gambling house to
open, and he decided to go there, and, before doing
anything else, to see if there were not a chance of
discovering something more concerning Mr. Usher,
who, deep in his own mind, he believed to hold the
key of the mystery.
He experienced no difficulty on this occasion in
passing the portals of the house off Park Lane. His
name had been “put up” by Billy, his nominal en-
trance fee of a pound had been paid, the porter
recognized him, and he found the way clear.
He was, however, rather too early for the bac-
carat, which had not yet commenced. Indeed when
he entered he found that he was the only guest who
had put in an appearance, and the proprietor, await-
ing them, was warming his back before the fire, and
contemplating affectionately his gilded walls.
The fat Jewish individual saluted him courteously,
but without enthusiasm, and invited him to a share
of the fire.


MR. USHER'S REPUTATION 85
“Good evening, Captain,” he said, with a glance
at Gordon's bronzed forehead where the forage cap
had left its mark. “A little quiet to-night, but
things will look up very soon. This is about the
time when our members begin to come. Are you
going to have a flutter?”
“Certainly,” returned Gordon; “but to tell you the
truth, I came rather with the intention of meeting
someone I saw here the other night.”
“Ah, yes, you had a little bit of luck that evening.
I recollect you. I congratulate you on your initia-
tion, Captain—eh? oh yes, Colonel. We don't mind,
bless you. Someone's got to win, and why not you?
eh P”
“Why not?' returned Gordon. “But as I was
saying, I hoped to meet someone to-night in whom
I take an interest. I fancy I must have known some
of his people; but, perhaps, you can give me some in-
formation about him—a Mr. Usher?”
The proprietor grunted. “Well, you may have
known his people,” he said; “that's very likely. I
believe they are swells; but him I wouldn't make
too friendly with him, if I might offer you a tip.”
Gordon's eyes brightened, but he affected a mild
curiosity only.
“Why?” he asked. “Is there anything wrong
with him P”
“Wrong? Well, he's done for, that's all. He's
just about broke. He may come here to-night or he
may not. It depends on if he can raise a few pounds
to try his luck with. But if he does, take my word
for it, he'll lose. You see, he's done !”


26 THE SILVER PIN
“But his luck may change.”
The proprietor shook his head solemnly.
“Not it,” he said. “He’s done. We know that
kind here. Not that we care. He's welcome to win
all we've got if he can; but he won't.”
“You are quite a prophet then,” said George,
amused at the man's tone.
“Been at it all my life—I mean this business, not
the prophetic one—and we get to know something.
Take my word for it, Colonel, when a man comes to
where Usher has come, he had better go out and
hang himself—or else give up the cards. And he
won't give them up. I shouldn't be sorry if he did,
but if he will come, we can't help ourselves, you
know. He's a member, and he's free to punt, so
long as he pays his money down.”
“Do you know anything of him besides his bad
luck?" asked Gordon, seeing that a little curiosity
under the circumstances was not likely to create a
bad impression.
“No. We don't bother about members’ private
concerns, so long as they play the game. I did hear
his people had been rich once, and swells, as I said.
He was going to get married just lately, I heard, but
whether it'll come off or not, I don't know. She's
got some money, I believe. Poor girl. A Miss
Gaunt her name was.”
“Miss Gaunt!” Gordon felt himself change color.
“Yes, that was the name. He wanted to do a little
loan on the strength of the engagement, you know,
but the security was not good enough, Colonel,
though I'm always glad to accommodate any of our


XIII
A DUEL WITH CARDS
|HE room commenced to fill up, and soon the
Wº game of baccarat was in full progress; but
Gordon did not hasten to take a hand in it.
| He was very little of a gambler, and his at-
tention was, besides, fully occupied in watching the
door for Mr. Usher; but as the night drew on he al-
most commenced to despair of that individual’s ar-
rival, and to fear that it would have seemed too
much fortune to chance upon him at the first at-
tempt.
Fortune, however, was upon his side that evening,
and, by and by, looking up from the table where
the play had become high enough to attract his
attention, he found himself face to face with the
object of his pursuit.
A quick glance assured him that things were not
so bad with Mr. Usher, on this night at least, as the
proprietor had suggested. His white, handsome
face wore for him quite a cheerful expression, and
by the pile of chips which he had purchased and
placed before him on the table, it was evident that
from somewhere he had succeeded in obtaining
quite a handsome amount, with which to tempt his
fortune.

88


A DUEL WITH CARDS 89
Almost involuntarily, Gordon followed his ex-
ample, purchased a quantity of counters, and took
his place at the table. But he seated himself at the
side opposite to the gambler. There was to be a
struggle between him and this man from that time
forth he felt, and some instinct made him desire
to commence the battle in this manner. The way
the struggle went; whether fortune inclined to his
side or to the other, he felt must be a sign of future
victory or defeat; and he commenced to play with
almost as much eagerness as was evinced by the
sparkling eyes and nervous fingers of his opponent.
But, alas! for a time fortune entirely favored the
side opposite to Gordon. Occasionally the banker
won, generally Usher's side was successful, but
Gordon's side invariably lost. It mattered not what
he did, whether he played high or low, or whether
his side had good cards or bad, the banker, or the
other side, was always victorious, and Usher's face
became more and more smiling, while Gordon began
to grow anxious and doubtful.
With a superstition which he could hardly have
acknowledged even to himself, he had decided to
take the result of this duel as an omen for the fu-
ture, and the signs were already going terribly
against him. The question of finance also com-
menced to trouble him slightly, not that he minded
losing, for he could afford for once to do so, but the
stock of money he had brought with him, was
dwindling very rapidly; he did not wish to lose sight
of Usher while he went home to replenish his pock-
etS,


90 THE SILVER PIN
Suddenly an incident attracted his attention. One
of the players on Usher's side made a laughing re-
mark to that individual, and pointed to an object
which lay before him on the table. Gordon looked
at this object, and saw that it was an old, and rather
battered, silver pencil-case. It was placed beside
Usher's pile of counters, and every now and then he
touched it caressingly.
“Yes, it's my mascot,” he said laughingly, in reply
to his companion's remark. “It always brings me
luck, but I lost it for a time, until to-day. How-
ever, it's doing its work pretty thoroughly after its
rest.”
Almost smiling as he did so, Gordon instinctively
put his hand to his pocket. Mounted in silver he
always carried with him a bullet which had struck
his watch-chain in South Africa, and which in some
miraculous manner had spared his life. If fetishes
were in fashion, why not set his bullet against
TJsher's pencil-case!
To his disappointment a search in all his pockets
showed him that he had left the bullet at home, but
his fingers encountering another and unexpected ob-
ject, he drew it forth and looked at it with a sudden
thrill. It was the knife with which Carlton had been
murdered. He had placed it hastily in his pocket
on that eventful night, and in all the anxiety and ex-
citement of the subsequent time, he had never
thought of examining it further.
Pale and disturbed, he was about to hastily return
it to his pocket, when a strange resolve came into
his mind. The weapon, ghastly as it would have


A DUEL WITH CARDS 91
been open, with the blood now dried upon its blade,
was closed and comparatively innocent-looking.
Yet Gordon knew that anyone who had ever owned
it, must recognize it; he felt, if it were possible that
Usher had committed the awful deed, as at moments
he half suspected, the sight of the knife facing him
here on the table of the gambling house, must draw
from him some sign of guilt or terror.
Did it, or did it not? Gordon could hardly say.
He placed the knife upon the green cloth before him,
and fixed his eyes firmly upon Usher's face. The
incident occurred at a pause in the game, and there
was nothing to distract attention from his maneuv-
ers. All the players looked up and noted his action,
some smiled and nodded—but Usher?
Gordon's eyes were glued to his white face, but
so firmly were his features under his control, or so
little interest did he take in Gordon's proceedings,
that for a moment he could hardly have sworn that
Usher recognized the knife and trembled. And yet
a moment later he could have vowed he did.
It was not that the white face turned whiter: that
was almost impossible; or that the hard, green eyes
wavered and moved restlessly, for they were never
still ; it was not really that there was any definite
or explicable cause that made him feel that the
stroke he had played had been a good one. But
there was something in the man's whole attitude,
which seemed to grow suddenly tense and rigid; in
the whiteness of his knuckles, which turned color
instantly, as if under the pressure of his clenched
fingers; and one deep, swift breath, instantly re-


92 THE SILVER PIN
pressed, which as he remembered and noted then,
made Gordon's heart beat fast.
The tension was over immediately, the game be-
gan again, the two fetishes were forgotten by all
but their respective owners, but it was evident that
a great change had taken place.
Whether Gordon's fetish had virtues greatly su-
perior to that of Usher's, whether the luck had
changed naturally, as luck often does, it is impos-
sible to say; but it is certain that from that moment
Usher's luck entirely deserted him, and upon its
desertion he completely lost his head. He played
heavily for a time, lost more and more, then drew
in his horns, when for a couple of rounds the tide
did not turn in his favor; plunged more heavily still,
when it turned again, and then commenced a fatal
see-saw, which brought him out a loser at every
coup.
Gordon, on his side, contrived to hold his own,
but his attention was wholly occupied in watching
Usher, whose green eyes now met his occasionally,
with an expression Gordon could not help fancying
was almost venomous.
“He recognizes the knife,” thought Gordon, “and
he hates me like poison for having it; but it must
puzzle him like the deuce to think how I came by
it, and he'll end by thinking my exhibition of it a
pure accident, I suspect. However, things are
progressing favorably; we'll wait and see!”
He was destined to get no more satisfaction for
the moment, however, as Usher, whose losses were
now enormous, after biting his nails furiously in


A DUEL WITH CARDS 93
thought, appeared suddenly to take a resolution, and
gathering up the small remnant of his counters, rose
from the table.
Gordon, taken by surprise, for a second hardly
knew what to do. He had a heavy stake upon the
board, but he could not afford again to lose sight
of Usher, and he rose quickly and made for the
door. Even as he reached it, he heard the voice of
the fat proprietor calling after him, and he was
obliged to turn back, and return thanks for his stake,
which by the irony of fortune had increased con-
siderably in value.
The delay had been brief, however, and he felt
that he had still every hope of catching his man, and
he made for the front door as quickly as he could.
His hopes were not falsified, for turning into the
street, he saw the tall, thin form of Usher, before
him in the moonlight.


SHADOWING AND SHADOWED 97
she is altogether greatly improved. Doctor Sey-
mour was here this evening, and he was astonished;
he has seldom seen so rapid a recovery. We must
hope the progress will continue.”
“Indeed we must,” returned Gordon, sincerely.
“Spare no trouble, nurse, and ask for all you want.
Could I—might I see her, do you think?”
The nurse motioned him to wait for a moment,
while she softly opened the door of Miss Gaunt's
room and peeped in.
“You can see her, if you are very quiet,” she said,
holding the door open for Gordon. “She is sleep-
ing. I took her temperature an hour ago, and every-
thing is all right. I hope she will get a little rest.”
Holding his breath, Gordon looked in at the sleep-
ing figure, whose long, dark ringlets, swept the
white lace of the pillow; but he turned quickly away
again. The fever had passed, the delirium had spent
itself; it was no longer a sick and unconscious be-
ing who lay there, but a young girl, sleeping a sleep
that was pure and innocent, and on whose peaceful
beauty he felt he had no right to gaze. And he
made his way upstairs to his room.


XV
THE ARROGANT VISITOR
ORDON did not find it an easy task to
frame some excuse which would permit
him to call upon Mr. Usher, but he arrived
El at last at something which seemed to him
satisfactory; and he made his way to the Bath Hotel,
as early as possible the following morning.
To his disappointment, however, the gambler was
out when he reached Piccadilly, and after he had
spent an hour or so in promenading that thorough-
fare, varied by an occasional excursion into Bur-
lington Arcade, he returned to the hotel, to find the
object of his search still absent.
“I understood from Mr. Usher that he was only
going to be out for an hour or so,” said the hall-
porter, “but he is certain to be in for lunch, sir.
Will you leave your name?”
“I will come back about lunch-time,” said Gor-
don hurriedly. “It doesn't matter about the name.”
“It is no use wandering about here,” he thought;
“I had better go home, and see if Miss Gaunt is well
enough to have a little talk. For some reason or
other I would have liked to see Usher before she
and I began our explanations, but it does not much
matter, I suppose.”

98


THE ARROGANT VISITOR 99
The truth was, that Gordon was looking forward
more than he would confess, to his interview with
the young girl whose beauty and helplessness had
attracted him more and more, every moment she
remained in his house. He was impatient to know
what she would say at this first conversation; if she
would still insist to him on the incredible story of
her guilt, and so leave him disappointed and power-
less, or if she would confess what he felt to be the
truth, namely, that it was some terrible misunder-
standing only, some miserable and overwhelming
combination of circumstances, in the midst of which
she stood pure and innocent, which had made her
accuse herself and cling so determinedly to her ac-
cusation.
As Gordon opened the door of his house, he be-
came aware that someone was descending the stairs
toward him, and looking up quickly he gave a start;
and, in spite of his presence of mind, stood for a
moment absolutely stupified.
A man stood facing him in an easy attitude, his
hat on his head, and a cool smile on his lips. There
was no mistaking the white face, the hard green
eyes, the tall well-built figure, yet Gordon almost
felt that his eyes were deceiving him. Usher! and
in his house !
And then something in the man's expression, his
smile, the look in his eyes, struck him sharply; and
he realized that the man had been descending the
stairs as he opened the door.
“What are you doing here?” he said roughly, a
hundryd wild theories crossing his brain.
74 12./B


100 THE SILVER PIN
Usher smiled again, with a smile that Gordon felt
was hateful.
“I beg your pardon, Colonel Gordon 2" he asked
calmly.
“Take off your hat, sir!” said Gordon sternly.
“This is my house.”
“Certainly Excuse me,” returned the other, still
smiling coolly, and he slowly uncovered himself.
“Thank you,” said Gordon, who was recovering
himself rapidly. “Now will you kindly tell me your
business, and why—why you are coming down my
stairs?”
Usher nodded easily. “My business, I am afraid,
I can't tell you,” he said calmly. “It is, to tell you
the truth, private. I came down your stairs because
it would have been inconvenient to go down by the
window.”
“You will certainly go out that way all the same,”
returned Gordon, “unless you explain yourself.”
For the moment the two men stood looking at one
another. They were both outwardly cool, but Gor-
don noticed with satisfaction that a red tinge had
begun to show on the other's white face, while he
felt himself at every moment becoming more col-
lected, as indeed he always did, at moments when
his presence of mind was needed.
Usher was the first to break the silence.
“I have been to see Miss Gaunt,” he said.
“In my house, without my permission?” con-
tinued Gordon sternly.
Usher frowned. “Do you arrogate to yourself
the right to choose Miss Gaunt's visitors for her?”


THE ARROGANT VISITOR 101
he asked. “This is rather peculiar for a host, es-
pecially when she has become a guest under such—
such peculiar circumstances.”
“I have a right to shut my door, or open it to
whom I will,” said Gordon.
“And would you like to close it on me? It is a
pity you were not earlier. But, surely, wherever she
may be, a young lady has a right to see her fiancé!”
“Her fiancé! It is a lie!” But Gordon stopped
suddenly. He remembered what the fat proprietor
of the gambling house had told him. Was it true?
Could it be true that she was to be married to this
man? And if it were, then what had been the mur-
dered man. “Dear Claude! dear, dear Claude,” the
girl's piteous cry returned to his mind. If this man
was engaged to her, who was Claude 2
The other watched his confusion with a cold
sneer. “If you doubt me,” he said at length, “you
can ask Miss Gaunt herself. I daresay I ought to
apologize for not awaiting your permission to see
my future wife, but, you see, you were not at home,
and I was, you will naturally understand, impatient.
Besides, you will excuse me for saying that Miss
Gaunt's presence here at all, is rather confusing, and
in want of an explanation. However,” he continued,
seeing that Gordon was about to speak, “I really
have not time to argue the question. I can only
repeat that Miss Gaunt herself will confirm my
words. Will you go and ask her?”
Gordon shook his head, but the man's tone told
him his ground was sure, and he felt his heart sink
heavily. After all, had not his words been con-
:


THE ARROGANT VISITOR 103
you know, in her condition, rapid as her improve-
ment has been, that would be too dangerous.”
Gordon started. “Of course it would; perfect
madness!” he returned quickly. “Nurse, she must
be persuaded.”
“I have tried, sir, but she won't listen to me. She
seems to have some trouble on her mind,” the nurse
looked anxiously at George, “and it is useless for me
to argue with her. Will you try, sir? I am sure if
Dr. Seymour were here, he would insist upon her
staying.”
“I will try, if I may see her,” said Gordon.
“Oh, you may see her,” said the nurse. “An-
other visitor will do her less harm, than to leave
her in her present state.”
She tapped at the door, opened it to admit Gor-
don, and discreetly withdrew to the passage again.


XVI
* MISS GAUNT'S DECISION
ilOR a moment Gordon and Miss Gaunt stood
looking at one another. It was the first time
| the young girl had seen Gordon since that
terrible night when he had carried her off
so unceremoniously, and she gazed at him curiously,
and a little shyly. As for him, he was thinking how
lovely she was, with consciousness in her dark
eyes; wondering how it was that every time he saw
her, her beauty came to him as a fresh revelation.
She had been standing by the window, and had
half turned toward him as he entered. Her eyes
were bright and her cheeks unusually flushed, but
at the back of the determination expressed by her
graceful figure and closed lips, he could see the ter-
ror and despair which so startled him, when her
glance had first met his through the glass panels of
the room in Regent Street.
“Miss Gaunt,” he said, “you cannot be thinking
of leaving yet? You must not go.”
Her eyes met his for a moment. “I must go,” she
said; “I am quite well again. I thank you, oh, how
I thank you for all your kindness. I was mad that
night, I was overwhelmed, and you saved me from—
from I don't know what horrors; but I must go to-

104


MISS GAUNT'S DECISION 105
day. You must not think me ungrateful, but—
what does it matter after all! What can you think
of me—”
“I think you are the victim of some terrible mis-
understanding,” said Gordon. “It is because of
what I think, that I ask you to stay.”
“A misunderstanding—some terrible misunder-
standing! Ah, if it were the truth!” the words were
almost a cry, and Gordon bit his lip. How he felt
that he could echo her wish himself; but Usher,
what of his speech?
“Miss Gaunt,” he said at last, “you say I saved
you the other night from a danger which threatened
you, and you have thanked me for it. Let me ask
you a favor in return. Be my guest here for a day
or so longer. If you wish, I will go away myself,
and you shall see no one but the nurse and my
housekeeper; but do not go until at least the doctor
comes again, and I will abide by his decision.”
Miss Gaunt shook her head. “I must go,” she
said. “Ah, I have not even a choice! I must go.”
Gordon frowned. “That man who was here just
now—I beg your pardon, Mr. Usher, he has-"
“He that man P”
Her tone made Gordon's heart bound suddenly.
Her face had turned white, and she had shrunk back
against the wall, with her hand at her heart.
“Then I knew it,” he said quickly. “He has lied
to obtain admittance here. The man is a scoundrel.
He said, forgive me, that he was—he was to marry
you.”
The young girl stood in the attitude she had


106 THE SILVER PIN
taken, while her lips turned whiter still. Gordon's
words seemed to have changed her to stone.
“If I had known he was lying,” Gordon continued,
“he should not have escaped so easily. Even
now—”
Miss Gaunt's hand went out swiftly, as if to arrest
his movement. Her lips opened, but for a moment
no sound came from them. Then, with an effort:
“He was not lying,” she said.
“Good God!”
“He was not lying. I am going to marry him.
God help me!”
The despair in her eyes, her heart-broken tone,
made Gordon forget everything but her beauty and
helplessness, and the fascination of her presence,
which every word and movement made him feel
more strangely.
He strode forward and caught her hand, though,
meeting his eyes almost wildly, she strove to re-
strain it.
“Miss Gaunt,” he said, “why won't you let me
help you?”
“It is useless, it is impossible,” she gasped, at-
tempting in vain to release her hand, which trem-
bled like a bird in Gordon's grasp. “There is no help
possible—no way out, but one.”
“And that you shall not take,” said Gordon.
“You cannot like that man. I see you do not. Your
tone when you speak of him, your look, everything
tells me you do not. But in some infernal way
he has got a power over you, which you fancy you
must yield to. Miss Gaunt, that man is a scoundrel;


MISS GAUNT'S DECISION 107
I am sure of it. I believe he is worse. Let me
prove it; give me time to prove it to you!”
“It is impossible. It would be useless if you
could.”
The despairing resignation in her tone set Gor-
don's mind at work.
“I see what you mean,” he said thoughtfully. “It
is because of the other night.”
The young girl shuddered. “Ah, do not speak of
that!” she said.
“Forgive me, but I must,” he returned. “After
all, I have the right to, for remember the circum-
stances. I found you there in that room, by acci-
dent. There was a dead man there—a man who
had been murdered—”
“Ah, stop; please stop !”
“You accused yourself of the crime. You were
waiting there to give yourself up. You might have
been found there and arrested. I took you away
against your will—”
“I have thanked you. I cannot thank you suf-
ficiently, but I am grateful; don't think me ungrate-
ful.”
“You accused yourself,” continued Gordon firmly.
“I did not believe you; I did not think you had com-
mitted that crime; but you said you had. To-day
you do not repeat your accusation. Then I was
right; you did not do it. Who did?”
Miss Gaunt was silent, staring at him with wide-
opened, frightened eyes.
“Who did it?” repeated Gordon. “Usher? Was it
LJsher?”


XVII
A SUDDEN DEPARTURE
* N THE morning Gordon was awakened by a
hurried tapping at his door. He looked at his
iſ watch before he sprang out of bed, and saw
=l that it was hardly seven o'clock.
Wondering what could have occurred, he opened
the door and found himself confronted by the nurse.
She had evidently dressed in haste, and her face was
pale and agitated.
“Oh, sir, Miss Gaunt, the young lady!” she
gasped.
Gordon started. “What of her?” he asked.
“What has happened? Is she worse?”
“She has gone, sir!”
“Gone l’”
“Gone, sir! Oh, I don’t know what to do, or how
you will ever forgive me. I am sure I can't forgive
myself. To think that she could have taken me in
like that! So simple and innocent as she looked.”
Gordon stopped her quickly. “Yes, yes,” he said
impatiently, “but tell me the facts. When did
she go, and how?”
“Well, sir, she must have gone at daybreak. She
was quiet after you had seen her, and seemed much
more settled. I sat by her until she went to sleep.

109


110 THE SILVER PIN
I am sure she did go to sleep first, sir. And I
sat in the room by her bedside for a long time; I
should think until about one or two. Then I went
to my room, but although I was quite easy about
her, for I had taken her temperature, and it was
almost normal, I nevertheless looked in at her every
hour or so. Well, sir, the last time was about four.
She had been asleep, but she just turned over and
half opened her eyes. “It's all right, nurse,” she said.
“Go to sleep now, and don't bother about me. I
shall sleep on till morning myself. I am as drowsy
as I can be.’ Well, sir, I believed her, and I saw no
cause not to. But about a quarter of an hour ago I
awoke with a feeling there was something wrong.
I went straight to her room and found her gone. I
ran downstairs, but could see nothing of her, and
then I went and woke up Mrs. Crump, but we have
searched the house and found nothing. And here
is a note for you, which was on her table, sir, where
I saw it afterward.”
Gordon took the letter in silence. She was gone,
but how could he blame this woman, who had per-
formed her duties perfectly.
“Thank you, nurse,” he said. “I beg you won't
blame yourself too much. I should have been de-
ceived as you were, I daresay.”
He was unwilling to read the note with the
nurse's eyes upon him, and nodding to her, he
made his way to his study, where he shut the door
upon himself.
“I cannot thank you sufficiently, and I am grate-
ful; oh, do believe that I am not ungrateful; but I


A SUDDEN DEPARTURE 113
follow the gambler, for the third time within the
past few days, hoping vigorously that on this occa-
sion fate would be kinder to him than on the pre-
vious ones.
He felt, however, that Usher was a man on whom
it was not easy to play tricks. When he had last
followed him it was evident the gambler had known
it; this time Gordon was determined he should not
see him—but how to contrive it? This was easy
enough while Usher kept to crowded thoroughfares
like Piccadilly, but should he turn into more un-
frequented ones, how could Gordon in broad day-
light, escape his quick green eyes?
Still following him, he considered rapidly, and
presently an idea came to him.
Crawling slowly along Piccadilly, came an anti-
quated four-wheeler, such a four-wheeler, fortu-
nately, as one seldom sees nowadays, monstrous as
those conveyances still remain. It was tied, rather
than harnessed, to a poor old horse, like itself in
the last stage of emaciation, and it rattled as it
went, but in the eyes of its weather-beaten driver,
Gordon, with his swift observation, had caught a
glimpse of superior intelligence, and formed his plan.
He strode quickly toward the vehicle and
touched the driver on the shoulder.
“I want you to follow someone,” he said, keeping
Usher carefully in the tail of his eye. “And I'll
give you half a sovereign if you don't miss him.
Keep on moving.”
The old driver looked down at him, and then
shook his head sadly.


A SUDDEN DEPARTURE 115
f
yard that Gordon's hand went quickly to the handle
of the door.
The cabman bent down at the sound, however,
and stopped him. “It’s all right, sir,” he said.
“He’s only getting on a bus. He's going to the
Minories. I heard him ask the conductor. Don't
you get out yet. We aren't afraid of a bus.” Gor-
don hesitated. While Usher walked, he had been
able to follow him with his eyes from the cab win-
dow. On the top of the bus he was invisible to
him. Yet the cabman had done splendidly till now,
and it was quite certain that Usher would recognize
him if he himself took the bus. “All right,” he said,
“I’ll leave it to you, but for goodness sake keep
your eyes open.”
The cabman nodded, whipped up his old mare,
who responded nobly, and the chase began again.
At the Minories they stopped again, and Gordon
held his breath, but after an instant the cab slowly
continued its way, and Gordon cautiously peered
out. There was no sign of Usher on that side, but
turning to the other window he saw him walking
quickly down the road before them, and he mentally
added another shilling to the promised reward.
Usher made his way, the cab following him, down
the wide street, and under the railway arch, when
he turned to the left along St. George's Road.
“Where on earth is he going?” Gordon wondered;
“surely not to Jamrach's "
But the gambler passed the animal dealer's and
still went on, while the streets grew dirtier and
more, unsavory, and Gordon more curious.


A SUDDEN DEPARTURE 117
“In a house at the bottom of the lane there.”
“Well, well ?”
.*But it's a empty house, sir.”
“Empty?”
“Holler as a bad nut. There ain't a soul in it,
but him. And I’m sure he's there. I just caught
sight of him going into the door. I went down to
have a look at the house just to give you the tip,
when, says I, it's a empty house. Well, I took a
walk around the back to make sure, and sure
enough, it is. You can see into the rooms; no
blinds, no curtains, no furniture, not a soul to be
seen. Look out, here he comes"
The warning came not a second too soon, for as
he spoke Usher came around the corner of the
street and was upon them.


XVIII
THE EMPTY HOUSE
FIWIFT as lightning Gordon flung himself
| down upon the straw at the bottom of the
cab, and prayed that the gambler might not
take a fancy to hire the vehicle; while the
cabman, with a quickness which did him credit,
leaned carelessly against the door, blocking it and
the window with his broad shoulders.
Usher cast a glance at the cab and its antiquated
steed, the cabman being careful not to catch his eye
while he hesitated; then the suspense was over. It
was evident that the appearance of the vehicle did
not impress the gambler, and he walked past and
down the street. -
Gordon rose breathless from his crouching posi-
tion.
“Has he passed?” he asked at last, in a whisper.
“Yes, sir, he's gone. He did look at us at one
time; but, lor’ bless you, he thought better of it.
FIe didn't take much to our looks, me and the old
horse.”
“I am exceedingly obliged to you, at all events,”
said Gordon. “I did not want him to see me, and I
congratulate you on the manner in which you fol-
lowed him. But we have lost him now, I suppose?”

118


120 THE SILVER PIN
“Perhaps not, sir,” he said, “perhaps not, but an
empty house is a funny thing.”
Gordon looked up. “It was empty?” he asked
quickly.
“Lor', yes, it was empty. I looked all around.
It must have been.”
“Well, what then?”
The man pondered a moment, and then shrug-
ging his shoulders, mounted his box. “As you
please, sir; you've been a gentleman to me. Come
up, old girl | All the same, an empty house is a
funny thing. Good day sir.”
Gordon watched the cab rattle off, and turned
toward the lane. “An empty house is a funny
thing! Yes, it is, my good man, and I’m going to
have a look at it. It is empty, of course; but still,
if it's empty, why on earth should Usher come all
this way to see it? That's what you mean, I sup-
pose; and if it's worth his while, now that I’ve lost
him, and don't know what to do next, why shouldn't
I have a look at it, too?”
He made his way down the narrow ill-smelling
lane, looking about him carefully. He had remem-
bered, too late to inquire, that the driver had not
explained the position of the house, but he had not
much fear of failing to discover it, nevertheless.
He reached the end of the street, barred by the
blank, rear wall of a high building, however, with-
out catching any glimpse of a house which seemed
unoccupied, and for a moment he hesitated, looking
about him. It was impossible that he could have
mistaken the lane, equally impossible that the cab-


THE EMPTY HOUSE 121
man should have deceived him; but where was the
house? And then suddenly he guessed.
He was standing under a high wall, which ex-
tended at a right angle from the building, which
made a blind of the lane; and half hidden in this
wall was a small iron gate. He crossed the lane,
and standing on tip-toe, peered over. The roadway
was narrow, and the wall high, but he could catch
sight, nevertheless, of chimneys and a dark win-
dow staring down at him like a blind eye.
“That is the house,” he thought. “Of course,
the gate is open.”
He was right. The latch turned easily and
lightly. It was evidently well oiled and cared for,
and in constant use, and the discovery of this fact,
together with the extremely deserted and dilapi-
dated appearance of the house, which he immedi-
ately caught sight of, gave him a strange thrill.
The cabman's words occurred to him—“An empty
house is a funny thing.” Certainly, there was some-
thing strange about such an empty house, with such
a well-oiled gate handle.
He made his way up the weedy, gravel path, by
the shrubs which had evidently been for years un-
tended, to the front door of the building, and stood
looking at it.
It was a high brick house of three stories, with
a square ugly front and staring windows, curtain-
less and covered with dirt and cobwebs; a great
many panes of glass were broken and stuffed here
and there with paper, and the front door, from
r n
h


THE EMPTY HOUSE 123
.
soine friend and found him gone? And, after all,
what did I expect to discover in an empty house?
But, by jove, is it empty, after all !”
For he had turned suddenly with a start, and was
watching some object on the ground.
This object which had caught his roving eye and
riveted his attention, was only an ordinary London
sparrow, but it was wrestling in the dust with a
crumb which was too large for it, and Gordon won-
dered how the crumb got there.
“I am sorry to interrupt you, but you can come
back and finish afterwards, old chap,” he said, step-
ping forward; “this crumb needs consideration.”
He picked it up—it was, in reality, quite the size
of a cherry—and looked at it. It was only a piece
of ordinary bread, not at all new, but for a moment
Gordon felt as if it told him a whole history. It had
been carried there, and that quite recently, for there
were no houses near from which it could have been
thrown, and the sparrow's efforts told him that it
was beyond the power of the bird to carry.
Therefore, but Gordon wasted no time in futile
questioning. He turned to the door, and, with all
the strength of his powerful frame, shattered the
lock and entered the passage.
Did he hear a movement, as his steps resounded
in the hollow hall; was there anyone within P He
could not tell, but there had been, at least; for
there were footprints in the dust of the passage, and
almost at his feet lay the end of a burnt-out ciga-
rette.
But an examination of the interior of the house


124 THE SILVER PIN
for a time, brought him nothing further. He
searched the ground floor rooms religiously, and
continuing his way upstairs, explored the whole of
the other two stories. There was no one there, and
indeed, it seemed incredible there could be, for the
dust had evidently been long undisturbed; however,
the house was dark, the windows being too dirty
to admit the light, and Gordon was not going to rely
too much upon first impressions, remembering the
incident of the crumb. But still, when he had gone
through every nook and corner of the two floors, he
descended a little disappointed. “What the deuce
did anyone come into an empty house to smoke a
cigarette for,” he wondered, “and why bread? Let
us have a look at the footprints.”
He lighted a match and glanced at the marks on
the passage floor. Long, narrow footprints, light
impressions; Gordon remembered Usher's cat-like
walk, and followed them, along the hall eagerly.
And then he understood. A passage, dark and nar-
row, led from the front door to the back of the
house, growing darker as it went, until, reaching the
stairs, it took a turn under them, and Gordon's
match going out suddenly, vanished.
But he had already caught a glimpse of a low
and narrow door in the wall, and he struck another
light immediately. “By jove, a cellar!” he said
“What a fool I am l’’
Holding a match in one hand he caught the handle
and turned it. The door did not open, and he
pulled harder. Still it did not open, but it gave a
little, and then, as he relaxed his hold, it closed with


THE EMPTY HOUSE 125
a little jerk. He seized the door again, and the same
thing happened, and then, grasping the situation, he
gave a short laugh. Someone on the other side was
holding the door.
Gordon's match went out, and he struck another;
then, taking a good grip of the handle, he pulled
hard. This sudden tug made the thing give, as
usual, but as usual the ground he gained was quickly
lost again. Gordon set his teeth, however, and for
a minute or two the contest wavered. Then his
match burned down to his fingers, and, forcing him
to relax his efforts, made him mutter an oath. As
if in response to the situation, a stronger pull came
from the other side, and the door closed again.
Gordon shrugged his shoulders. “Very well,”
he said to himself, “we’ll do it in the dark, since one
hand is not enough. All the same, I wish I had a
candle.”
Relinquishing the glowing fragments of his
match, he put both hands to the knob of the door.
Gordon was an exceptionally powerful man, and in
good training; and he was using two hands now;
moreover, instinct told him that his unseen oppon-
ent was probably down a step or two, and so at a
disadvantage, yet, nevertheless, for a time the result
of the battle remained in doubt.
Gordon bit his lip. “I wonder which will give in
first?” he thought. “Not I, I'll swear. I don't know
how weight is, but strength seems to be about equal.
But surely living in a cellar must tell before long.”
He pulled even harder, and listened intently, and


126 THE SILVER PIN
the sound of a heavy and labored breathing came
to him through the key-hole.


XIX
A STRUGGLE IN THE DARK
and it came. There was a groan, a splutter,
and then a crash; the door flung open, and
Gordon was dashed by the recoil against the
opposite wall. As he recovered himself, he heard
the swift patter of footsteps flying down the dark
stairs which faced him, and he darted in pursuit.
The vanished one knew the stairs intimately, evi-
dently, while Gordon simply saw blackness in front
of him; yet he hurled himself down, and for a second
he almost seemed to feel a rough tweed coat within
his grasp. Then he reached a turning, struck vio-
lently against a wall, stumbled, rubbed himself, and
even while he rubbed, heard the flying footsteps
swallowed up by the darkness. -
He struck a match and looked about him. He
was in a dark, dirty, but fairly dry cellar. It was
empty, but opposite to him was a low archway, and
he darted forward. His match went out as he
passed through, but he struck another and went on.
Here again there was no sign of the unknown him-
self, though a pile of clothes thrown on the floor,
and some plates with broken food upon an upturned
barrel, were evidence that he had been there. There
127


128 THE SILVER PIN
was, however, another archway before Gordon, and
from beyond came still the sound of scurrying steps.
George dashed down his half-burned match. “These
cellars run into one another, and go around the base-
ment,” he thought, with a sudden flash of inspira-
tion. “While I blunder about, that fellow will be
around the place, up the stairs, and out of the back
door. This won't do.”
He let the flying one go, and turning quickly, ran
back through the first cellar. Even as he reached
the foot of the stairs a scurrying near him and a
sudden halt, warned him he had not been a moment
too soon. “What an inspiration,” he thought; “if
only I can fasten that door.”
His hand went nervously to the lock, and to his
delight his fingers grasped a key. “That fellow
was listening at the door, and I never gave him time
to lock it,” he thought. “What a piece of luck.”
He quickly turned the lock, and after trying the
door, put the key in his pocket. “Now, my man,
we can take it quietly,” he said aloud, and he made
his way down the stairs again.
At the first cellar he lighted a match, but the
unknown had already passed through the archway,
as a rustling sound warned him. At the second cel-
lar the same thing occurred again; and at the third.
However quietly Gordon moved, his matches took
some time to light and to throw their light around,
and although he several times caught sight of the
figure he pursued, either his vesta went out in the
swift rush he made, or the efforts he used to keep


130 THE SILVER PIN
I get round the other way,” thought Gordon, rub-
bing his hands as he got safely through the next
archway, “and then there'll be a tussle.”
He was right. He crept softly on his way back,
round through the basement, until at last a glimmer
of light in the distance warned him that he was
getting “warm,” as the children say.
Creeping gently on, holding his breath, and with
a skill born of long practice, Gordon passed through
the last archway into the cellar where the unknown
watched. Before him, in the light of his little chain
of matches, which still burned brightly, he saw the
archway around the corner of which he had taken
off his boots, and near him, in the darkest shadow,
yet still plainly visible, now that he was between
Gordon and the light, crouched the mysterious in-
habitant of the house.
He braced his muscles for the spring; yet even
while he did so, he could not help casting a rather
anxious glance at his future adversary's figure.
Even in the darkness of the cellar he could see that
the man was huge and burly, a fellow, probably, of
six feet one or two, and broad in proportion; and as
he crouched there in silence, motionless, but so evi-
dently ready for a surprise, Gordon felt that the
struggle would be no child's play, and it was quite
possible that in the end the fisherman might turn
out to be the fished.
He stole forward another step or two and then,
even while a sudden start on the watcher's part
told him he was heard, he sprang upon him and
seized him by the throat.


A STRUGGLE IN THE DARK 131
Gordon was, as we have said, particularly strong,
but he was nothing like the weight or size of the
man he attacked, and for a moment he found himself
being flung about the cellar, as a bull dog in the old
days might have been flung about, gripping the nose
of a particularly ferocious bull; but like the bull dog,
he had no idea of letting go, and a very good idea
of what to do when his chance came. After a short
time the aspect of the struggle commenced to alter.
Gordon's spring had been a fortunate one. He
had taken his adversary by surprise; and in seizing
him, he had succeeded in getting an excellent grip;
one of his hands being inside the stranger's collar,
and the other holding firmly to his tie. When the
big man first began to discover that he could not
throw Gordon away, he also commenced to find out
that he was suffocating. He redoubled his efforts,
swinging Gordon entirely off his legs, and batter-
ing the walls with his sprawling body, but even
while he struggled, his breath came thicker and
more heavily; he groaned deeply; then suddenly his
legs giving way under him, he slipped to the ground.
Gordon was upon him like a flash of lightning,
getting an even better grip this time; then making
most successful use of his knees, the big man soon
collapsed completely.
“You are too good for me,” he said thickly. “I
give up.”
Gordon hesitated. He had won the victory; what
was he to do with it? He found himself sitting in
a dark cellar, upon the chest of a man whom it had
taken, all his time and some luck to get the better


132 THE SILVER PIN
of, who had swung him about as if he had been an
Indian club, and who would doubtless do so again,
if he, Gordon, let go for the time necessary to find
a match and strike it; for the little chain had long
ago gone out, or been extinguished by Gordon's
flying body.
He pondered. But even while he did so, his ad-
versary came to his assistance.
“Do you mind getting up off my chest,” he said.
“If you don't I think I shall be sick. I am not so
young as I was, and this little rough and tumble
has made me remember that fact; besides, your
knees are a trifle sharp.”
The tone was that of a gentleman, and Gordon
saw his chance.
“Certainly, if you will give your word,” he said
quickly.
“I give it, with all the breath you have left me,”
returned his adversary with a sigh of relief; and
Gordon, springing to his feet, lighted up the scene.
“There's a bit of candle over there on the barrel,”
continued the big man, sitting up cautiously. “I
blew it out when I heard you walking about up-
stairs. What a fool I was not to lock that cellar
door. I thought I could hold it.”
“So did I, for a long time,” returned Gordon, “but,
thanks, I'll certainly try that candle; matches are
unsatisfactory things at best.”
He soon discovered the article he was in search
of-it was stuck in an empty beer bottle among the
debris of the food; and, lighting it, he turned back
to the stranger. -


A STRUGGLE IN THE DARK 133
For a moment the two men remained silent, peer-
ing at one another by the light of the candle, which
was better, certainly, than Gordon's vestas; but
which, nevertheless, did not make a very brilliant
show in the gloom of the cellar.
Gordon looked at his late adversary with eager-
ness, and a curiosity which that worthy returned
with interest. He was, as George had seen, a very
big man of exceedingly powerful physique; but he
was probably getting on to forty-five or forty-six,
and the curve where his waist should have been,
while it told of good living and ease, also explained
the reason for his sudden collapse. He had a hand-
some, good-humored face, though now he gazed
rather ruefully about him; and suddenly, for some
unexplained cause, Gordon felt himself taking quite
a fancy to him.
“I don't understand it,” he said. “I ought to have
wiped the floor with you. Why, you can't weigh
more than a hundred and seventy, at most.”
“You did wipe the floor with me,” said George,
laughing, “and some of the walls as well.”
“Yes, but you nearly choked me; that infernal
hold of yours: one of your beastly police tricks, I
suppose.”
“Police?”
“Well, detective, if you are so particular. You're
a detective, I suppose, aren't you?”
Gordon started. This was the second occasion,
within a very short while, when he had been taken
for a member of the police force, and the coincidence
leading him back to the Regent Street flat and the


134 THE SILVER PIN
beautiful girl he had first seen there, made him
start suddenly, and for a moment gasp in amaze-
ment, as he stared at the big man who sat up and
watched him from the floor.


XX
GORDON'S DISCOVERY
'M NOT a detective,” he said at last, slowly.
“I’ve nothing at all to do with the police.”
“Not?” said the big man quickly. “Then
what the devil were you knocking me about
for? But you know me? You've seen me some-
where before? There's something up, you know, or
you wouldn't be here.”
“I haven't seen you before,” said Gordon, at last,
“but, by heavens, I believe I've seen someone very
like you. There's a turn of the eyelid—good lord —
Usher—her—of course !”
“Usher? her? What the devil do you mean?”
The big man had struggled to his feet, and came to
Gordon. “What do you mean?”
“I really don't know what I mean,” said Gordon,
“unless your name is Gaunt.”
“It is Gaunt, but, of course, you know it is, or
you wouldn't be here.”
Gordon looked at him. “What an extraordinary
thing,” he said slowly, “but I assure you I had no
possible idea you were here, or, until just this sec-
ond, that your name was Gaunt.”
The big man frowned and looked angrily at him
for a moment; then he shrugged his shoulders and

135


GORDON'S DISCOVERY 13?
my daughter, for God's sake, tell me about my
daughter!”
“Your daughter is safe.”
“Where?'
Gordon hesitated. Where indeed was she P and
what could he say to her father which could com-
fort him P
“Where is she? Where is Vivienne?” reiterated
Gaunt.
“Till this morning she was in my house.”
“In your house?”
“Yes, in my house; and perfectly safe, as she is
now in all probability—but—”
“Yes, yes; go on!"
“But, to be frank with you, she left this morning,
early; we knew nothing of it until it was too late:
she had gone. But stay, I have her letter here in
my pocket,” continued Gordon, suddenly remember-
ing. “Read it; it will tell you all that I know my-
self.”
Gaunt read the letter which Gordon handed to
him, and remained for a moment in thought. Then
he said:
“Still, of course, I don't understand. Will you
kindly explain?”
“I must, I suppose,” Gordon returned. “My story
is a strange one, but you must believe it occurred
exactly as I tell it. On Wednesday last, in the
evening, I had been dining with a friend. After din-
ner I found myself in Regent Street on my way
home.”
“In Regent Street?”


138 THE SILVER PIN
“Yes. I stopped near a certain house to strike a
match. As I was doing so, something fell on my
shoulder from a window above. It was a silver
pin; the kind of ornament a lady wears in her hat.
I guessed the house from which the thing had fallen,
and with the intention of returning it, I went into
the house and upstairs. It happened that the door
of one of the flats above—the one whence I imag-
ined the pin to have come—was open; and half care-
lessly, hardly thinking what I did, I walked inside.
I fancy—I may be wrong—that you know what
must have met my sight as I passed down the pas-
sage of that flat.”
Gaunt was staring at Gordon with a terrible ex-
citement whitening his face. “Go on,” he said,
thickly.
“There was a dead body upon the floor in one of
the rooms, the body of a murdered man. By it
sat a young girl—”.
“By it sat a young girl?” repeated Gaunt.
“Yes.”
Doubt, amazement and horror expressed them-
selves vividly upon Mr. Gaunt's face, and he passed
his hand across his forehead as if to wipe away the
perspiration which had gathered there. “Good
God!” he said. “And no one else?”
“No one, but the dead man. Who should have
been P”
Gaunt opened his clenched lips with an effort.
“Go on,” he said. “Finish your story.”
And Gordon continued: “This young girl, Miss
Gaunt, of course—was unnerved, prostrated, over-


GORDON'S DISCOVERY 139
whelmed; she had evidently been expecting every
moment to be discovered there; that every minute
the-the police would come and discover the body.
She mistook me for one of them, when I came so
strangely into the room where she sat. I was, my-
self, taken by surprise and startled, the thing was so
strange, so extraordinary; but I succeeded in con-
vincing Miss Gaunt that—that I meant her well.
She was, however, as I had said, terribly over-
wrought and—and excited. In the end, in doubt as
to what might be best to do, I persuaded, almost
forced her to come home with me to my house,
where I placed her in charge of my old nurse, the
best old creature in the world. I trusted that she
would have recovered more or less from the fearful
shock she must have experienced, by the time morn-
ing came, and that she could then decide what was
best for her to do. Unfortunately, she was taken
seriously ill, and my doctor, whom I sent for, or-
dered her to keep to her bed—indeed, she could not
then have moved from it—and it was necessary to
find a trained nurse to watch her. She was getting
better: she would probably have been perfectly
well by now, but yesterday her fiancé called—”
“Her fiancé P”
“Her fiancé, Mr. Usher; he said he was her
fiancé.”
“Usher? Yes, of course. He called, did he?”
Gordon's heart, which had leaped for a moment,
sank again.
“Yes, he came to my house,” he continued. “His
visit did not have the best possible result, and this


140 THE SILVER PIN
morning early, ill as she still was, she left my house
suddenly. You see her note.” -
Mr. Gaunt thought for a moment or two, while
Gordon watched him keenly.
“I had no thought of this, no possible suspicion,”
murmured Gaunt, half to himself, at length. “What
did it mean P”
Then he turned abruptly to Gordon. “Why did
you take her to your house,” he said. “Why didn't
you call the police?”
Gordon started. “Call the police?”
Gaunt nodded. “It would have been the most
natural thing to do, surely. You enter a house;
you find a murdered man; there is a girl sitting
by the body, a girl who expects that every moment
the police will arrive; she is overwrought, dis-
tracted, but has not moved or screamed, or called
for help—yet you take this girl to your home; you
say nothing of this murder! You look surprised. It
is my daughter I speak of, yes, but I am putting the
matter to you plainly; what were your reasons?”
“I did not think her guilty,” said Gordon quickly;
“I did not believe that she had anything to do with
the crime. I could not believe her a murderess
though—though she called herself one.”
“Ah, she called herself one?”
“In that moment, yes. Shattered in nerves, hys-
terical, frightened, she uttered some wild words
which I would not listen to. I did not believe them.
I do not believe them. I determined to save her
from herself, from a possible repetition of an hys-
terical outburst, and I will save her yet. I need not


GORDON'S DISCOVERY 143
“She is safe now, at all events, I hope,” said Gor-
don.
“Safe? Yes, of course she is safe,” returned Gaunt
quickly. “Why should she not be? And yet you
are right. Usher, who was here just now, said noth-
ing to me of you, or Vivienne's stay at your house.
He told me he saw her yesterday and that she was
safe and well. He mentioned nothing of having
seen her to-day. Good heavens! is it possible that
he was hiding anything from me, that he did not
know where she had fled to, that she has taken some
rash and desperate resolve? But no, that cannot be:
he must know, or he would have shown some grief,
some anxiety; he worships the ground she walks
on.”
Gordon turned white. “They are to be married,”
he said. “It was—it was true what she said. I
mean I did not misunderstand him,” he stammered.
Gaunt, in his turn, changed color, and for the
first time his frank gaze avoided Gordon's. “Yes,
they are to be married,” he replied, “if we get safely
out of this horrible affair, which seems black enough,
heaven knows. My daughter was—but it is a sad
story; perhaps later, when we know each other bet-
ter, I will tell it you. Usher is a good fellow. It is
to him, or it will be to him, I hope, that I owe my
daughter's liberty; perhaps, alas, even her life. But
it is strange,” he continued, frowning, “that he
mentioned nothing to me to-day, of the affair of this
morning, and her flight.”
Gordon was silent. There was more than that
which seemed suspicious to him in Usher's conduct;


144 THE SILVER PIN
there was more than that one incident which told
against him in Gordon's mind. Yet how could he
explain his suspicions to her father, now that he
had heard his story: had not those suspicions, in-
deed, become but the vaguest and most shadowy P
“I haven't thanked you yet, Mr. —”
“Gordon—Colonel Gordon.”
“Colonel Gordon, for all that you have done. You
have done more, you will understand, than I can
ever thank you for. May I ask you to go still
further. I am imprisoned here, and I must stay here
until this blows over, as you will see. You
can realize how terrible my anxiety must be, though,
when I think of that poor child; and what you have
told me just now, has but increased my doubts. I
cannot wait here in suspense; Usher will not return
until to-morrow at this time. You will understand,
you will forgive me, when I ask you to—”
“To bring you news of Miss Gaunt? Of course
I will,” returned Gordon eagerly. “I will go now,
at once, to Mr. Usher's hotel—”
“Yes, yes; he will know where she is. But be
careful; I need not tell you to be careful. Let me
thank you again. Some day I hope my daughter
and myself will be able to express our gratitude
better than I can now. I—I—”
Gordon saw that he was on the point of breaking
down, and he picked up his hat, which had fallen in
the struggle. “Don’t bother about thanking me;
or, if you will, thank me later on,” he said. “I will
go at once. There is nothing you want?”
“Nothing but good news,” returned Gaunt. “I


GORDON'S DISCOVERY 145
have everything here which I need. Usher has been
very thoughtful.”
Gordon nodded and turned away.
“Usher, Usher,” he thought as he made his way
down the deserted garden and along Minden Lane.
Was Mr. Gaunt right, and had he been wrong about
the man. Was it jealousy that was at the bottom of
the dislike and suspicion he felt, when he remem-
bered the cold, white, sneering face of the gambler;
and was the man honest after all? Yet, if so, how
was it that he had mentioned nothing to her father
of the young girl's flight from his house, and of his
own assistance: how was it that her tone, when she
had spoken of him, expressed his own, and more
than his own dislike, or had his ears deceived him P
Yet why should they not? Had he not already
been deceived, bitterly deceived in her? “A mur-
deress!” he had heard it from her father's own lips.
And yet that strange and now inexplicable instinct
which had told him not to credit her guilt, that night
in the Regent Street flat, returned to him again in
spite of himself, in spite of everything; as he re-
called her pure face, and clear, lovely eyes, which
had met his so sadly alway, but so frankly; and a
hope, which he felt must be vain, but which he did
not attempt to resist, rose again in his heart. Had
he never seen Usher, he felt he might have believed,
in spite of himself; but as he remembered his first
sight of him, creeping back to the scene of the
crime; as he recalled the expression in his cruel
green eyes, when the knife lay before him on the
gambling table; when he thought of his insolence to


146 THE SILVER PIN
him in his own house, and the tone in which he had
spoken of her, Vivienne—he felt that he was right,
and that the man was a scoundrel; and in that case
was it not still credible that even her father might
have been blinded? that to win her, or to keep her,
the gambler might have employed some deceit or
treachery which had deceived them?
“I will know before to-morrow is over,” he said
to himself, “and if she is to be saved, I will save
her. And then—why then, I will forget her, I sup-
pose; forget that I ever saw her. I must. There is
no other way.”


XXI
A PHOTOGRAPH AND A LETTER
5 ORDON went straight to the Dorian Hotel,
| and inquired for Usher.
The clerk in the office consulted his book
for a moment. “Yes sir; number 118; he
has just come in, I think, and gone to his room. I
will send up to him.”
“It does not matter,” returned Gordon quickly;
“I will find my way,” and he went before the clerk
could say more.
“Whatever advantage there is to be obtained by
surprising him, I may as well get,” he thought, as
he mounted the stairs and made his way to number
118. A voice responded to his knock at the door—
it was Usher's voice—and he went in.
The gambler was seated with his back to Gordon
as he entered. He was apparently engaged in writ-
ing letters at a table, and he did not even look up as
Gordon walked towards him.
“What is it?” he asked over his shoulder, evi-
dently taking the new comer for some servant of the
hotel.
Gordon saw his error, but taking no notice of it,
stood for a moment in silence; making a note of the
room and its occupant.

10 147


148 THE SILVER PIN
Suddenly his eye was arrested by the table at
which the gambler was seated. Upon it stood a
large photograph in a silver frame, and as Gordon
instinctively cast a closer glance at it, struck by
some sudden thought, he saw that it was a portrait
of Vivienne Gaunt. She had been taken in evening
dress, her white young neck and arms bare, and
Gordon, who had only seen her under circumstances
of stress or sorrow, felt that he had never till then
realized the completeness of her beauty.
And then, as the gambler slowly turned his head,
and his cold green eyes met his, he glanced again at
the photograph and felt one wild throb of jealous
madness sear his heart. Her picture was there,
there in this man's room—her eyes, those lovely
eyes, smiling gaily out from the silver frame, smiled
on him, too, on this man whom Gordon had always
felt to be a villain; who looked like a villain as he
sat there glaring at Gordon with startled eyes, yet
who was going to marry her, who was going to
make the very thought of her impossible.
Quick as lightning Usher sprang to his feet and
faced Gordon; and for an instant, so menacing was
his attitude, the latter's hands went up instinct-
ively, and with a strange, involuntary thrill of
pleasure.
But before he could move again, Usher had recov-
ered himself. With a short laugh he drew back
a step, and leaned lightly against the edge of the
table, hiding, as if unintentionally, the photograph
and papers on it from Gordon's gaze. His laugh
was nervous and trembled slightly, and his hard


A PHOTOGRAPH AND A LETTER 149
green eyes, in spite of the unconcern they attempted
to express, wavered and flickered angrily.
“I beg your pardon, Colonel Gordon, again,” he
said quickly. “How strange. Forgive me for my
rudeness. I had no idea it was anyone but the
waiter, or the chambermaid, or the boots, or some-
one like that; and it's you.”
Gordon ignored the insult which lay in the tone,
rather than the words of the speech, and nodded
quietly.
“Yes,” he said.
Usher waited a moment, but Gordon remain-
ing silent, he shrugged his shoulders. “Very good
of you to look me up,” he said at length, “but may I
ask—?”
“Certainly, you have a right to ask, if you mean,
why am I here?" said Gordon, coldly. “I have come
from Mr. Gaunt.”
Usher started, and leaned back heavily against
the table. In spite of his coolness and strength of
will, his white face turned whiter and his teeth
closed with a sudden jerk. -
“From Mr. Gauntl” he murmured.
“From Mr. Gaunt,” repeated Gordon. “From
your cellar in Minden Lane, in fact.”
“Ah!” said Usher, his green eyes meeting Gor-
don's venomously, “from Minden Lane? How
strangel And what has Mr. Gaunt to say?”
“Mr. Gaunt wishes to know his daughter's ad-
dress. You forgot, probably accidentally, to give
it to him just now.”
“Just now,” Usher repeated slowly. “Ah, but


A PHOTOGRAPH AND A LETTER 151
“That paper,” said Gordon firmly. “Give me
that paper | You have lied to me.”
Usher had succeeded in shoving the now
crumpled paper into his pocket, but Gordon had his
wrist firmly in his grasp, and for a moment the two
men struggled fiercely. Gordon soon felt that he
was the stronger, however, and putting all his
strength into the effort, though the other fought,
like the panther to which Gordon had first likened
him, he forced him backward against the table, and
with a lucky movement, tore the paper from his an-
tagonist's pocket. -
A glance showed him Vivienne Gaunt's writing,
and an address at the top of the single page of
which the letter consisted. “I was right,” he said,
“and you lied to me. Thank you, Mr. Usher; ah!
would you!”
He was not a moment too soon. In the second
occupied in glancing at the paper, Usher had swung
open a drawer in the table; as Gordon looked up he
had seized a revolver, and raised it to the level of his
breast, and in another moment the shot would have
resounded through the hotel, but that Gordon's
luck, which had carried him safely through the
siege of Rothville, came to his aid again.
In the gambler's haste he had closed his hand
round the guard of the trigger, and before one of
his fingers could seek the spring and press it, Gor-
don had seized them.
Yet his grip had been a bad one; he felt it only
too late. Four of Usher's fingers were in his grasp,
and, crushed against the guard, the fifth was free


152 THE SILVER PIN
and feeling for the trigger; and the quick move-
ment he made to stop the endeavor, left Gordon in a
worse position. The whole thing was, it could
have been, but the affair of half a second, yet Gor-
don had time to glance at the photograph on the
table before the shot rang out, to meet once more
the look of those lovely eyes, and fancy that they
smiled at him.
The glance was a fortunate one, for he had turned
his head to look, and the movement, slight as it was,
was sufficient to save his life. Blinded by the
smoke, singed and dazzled by the flame, the knowl-
edge flashed through his brain, nevertheless, that
his life was spared, and that it was Vivienne Gaunt
who had saved it. And yet he knew that he was
wounded, for the blood was trickling down his neck
and his head was aching and dizzy. He had dashed
the revolver from Usher's grasp, but for a second he
stood helplessly, watching him grope for it again
upon the floor.
Then consciousness returned to him. In another
moment Usher would fire again; even if his life
were spared, the hotel would be alarmed, and an in-
quiry would take place; what might not then
transpire? With the speed of light his resolution
was taken, and in a second, even while Usher raised
the revolver again and pointed it, he had reached
the door, flung it open and darted out into the pas-
sage. Would the gambler follow him and shoot?
But he did not, he hesitated, and while he hesi-
tated, he was too late, for Gordon had flung himself
down the stairs and reached the first landing. He


A PHOTOGRAPH AND A LETTER 153
heard the gambler curse his folly as he realized the
mistake he had made, but he cared little now; and
placing his handkerchier to the wound in his temple,
he made his way through the crowd of guests and
servants, who always fill the hall of the Dorian. He
noticed with relief that no one paid attention to
him, or appeared to have heard the pistol shot above
the thousand noises of the great hotel, and he
smiled as he remembered Vivienne Gaunt's letter
lying securely in his pocket.
“So far, so good,” he thought, “though it was
a narrow escape. But Mr. Usher and I will settle
that at some future time. He shall lose nothing by
the delay.”
Fearing some further attempt by the gambler, he
hailed a hansom at the door of the hotel, and
sprang into it, glancing at the address at the top of
Miss Gaunt's letter as he did so.
“42 Charles Street, Pentonville,” he said to the
cabman, “and drive quickly.”
“Charles Street, Pentonville! What a queer
place to go to,” he thought, as the cabman whipped
up his horse. “And now the question is, can I read
her note?”
Gordon avoided doing this for some time, for sev-
eral reasons, and contented himself with merely
reading the address at the head of the letter. It was
true that Usher had just attempted his life; and that
therefore he was not bound to stand on ceremony
with him; but, on the other hand, it was not until
he had attempted to obtain possession of the paper
that the gambler had attacked him; and certainly


154 THE SILVER PIN
a man might retort that he had a right to defend his
correspondence.
He felt himself urged by an eager desire—a de-
sire which had jealousy for its foundation—to read
what Miss Gaunt could have to say to this man, in
what terms she would write to him; but he knew he
could never forgive himself if he yielded to the
temptation; and he buttoned his coat at last firmly
over the paper.


XXII
A VISIT TO THE WRITER
HE cab rattled along Oxford Street and
down the Gray's Inn Road, and at length,
after what seemed an interminable drive,
pulled up at a door in a narrow and gloomy
street Off the Pentonville Road.
Gordon sprang out, paid the man, and walking up
the steps of No. 42, rang the bell.
“Is Miss Gaunt at home?” he asked the maid who
opened the door.
The girl stared at him; and Gordon saw that she
nervously avoided his eye. “No, sir,” she said at
last.
“But she is staying here?” Gordon said quickly.
“No, sir,” the words came pat, but Gordon felt
that they were not the truth.
“But she is; I know she is,” he said firmly. “Will
you tell her I am here—Colonel Gordon. She will
see me, I am sure.”
Even while the little maid, awed by his tone,
looked at him dumbly, Gordon heard a stifled cry
from behind her in the passage.
“Colonel Gordon | Oh, impossible.” The voice
was Miss Gaunt's ; he could have sworn it, and he
pushed past the servant.
155


A VISIT TO THE WRITER 159
The young girl's face turned white, and for a
moment he bitterly regretted having allowed the
question to escape his lips, for she turned away and
walking to the window, stood silent, looking out
into the street.
“Forgive me, Miss Gaunt,” he said gently.
It seemed to him that she bent her head, but she
did not turn, and he spoke again.
“Let me continue what I have to say,” he went
on. “I have found you here and I can tell your
father that, so far, you are well and safe, but what
of the future?”
“The future?” The words were murmured only,
but Gordon caught them, and the tone in which they
were uttered.
“The future,” he repeated. “Yes, what of the
future? Oh, forgive me, but consider what you
do! Hesitate; go to your father from whom indeed
you ought not to be separated; delay, I beg of you,
before you put your future into the hands of this
man Usher, who—who—”
Miss Gaunt took a step forward, looking him in
the face, then, slowly she held out to him the letter
which he had brought. “Read it,” she said.
“Shall I?”
“You may,” she returned, with her eyes still on
his.
Gordon opened the paper, and read:
“Since you left me yesterday, I have been think-
ing—thinking deeply. Safety may lie in the path
which you suggest—safety for my father, which is
everything, safety for myself, too, which I assure


160 THE SILVER PIN
you carries little weight toward the decision you
wish for. But does safety lie that way, even for
my father? There may be another, and a better and
a juster way. It is I who am really the guilty one,
and not my father; it must be so. It was I, and I
alone, who was to blame for that terrible, terrible
thing. I was the cause; is there any doubt? and
it is I who should pay the penalty. I am thinking
over it, I have thought over it, and I have decided;
but this much I will grant to you, this much, I think
—I am sure—I owe to you. If nothing happens,
I, for one will do nothing for a week. I will do
nothing rashly, but, I am afraid, I am afraid, I can-
not tell you to hope that I shall change my mind. I
must beg you to leave me by myself for a week. At
the end of that time you can come to me, and I will
tell you what I have decided to do. Until then, be-
lieve me, I am grateful for what you have done
for us. “Vivienne Gaunt.”
Gordon felt himself turn color as he read the
letter, and his heart beat fast. Then he had been
right from the very first moment he had seen her.
She had not committed that deed, she could not
have done it, for did not her letter say as much? A
person who has committed a crime does not speak
as the writer of that letter did. There was some
mystery, some fearful misunderstanding; as he had
always known there was, but Gordon had always
felt that she was innocent, and now he knew it.
Yet the way was very dark. How was it that
her father could believe her guilty, and what did


CORPORAL STERRETT 165
Gordon shuddered as he remembered “Stoat's"
silent, dogged ways, and keen penetration. If he
had only a week before him, and this man against
him, already at Vivienne's door, what hope could
there be? Yet was there not a chance that he might
be mistaken 2 Many things, notably his old
wandering habits, might have brought the “Ferret”
to this neighborhood, and it might, after all, be by
the purest accident that Gordon had met him there,
as he came from Vivienne's house.
He determined to decide the question before he
left the neighborhood, and, walking on carelessly,
he turned a corner and waited. If “Stoat” had
seen and recognized him, he might follow; or, if
he was indeed watching the house, he might stay
there, and when Gordon returned, as he intended to
do if he saw no sign of the fellow pursuing him,
he would make certain of the fact and decide what
was to be done.
He waited round the corner, about a dozen yards
down the street, holding a cigarette and a match-
box in his hand. After a moment or so he heard a
quiet and steady step come round the turning after
him; and, striking a match, he lighted his cigarette,
casting a glance at the approaching promenader as
he did so. -
It was the “Ferret;” and, throwing the match
away, Gordon walked on.
As he walked he looked about him for a restau-
rant, where he might satisfy a hunger which was
now becoming serious. Mr. Sterrett might wait,
while he ate and considered what was best to be


166 THE SILVER PIN
done. Gordon did not want to lose him until he
had come to some decision, but he felt as sure of
the “Stoat” now, as if he had him tied to a string.
IIe knew that gentleman's quiet persistence; and
coming at last to a clean-looking Italian restaurant,
he turned carelessly in, and took a seat at a table.
He was deep in the intricacies of a very Cockney-
Italian menu, when the door opened and Sterrett
entered. He passed Gordon without looking at
him, and taking a seat at a table to one side, he
called to the waiter, and gave an order.
Gordon looked hard at him, but for a minute or
two “Stoat's” face was blank and impenetrable.
Then, suddenly, he looked up, stared at Gordon, and
rising quickly to his feet, gave him a military
salute.”
Gordon nodded, a little puzzled.
“Sterrett?” he said. “I am glad to see you
again!”
“Thank you, sir,” said the man, and, rising, he
came across to Gordon's table.
He stood there quietly by Gordon's side, not
saying anything, and with his impressionless face
turned toward the window, and Gordon for a min-
ute or two hardly knew what to do.
“I hope you are getting on well, Sterrett, my
man?” he said at last.
“Not very well, sir, thank you,” said Sterrett.
Gordon looked up at him. “Oh, I am sorry to
hear that. What are you doing now? You have
gone back to the pol—to your old trade, I sup-
pose?”


CORPORAL STERRETT 167
“Yes, sir; I have gone back. The Criminal In-
vestigation department is my job now.”
His face did not change, nor was there any par-
ticular meaning in his tone, yet Gordon felt as if
“Stoat” had somehow implied very much more than
his words had said.
“The work must be very interesting,” he said at
last, more from a desire to give himself time to
think, than anything else. “And from what I re-
member of you, Sterrett, it should suit you.”
“Yes, sir; I’m useful to them up there. I sees
most things that come my way.”
“And some that don't, eh?” said Gordon, smiling,
and trying to speak carelessly. “Are you at work
now P”
“Yes, sir, I am on a job now.”
“Is it—er—is it a difficult one?”
“It was, sir, a little; but I'm making my way
fairly—now.”
The last word, and a slight intonation on it, made
Gordon start, and look up quickly at Sterrett's face.
But it was quite blank, and he was not even looking
at Gordon.
Gordon tried back again.
“And yet you don't like the work?” he said.
“Why is that?”
Sterrett's grim lips relaxed a little, and he turned
to Gordon.
“Leads to nothing, sir,” he said. “Too much like
the army. Too much master and not enough man.
You do the work—other people take all the credit;


168 THE SILVER PIN
and the money, sir, and the money. Now, money's
a very useful thing, ain't it, sir?”
“Very.”
“Yes, sir, money's a very useful thing. I could
do a great deal with a bit of money now.”
Gordon stared at him suddenly. Then he pointed
to a chair in front of him. “Sit down, Sterrett,”
he said. “Can I order anything for you?”
“Thank you, sir, I have told the waiter. But my
table's Over there.”
“It doesn't matter. I shall be pleased if you will
have your dinner here,” said Gordon, quickly; and
he told the waiter to move Sterrett's place.
He knew Sterrett well enough to be aware that
the man had some very good reason for this pro-
ceeding, and also for his words, which he was not in
the habit of wasting—but what was he after?
“Yes, Sterrett,” he said at length, as the other
ate his dinner silently, “I suppose money is a very
useful thing. Fortunately, I have enough for my
wants myself.”
“Yes, sir, so I thought.”
It struck Gordon that “so I should suppose”
would have been more natural under ordinary cir-
cumstances. “So I thought” seemed to imply that
Sterrett had been thinking about it; and with a
sudden comprehension, he turned and looked at the
man, who met his gaze calmly.
“Oh, you thought so, Sterrett?”
“Yes, sir; I thought so.”
“Then you have been thinking about it?”
Sterrett's expressionless face turned more blank


CORPORAL STERRETT 169
than before. “Oh, no, sir,” he said; “only some-
times I have been thinking lately what good use I
might put a bit of money to, if I had it. I was think-
ing so, funnily enough, sir, when I saw you come
out of that house in Charles Street, just now.”
“Why, you wretched scoundrel,” said Gordon
suddenly to himself, “I’m hanged if you aren't hint-
ing that you are to be bought! I wonder what your
price is, and how much you know?”
And he watched Sterrett for a moment curiously.
The ex-corporal had ordered that wonderful crea-
tion, a “fritto misto,” and as he ate it, he prodded
it about with his fork as if he was investigating its
innermost secrets, and “ferreting” it out, so to
speak; and as Gordon eyed his heavy jaw and
overhanging eyebrows, and remembered the almost
uncanny experiences he had had of “Stoat's” pow-
ers of observation around Rothville, his mind turned
instinctively to his bank account.
“He must know a lot,” he thought uneasily.
“Why, he knows the house where she is even; they
have their hands on her Buy him? Why, I would
buy a hundred Sterretts to save her little finger.
Thank heaven, that it is this man, and that he can
be bought.”
As he reached this point, Sterrett looked up. It
was impossible that he could have guessed Gordon's
thoughts, but probably his expression enlightened
him, for he put down his knife and fork with a
sigh of relief, and drawing himself up, apparently
prepared for Gordon to speak.
“And if you had this money—this bit of money


CORPORAL STERRETT 171
“Well, sir, you know this Regent Street murder?”
“Yes.”
“There was a gentleman murdered in his own
rooms; not for robbery, but for some reason which
no one knew anything about. There was nothing
much known about this gentleman, or his affairs or
his friends. But two of his friends were known, at
least their names were. A lady, a young lady, and a
gentleman, her father. When this murder came
they went off. They had been staying at the Dorian
Hotel, and then they disappeared. It seemed likely
that they might tell us something we might like to
know, and we started looking for them. I was put
on the job.”
“Well ?”
“Well, I found 'em. At least, I found one of 'em.
The young lady.”
“Yes ?”
“Yes, sir. At No. 42 Charles Street.”
“Are you certain?”
“Oh, yes, sir. That's sure enough. Miss Gaunt,
the young lady is. There ain't no doubt she's the
one we want to see, and there ain't no doubt she's
there.”
“Well?”
“Well, sir, I was here on business: just dodging
about, you know, sir, and seeing if I could pick up
anything, when I saw you come to No. 42, and ask
for the young lady.”
“You weren't there. There was no one about.”
“Yes, I was, sir. I was down in the area talking
to the cook. Well, sir, you stayed some time, and


176 THE SILVER PIN
blood trickling down his face, from more than one
wound.
Desperate at length, he charged madly at the
nearest ruffian, and escaping the swing of his belt,
seized him by the throat. “The other one will do
for me now,” he thought rapidly, “but I will give
this one something he won't forget.”
He had a good grip of the man's throat, and he
squeezed it tight while punching him with his dis-
engaged hand, but he heard the third man's hurried
breathing almost on his shoulder, and he felt that
the deadly belt was only waiting a chance to
descend.
But to his surprise nothing happened, and sud-
denly he heard a cry and then a thud in the road-
way.
His own antagonist gave a groan and ceased to
struggle, while a man appearing suddenly at Gor-
don's side, said quietly, “Can you manage him,
Sir P”
“Rather,” said Gordon cheerily, “but I think he's
had enough. Why, it's you, Sterrett!”
“Yes, sir, it's me. But who's this you've got
here? Oh, Bill Smith, it's you, is it? Let him go,
sir; I'll look after him.”
Gordon released the half-choked man, and he
staggered back into the roadway.
“Now then, Bill Smith,” said Sterrett, “there’ll be
trouble about this. But I like you, Bill, and I'll
give you a chance, and besides you've had a hiding
already. This gent hits hard. You clear out!”
And seizing the amazed Bill by his collar and


ASSAILED BY “HOOLIGANS” 177
giving him a twist, he sent him flying with a hearty
kick. He sped nimbly down the road without a
word.
Sterrett gazed after him for a moment, and then
turned to look around him. The man Gordon had
knocked down first, had recovered and vanished at
the first sound of Sterrett's voice, but the victim of
the ex-corporal's stick, lay helpless in the road.
Gordon and Sterrett leaned over him and looked
at him, and the ex-corporal with a grunt arose
again.
“He'll do in a minute or two. He's coming
round. We’ll leave him to himself.”
Gordon stared. “But the scoundrels ought to be
punished,” he said. “It won’t do to let such brutes
Off Scot free.”
Sterrett shook his head. “Better let 'em go,
sir,” he said. “You don't want to go giving evi-
dence against 'em. You ain't hurt badly, are you?”
Gordon rubbed himself all over, and wiped away
the blood from his face. “No, I am not hurt much,”
he said. “They never got a real blow in, luckily.
But they would have done it, if you hadn't turned
up, Sterrett. It was most fortunate, or most clever,
of you. I thought you had gone long ago.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Sterrett, but to which remark
Gordon did not know.
“But really I don't see why the brutes should
go, Sterrett,” Gordon said again, after a second or
two.
Sterrett hesitated. “Why do you think they
went for you, sir?” he said at last.


178 THE SILVER PIN
“The usual thing, robbery, I suppose.”
“I don’t, sir. Why, if they had wanted your
watch and chain, or your money, they would have
had them long before I hit that chap down there.
Why, Bill Smith who was dodging about, waiting
to get home with that belt of his, could have had all
you'd got on you long before you'd done punching
the other chap. But he was looking for a chance to
knock you out. They might have robbed you after-
wards, but that wasn't what they were playing for.”
Gordon thought deeply for a little. He remem-
bered Usher's attempt upon his life, after he had
succeeded in getting the letter which contained
Vivienne Gaunt's address. He still had that letter;
he knew the young girl's whereabouts, and Usher
was cognizant of his knowledge. The gambler
would be aware that Gordon would not long delay
before he made use of the address; might he not
even have guessed that Gordon would go straight
from the hotel to Charles Street? If he were play-
ing the game which Gordon suspected him of play-
ing, Gordon's communication with both Mr. Gaunt
and his daughter would be highly exasperating to
him. Was it possible that he had tracked Gordon
to that house, and that this attack was but the
sequel to the affair of the revolver?
He looked at Sterrett, who was staring before
him, so far as Gordon could distinguish in the dark-
ness, with a blank, expressionless face.
“And what could they want to knock me out for?”
he asked quietly.
Sterrett shook his head. “I don't know, sir,” he


180 THE SILVER PIN
“And the other?” asked Gordon quickly.
“I don't know, sir; and, what's more, I couldn't
see him. It was more knowing Jeff's voice that
made me recognize him, for it was nearly pitch
dark. But the other was a tall, thinnish man,
looked like a toff.”
“Ah!”
“Well, I couldn't wait to listen, they would have
precious soon tumbled to me, but I just caught a
few words as I passed. It was Jeff who said them,
and they sounded like ‘He's all right; he's gone on,
and they're after him.’ And then I thought the
other one said something like: ‘Well, you make
straight for Minden Lane.’”
“I know Jeff pretty well, and I guessed there
was trouble where he was concerned. Someone
having gone on in front, and “they' being after,
smelled to me very like trouble for someone, and I
took a stroll down the street in case I might hap-
pen to see what was going on. Then I heard you
going it, sir. I didn't trouble about the Minden
Lane part of it, till now; then it struck me that you
might be able to put two and two together.”
“Like most wonderful things, it's very simple
when it's explained, Sterrett. But I am very grate-
ful to you for turning up when you did. And now
you have possibly just done me a greater service
still. Tell me, do you know Minden Lane?”
“Down by Jamrach's, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir, I know it.”


ASSAILED BY “HOOLIGANS” 181
“Then tell me the quickest way to get there at
once. I have no time to lose.”
“Your best way would be to take the Tube from
the ‘Angel,” sir; but you ain't going down there
alone at this time of night? It's a bad part of
London for—for a gentleman.”
“I am certainly going,” said Gordon, smiling.
“And I don't suppose it will be worse than a night
at Rothville.”
“It won't be so bad, sir, we'll hope; but if you'll
excuse me, sir, I’ll come along, too, if you don't
mind.”
Gordon laughed. “I am not quite sure if I want
you, Sterrett,” he said. “I am not quite sure yet
which side you are on?”
“Well, sir, in a manner of speaking,” said Ster-
rett, “I might say I was on the side that pays me
best, and that's you. Of course, that is, so long as
there's nothing illegal going on.”
“I don't think there will be anything illegal,”
said Gordon, “and if there is, I expect I shall have
to pay you more, that's all,” he continued to him-
self. “But,” he said aloud, “I shall certainly be
very glad of your company. Will you come?”
And they turned into the Pentonville Road.


XXV
FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST
= |S GORDON and his companion made their
| way in the direction of Minden Lane, the
former pondered upon the meaning of the
scene overheard by Sterrett. Could he
doubt, with the knowledge that was in his mind,
that the ex-corporal was right, and that there was
a connection between this attack upon him and
something which had taken place, or was to take
place, at Minden Lane? Could he doubt, also, that
the taller man of the two whom Sterrett had over-
heard, was Usher? Usher's appearance, and his
connection with these street ruffians, had nearly
ended fatally for himself: did it bode evil also for
Vivienne's father?
True, Usher was apparently friendly till now
with Gaunt; true, Gaunt himself trusted the man;
but Gordon felt that he himself did not; he felt in
his heart that this couple, both father and daughter,
were but pawns in some desperate game which the
gambler was playing, and that at any moment
should the necessity arise, such a man would not
hesitate to sacrifice both of them, or if not both,
at least the one whose life he cared for least.

182


FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST 183
He felt that there was not a moment to be lost
in seeking Mr. Gaunt, and at least informing him
of what he knew. Should Mr. Gaunt be still in
safety, should he be possessed of information which
kept him convinced of Usher's sincerity, or refuse
to listen to Gordon's suspicions, then all that he
could do would be to give his energy to helping
Vivienne, who more and more usurped his thoughts.
With all the haste that he and Sterrett made, it
seemed an interminable time before they stood at
length in front of the little gate in the wall in Min-
den Lane.
All the streets in the district were badly enough
lighted, but Minden Lane was practically in dark-
ness, and it took some fumbling before Gordon
could even find the handle of the gate.
The place had been gloomy in the daytime, but it
was eminently more uncheerful at night, Gordon
thought, as they made their way up the weedy path.
There was no light to greet them, no sound of habi-
tation, only the deserted house seemed to loom up
at them from out of the darkness and bring forebod-
ing to Gordon's heart.
“An empty house, sir?” said Sterrett, as they ap-
proached the front, and the broken windows and
curtainless rooms commenced to show up.
“Not quite empty, I hope, Sterrett,” returned
Gordon. “By heaven, though, I am not sure,” he
continued. “Why, the front door is open What
can have happened?”
With a spring, he left Sterrett's side and ran up
the steps. He struck a light as he reached the hall,


FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST 185
still the possibility, faint as it was, of course, that
Gaunt might still be in the house, but as soon as
Gordon reached the stairs up from the hall, he knew
that that hope was vain. The footmarks were all
from the cellar door to the front hall; the dust upon
the stairs was as thick and undisturbed as it had
been when he had visited it before.
Mr. Gaunt had disappeared, there was not a
doubt of it; but how 2 Had he gone quietly, of
his own accord? Not if Gordon's experience of the
trackers had taught him anything. Had he been
taken by the police, or had Usher and his satellites
for some purpose of their own abducted him?
At all events, it was a case, he felt, where Ster-
rett's help might be invaluable to him.
“Someone has been hiding here, Sterrett,” he
said, after a moment's consideration.
“Yes, sir; the young lady's father, I suppose?”
“Yes. He was here this afternoon. He did not
expect to leave here at once, for he was awaiting
my return. But he has gone, as you see; and evi-
dently there has been a struggle. He has been
taken forcibly away; I am sure of it. The question
is, who has done it? and you can help me here ! Is
it the police, or—?”
“Or Jeff and his pals, sir? Oh, I don’t think it's
us. There ain't a police foot among all this lot,
though it's hard to make 'em all out, they're so
trampled about. But, no, I don't think it's us, sir.”
“Then it's those scoundrels, and there's some
villainy on foot, or there would have been no strug-
gle. I must see Mr.—Mr. Gaunt (I may as well be


FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST 187
this business here to-night. Come along, sir. By
the way, do you happen to have any idea who that
swell was P”
“I think I know,” said Gordon; and as they went
along, he told the ex-corporal as much as he con-
sidered advisable of his connection with Usher and
the Regent Street murder.
Sterrett nodded as Gordon finished his story.
“That was this Mr. Usher, right enough with Jeff,”
he said; “and there isn't any doubt that he arranged
the two things. Bill and his gang was to knock you
out and lay you up for a time: and Jeff and his lot
have taken off this gentleman here. It looks to me
as if this swell's game was to keep Miss Gaunt and
her father apart. When he saw that you knew
where they both were, and going to go backward
and forward, he began to get frightened. Do you
think he did the job, sir?”
“The murder?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gordon shook his head. “I don’t know, Ster-
rett,” he said; “or, rather, in my heart of hearts I
do think he did, and yet it seems incredible, too,
for surely if he had—” He stopped.
It was inadvisable for him to say more at that
moment, for he had naturally told Sterrett nothing
of Miss Gaunt's self-accusation, or of Mr. Gaunt's
confirmation of it, and would not do so.
Sterrett's declaration that the police could have
had no hand in the abduction of Mr. Gaunt, was
speedily verified by discreet inquiries on his part at
headquarters. There had been no new develop-


188 THE SILVER PIN
ments of the case since the papers had begun to lose
interest in it, and the police were merely continuing
their inquiries slowly and methodically, with a clear
prospect before them that the affair would be des-
tined to remain as impenetrable as it had seemed at
first.
The only hope, failing news from Australia, which
must of necessity take a long time to arrive, was
in the discovery of Mr. and Miss Gaunt's where-
abouts, and this, thanks to Gordon's fortunate en-
counter with the ex-corporal, were still unknown.
When Sterrett joined Gordon again, and informed
him of the result of his observations, it was nearly
midnight, and it was quite evident that there was
very little more to accomplish then. Arranging,
therefore, to meet the detective early on the follow-
ing morning, Gordon said good-night to him, and
made his way home, worn-out with the events of
the day.


190 THE SILVER PIN
own, as she gave him her hand for a second; but it
touched him deeply to see her face resume its
former sad expression as the flush faded again from
her cheeks, and to hear her sigh as she sank back
into her chair, and took up the work on which she
was engaged.
She had not spoken, except to give the ordinary
salutation, but he felt that her eyes had, almost in
spite of herself, asked him the question which was
in her mind, and he replied to it, as if the words had
indeed been spoken.
“I have no news yet, Miss Gaunt,” he said, “but
it is early to expect that I should. I fancy, how-
ever, that before long I may have something to
tell you, and that something good. Meanwhile, may
I hope that all is well with you?”
“Quite well, thank you,” she replied. “Miss
Wrent, my old governess, is very kind to me, and
I am very comfortable. It is only the dreadful wait-
ing, waiting, which is so hard to bear. If only I
could see my father sometimes, I could have more
patience.” -
Gordon sighed. It was impossible for him to
reply satisfactorily to the half-question, and he was
silent for a moment.
“I can only repeat that I am at your service, with
all my thoughts and energies,” he said at last. “I
am sure, as I have been all along, that there is some
way out of all this trouble, some way which will
leave you free and happy again, with your mind
at peace.”
Miss Gaunt looked up at him, and at his tone


A STARTLING QUESTION 191
her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Colonel
Gordon,” she said simply; “I am sure if it were in
your power to help us you would do so. But, alas!
it is not in your power, or in the power of anyone
to undo what has once been done—but of what use
to talk more of it? There is a week yet, a whole
long week,” with a little sad smile at Gordon,
“before—”
“Before I succeed in accomplishing a miracle,”
said Gordon; “and not a very long time either in
which to accomplish, what is nowadays, such a very
unusual thing. But come, Miss Gaunt, it is some-
thing to see you smile. You will make me quite
conceited soon, and I shall be fancying that I have
almost succeeded in convincing you that this is not
so hopeless as it seems.”
Miss Gaunt shook her head. “Ah, no, it is not
that,” she said sadly. “It is—ah, I suppose, it is
that one sometimes forgets sorrow for a moment,
however great it may be, when one is with someone,
whom one feels is kind and sympathetic.”
Gordon leaned a little forward. “I mean to be
kind, certainly,” he said, “but am I sympathetic to
you? You know,” he said, with a little smile, but
with an eagerness in his tone, which he could not
disguise, “‘sympathetic' may have two meanings:
it may mean that I sympathise with you, or it may
mean that—”
“That you are what the Italians call 'simpatico’
to me,” said the young girl, raising her lovely eyes,
laughingly but shyly to his. “Oh, yes, if it pleases
you, I think you may consider yourself that.”


192 THE SILVER PIN
Gordon felt that his heart was beating as no
woman had ever made it beat before, and his eyes
met hers almost fiercely. “And you think, then,
that I would let you throw yourself away, sacri-
fice yourself for the sake of some miserable mis-
conception, some mistaken duty 2 Miss Gaunt, tell
me the truth; tell me what it all means, this tragedy,
this mystery which surrounds you, and give me a
fairer chance to help you!”
For a moment the young girl appeared to hesi-
tate, and her look turned toward him; then she
closed her eyes swiftly as if to avoid his eager
glance. When she raised her long lashes again, the
look which Gordon had seen rising beneath them
had disappeared, and she had recovered her self-
command.
“To be ‘simpatico, does not imply the right to—
to almost command, Colonel Gordon, and—and you
are not with your regiment, now. Ah, forgive me,
I do not mean to hurt you; you have been so kind,
but, do remember, ah, please remember, the letter
which I gave you to read.”
Gordon was silent for a moment, and then:
“Forgive me,” he said. “Be angry with me, if
you must, but tell me one thing, or, at least, let me
ask the question: How can it be, while in that letter
you almost speak as if it was your father who was
to be saved from the consequences of that awful
deed, he in his turn believes—?”
“My God, what?”
Miss Gaunt's face had turned deadly pale, and


194 THE SILVER PIN
my wretched speech; it was a mistake, believe me,
that is all. Let me beg of you to be patient, and
wait just a little longer.”
And with a last look, he turned away with Ster-
rett.


XXVII
THE TIGER'S CAGE
|HAT has happened?” he asked, as they
reached the street, where he saw that
Sterrett had a cab in waiting.
“They've got him in a house down near
the docks; a pretty bad shop, and we may have some
trouble to get him out. It was no good my going by
myself, for, you see, sir, if there should be a row,
my position's a funny one. So I came for you.”
“And he is safe—unhurt?”
“He’s a bit knocked about, Jeff says. It was Jeff
I heard it from. I could get him ten years, any time
I chose to raise my little finger, and Jeff knows it.
So he told me. But he's out of it now, anyway.”
“But what do you think they mean to do?” asked
Gordon, as they entered the cab and drove away.
Sterrett shook his head. “Couldn't say, sir; but
it's a bad shop; and this Usher seems a pretty bad
hat. Better not to leave him there longer than we
can help.”
Sterrett ordered the cabman to stop, after a
long drive through what seemed to Gordon one of
the worst parts of London, at the corner of a dirty,
ill-smelling street, from which could be seen the
masts and funnels of the shipping in the docks.

13 195


196 THE SILVER PIN
“It's a good step from here, yet,” he said; “but
this is as near as it would be safe to take the cab.
We'll soon walk the rest.”
He jumped from the cab and turned down the
narrow street. Gordon followed him, thanking
Providence in his heart for the fortunate chance
which had brought him into touch with perhaps
the one man who could have served him so easily
and quickly, and praying, for Vivienne's sake, that
they might find her father still safe and sound.
Meanwhile, Sterrett wound his way in and out of
the lanes and alleys, with the certainty of a foxhound
on a strong scent; and at last they pulled up before
a large and deserted-looking building. It had more
the air of a warehouse in disuse, than a house, with
its great doors flung open wide; and the wide, barn-
like place was filled with scraps of metal, old crates
stuffed with straw, and rubbish of every kind.
“This is the shop,” said Sterrett, casting a careful
glance around. “We go right through. There may
be several of 'em there now, or there may not; but
it is no good looking about. If there's a row, there's
a row. We must chance it.”
He turned in at the doors, and made his way,
followed by Gordon, stumblingly through the rub-
bish of the shed.
At the back was a dirty courtyard, and beyond
this a pair of rickety steps led up outside a broken-
down house facing them.
At the foot of the stairs they paused a moment,
and listened; and suddenly from the house above
them came a strange, long-drawn howl.


198 THE SILVER PIN
sides of the room, great iron cages, from which wild
eyes glared at them and white teeth gleamed.
And then, from the darkness at the other end of
the loft there came suddenly a shriek of amaze-
ment and fear, and the sound of struggling.
Gordon and Sterrett started forward together.
It was difficult for them as yet to distinguish
things clearly, but they could see that in front of a
large cage in the darkest corner of the loft, a man
was struggling furiously, held by something which
protruded through the bars.
“Quick, Sterrett" cried Gordon, “the tiger's got
someone. Poor devil! help him, quick!”
Aſmost before they knew what they were doing,
they had seized the man, and pulling together, they
dragged him away from the bars. But even as they
did so, they dropped him and stared at one another,
for the furious voice of Gaunt broke upon their ears,
uttering wild imprecations.
“Curse you, you fools! You've taken the brute
away ! Another minute, and I'd have throttled him.
Give him back to me! give him back!”
Almost unable to believe his senses, Gordon
peered forward and stared blankly; for there, in the
cage, his arm still reaching furiously out through
the bars, and gripping at the empty air, crouched
Vivienne’s father.
“You ! Mr. Gaunt!” he gasped.
“What? What? Good heavens, Colonel Gordon |
You here! Oh, thank the Lord! But I say, why the
deuce did you drag that fellow off? Perhaps it's just
as well, though. By heaven, he thought he'd caught


THE TIGER'S CAGE 199
a fine tiger for a minute, though 1”
Gordon turned and looked at the man. It was
Usher, though in the dimness of the room and in
his present state, it was not easy to recognize him
at once. The gambler looked a pitiable object as he
stood there, shaking and breathless. His coat and
shirt were torn to ribbons, and blood was streaming
from where Gaunt's strong fingers had almost met
in his neck.
It was evident, had Gordon and Sterrett been
even two minutes later, the gambler's last moment
would have come, but shaken as he was, his eyes
still flashed angrily from Gordon to his companion
and back again; and his fingers went furiously to
his lips with the old gesture that Gordon remem-
bered.
“Curse you! what are you doing here?” he cried,
oblivious to the fact that Gordon had just assisted
in saving his life. -
But Gaunt interrupted Gordon, as he was about to
speak. “Hold him, Gordon,” he said, “and let me
out of here. He's a scoundrel, that man. He meant
to murder me, and he's a–Look out!”
But the warning came too late. With the speed
of lightning, the gambler, who must have been
gathering his resources for the effort, slipped past
Sterrett and reached the door. The ex-corporal was
after him like a flash, but the door slammed in his
face as he reached it, and seizing it, he found it
locked.
It was the work of but a second or two for the
two men to wrench the old door open, but during


200 THE SILVER PIN
that space Usher had vanished, and Sterrett, after
a few moments' search in the warehouse below, re-
turned discomfited.
“He’s gone, sir. It was my fault for not expect-
ing it. It's useless to look for him just now.
There's a hundred places near here where he could
hide himself. I think I can put my hand on him
later on. We had better see to getting this gentle-
man out of the place, before there's more trouble.
We don't want the rest of this gang on our backs.
Let's hope that chap who's just gone don't put them
on 1 Can you walk, sir?” he asked, turning to
Mr. Gaunt.
“No, curse it, I can't. I had a bad time getting
here yesterday; and so did some of them. But what
with that and this cursed cage, my legs have failed
me—paralyzed I’ve had the same thing before,
can't move an inch. But, by gad! I've still got
some strength in my arms. I wheedled that scoun-
drel within distance, and caught him just right. In
another minute he'd have wished it had been that
tiger over there! But no, I can't get away from
here, if getting away means walking.”
“Then we shall have to get a cab or a cart,” said
Sterrett, “for you can't stay here, sir. It ain't
healthy, and may be worse soon. Do you think you
can manage here while I’m gone, sir?” he asked,
turning to Gordon. “If the worst comes to the
worst, you might contrive to hold the door for a
time.”
Gordon nodded. “Yes, Sterrett, I think we can


THE TIGER'S CAGE 201
manage,” he said. “But go quickly; we are only
wasting time in talking.”
Sterrett hurried off, and Gordon turned his at-
tention to Mr. Gaunt.
He soon found the lock of the cage, which was
in a position where Mr. Gaunt could not reach it
through the bars, and, after some exertion, suc-
ceeded in lifting the helpless man out.
“It's a cursed nuisance, being helpless like this
when I feel so strong and well,” said Gaunt, as Gor-
don aided him to lie comfortably on the floor. “Just
feel my arm! Good enough, isn't it?”
Gordon felt the iron limb extended to him, and
knew that Usher must indeed have imagined his
day had come.
“Do you know,” continued Gaunt, “that devil
meant to murder me! He was taunting me with
that tiger over there, when I got hold of him. I
don't know why he waited, but I suppose he was
afraid to do it, before some more of his friends
here turned up. The man who keeps this place is
a friend of his, and as bad, apparently.”
“And you mean to say he would have murdered
you, and in that way?” said Gordon.
“He would certainly have done so, if for nothing
else, to save his own skin.”
“Ah! Then you too think—”
“Think? I know. I’ve been a fool, the most mis-
erable, blind idiot who ever lived. I’ve played like
a child into that fellow's hands, Colonel Gordon;
and to imagine that I could ever have believed her
a—but it's to you that I owe it, that I know that


202 THE SILVER PIN
scoundrel as he is, and I won't forget it. It was you
and what you said in Minden Lane, in that cursed
cellar, that first made me suspect that there was
something wrong. And yet, I fancy almost anyone
might have been deceived as I was. But, if you care
to hear it, while that man of yours has gone for the
cab, I'll tell you the story. That is, if these
wretched brutes will let me speak.” For the animals
around them, evidently excited by their approaching
dinner hour, were making a chorus, above which it
was difficult to distinguish conversation.
“I should, indeed, be very glad to hear,” returned
Gordon. “For myself, I have never really thought
anyone guilty of that crime, but Usher himself.”
“And he is the man,” said Gaunt. “But to my
story, which commences some months back, when I
and my daughter were staying at Nice.”


GATHERING UP THE THREADS 205
afraid, had either inherited or acquired to a certain
extent the weakness which had ruined his own
mother's life. -
“It was not until almost the end that I learned
this last fact. His temper, however, I knew all
along was a bad one, and there were times when I
feared for Vivienne's future happiness. He was
such a good fellow, though, so frank, so quick to
recognize himself at fault, and try to remedy it, that
I could not fear any serious mischance, and I put
my misgivings always aside.
“That condition of things did not last long. As
time went on a date was arranged for Vivienne's
wedding, and we had all settled to run over to Lon-
don for a few weeks before, to complete the trous-
seau and other necessary arrangements. Carlton
had a flat in town, and he intended to come over
with us and stay there, while we decided to stop at
the Dorian Hotel.
“Among the acquaintances we had made in Nice,
was this man Usher. His father and I were old
friends, very old friends; I had met the son almost
by chance, and for the father's sake I had made
myself particularly friendly to him.
“As for Carlton, he had taken to him at once.
He was a great gambler, and Carlton, who was bit-
ten in a mild way with the same fever, used to spend
a good deal of time with him. I may add that Usher
can be very pleasant when he wishes, and that we
all got on very well with him. His people had been
rich at one time, but they had not left him much in
the way of an income, and I really believe he


206 THE SILVER PIN
gambled then, as much of necessity, as with a pas-
sion for the thing itself. He was always grateful
to me, and polite and courteous to Vivienne; and I
need hardly say did not give a sign which could lead
us in any way to suspect his motives.
“Shortly before we left for England, Vivienne and
Carlton had one or two quarrels. They seemed to
me merely the tiffs natural to young lovers, and I
took very little notice of them; but evidently they
made more impression at the time upon both Carl-
ton and Vivienne than I had imagined. -
“Vivienne did not like to see Carlton getting
gradually caught by the gambling mania, and I
fancy I rather began to blame Usher as the original
cause of the young man's increasing infatuation for
play. In addition to this she received, though I
did not hear about it until afterwards, an anonymous
letter which accused Carlton of being a drunkard,
and of being intimate with a great many undesirable
friends and acquaintances of the opposite sex.
“That there was truth in both of these accusa-
tions, I am afraid, for as I have said, Carlton was an
utterly spoiled and irresponsible individual. Yet
that he was as bad as the originator of the anony-
mous letter (who I firmly believe was Usher him-
self) made out, I do not credit for an instant.
“However, as I have said, Vivienne mentioned
nothing of the anonymous letter to me, and I only
heard of it afterward.
“In London for a time all went well. Usher had
apparently disappeared, and Carlton seemed to have


208 THE SILVER PIN
to get it over with Carlton, and sure of finding him
at home according to his appointment, I determined
to go and see him at once.
“As fate would have it, Vivienne insisted upon ac-
companying me. I expostulated with her, ex-
plained how much more suitable it would be in every
way for me to see the young fellow alone, but un-
fortunately she overrode my objections.
“‘See him alone afterward,' she said, “but let me
see him, when you tell him you have heard the story.
I know him well enough, and like him well enough,
to be able to assure myself if he is telling an untruth
as soon as I see his face. I am the person who is
most concerned; surely I have a right to see for
myself what kind of man I am going to marry.'
“We talked and argued the matter over, but I am
always weak where she is concerned, and in the end
I allowed myself to be persuaded. You can imagine
now, how I wish I had not listened to her
“During the drive to Carlton's rooms, I recog-
nized the fact that I had made an error, for
Vivienne, I could see, was terribly strained and
over-excited; but it was then too late to draw back.
I was myself pretty confident that the story, from
Carlton's side, would prove not so bad as it appeared
on the face of it, and I hoped vaguely that things
would smooth over, although firmly determined in
my own mind that should Carlton show any sign of
guilt, or confess to the justice of the accusation, I
would never allow the marriage to take place.
“As it chanced, that night Carlton had been drink-
ing. It was the first time I had ever seen him fail


XXIX
THE ACCUSATION
º vously. It was the first time either
| Vivienne or myself had been to his flat. He
had a housekeeper who came in in the
morning to tidy up the place, but who left in the
evening after dinner. It happened, therefore, that
he came to the door himself to receive us.
“He must have seen in our faces, poor fellow, that
something was wrong, for he turned pale, after a
quick look at Vivienne, and motioned us inside with-
out speaking.
“Usher was to be of our party, and he was seated
in the drawing-room when we arrived. I had not
thought of this, but as it happened, Carlton himself
helped us out of the difficulty by telling the man
that he had a few words to say to us in private, and
asking him to go into the dining-room. The dining-
room looks through glass doors directly into the
drawing-room, and it was then unlighted. When
you hear what happened afterward you will under-
stand why I have mentioned this fact. *
“Vivienne, after one glance at Carlton, had.
walked to the fireplace, and stood there with her
elbow resting on the mantlepiece and her face hid-
-

- 210


212 THE SILVER PIN
“When I looked around the room that night in
Regent Street, however, the conversation recurred
to me. There were no photographs there on this
occasion; but my eye caught various marks on the
walls and on the plush which covered the mantel-
shelf, which told me that certainly some had only
lately been removed.
“Why have you removed your photographs?” I
said.
“Vivienne looked up in surprise, and Carlton
flushed and stammered.
“His confusion made me doubt him for the first
time, and I felt myself growing angry.
“I was about to broach the subject of my
visit, and to do so, I am afraid, rather roughly, when
suddenly the door in the hall opened, and a girl
looked quickly into the room.
“‘Hullo, Claude, old man!' she said, and then
suddenly noticing us, she stopped, gave a bold look
around, and stood for a moment staring at Vivienne.
“She was painted and overdressed, though pretty;
and Vivienne's eyes turned to mine in sudden dis-
gust. I looked at Carlton. I never saw a man so
overwhelmed, and yet, Colonel Gordon, now that I
come to think of it under the light of subsequent
events, I am not sure that there was not more won-
der and amazement in his face than any other ex-
pression.
“‘Good God,” he said, ‘what's this?’
“But the girl left him no time to speak. With a
laugh and a quick ‘Another time—sorry you're en-
gaged, she nodded to him, and left the room. We


THE ACCUSATION 213
heard her rustling down the passage, and we heard
the front door close behind her, before anyone
looked up again.
“I was the first to break the silence; for
Vivienne's eyes were flashing and I saw that the
incident had further affected her already over-
wrought nerves.
“I cannot regret that this has happened, Mr. Carl-
ton,' I said, ‘for it has made it easy for me to say
what might otherwise have been difficult. I am
sorry to tell you, you must consider your engage-
ment to my daughter at an end.”
“Carlton turned white and started forward sud-
denly.
“‘Good God!” he cried. “But why? why? Be-
cause of of that woman? Why, I swear to you
that I don’t even know her l’
“I stopped him quickly. “Do not lie,' I said. “But
at all events, tell me this, and I regret to ask you the
question in the presence of my daughter here: Do
you know Mary Charters?”
“For a moment Carlton attempted to pull himself
together, and then for the first time I noticed he had
been drinking. He looked imploringly at me, and
then turned to Vivienne; but the expression in her
eyes of anger and contempt, made him bend his
head.
“‘Yes,’ he said.
“‘Then—but you dared to enter a decent man's
house and ask for his daughter's hand while the
story was true!' I cried furiously.


214 THE SILVER PIN
“He flushed, and then, turning from me, stepped
toward Vivienne.
“‘Vivienne, I love you,” he said, “I love you.' .
“Vivienne shuddered and drew herself away from
him. Then, quickly drawing herself up, she flashed
her eyes at him in anger and contempt.
“‘And you dare to speak to me!' she said.
“Carlton staggered at her tone and the expression
on her face. He had a mad temper, as I have told
you, and he was, as I have also said, under the in-
fluence of drink. The situation was a cruel one for
him, however much he was to blame; and I have,
God help me, thought since that he might not have
been so much at fault, as everything then seemed
to show. But however that may be, nothing can
excuse his subsequent conduct.
“‘Then you throw me over?” he cried furiously.
“I did not reply, and Vivienne turning in con-
tempt from his tone, his spoiled nature got the up-
per hand, and he turned in a moment into—there
are no other words to describe his condition—a rav-
ing madman. On a table near the door were scat-
tered some knives and weapons, which he was fond
of collecting, and seizing one of these he commenced
to flourish it wildly. Every instant I feared he
was about to stab himself to the heart, and I was
moving forward to seize him, when he flung the
weapon back again onto the table with a curse and a
bitter laugh, and commenced a wild speech in which
he insulted Vivienne, and uttered imprecations on
myself.
“I had taken Vivienne by the hand to lead her


THE ACCUSATION 215
away, when, roused apparently to a condition of
frenzy in which he forgot all sense of decency,
Carlton uttered the words which brought about all
the tragedy.
“I cannot tell you what he said, but I must tell
you something, Colonel Gordon, which, though it is
painful for me to tell, is unfortunately well enough
known, and is necessary to my story.
“I regret to say that my wife is—is not worthy to
be Vivienne's mother. She left me some years ago,
and—and her subsequent behavior has embittered
my life and saddened Vivienne's, who was devotedly
attached to her. I can forgive Carlton much, I can
remember his furious and uncontrollable temper,
and the unhappy condition he was in, but, dead as
he is, poor fellow, I can never forget the insult he
paid to Vivienne and myself.
“‘Go then,' he cried furiously, ‘I am well rid of
you,' and then came half-a-dozen words which no
one but a madman, as he was then, would have
dared to utter.
“Wild with anger I sprang forward to strike him,
but Vivienne was before me, facing him with blaz-
ing eyes.
“‘You coward l’ she cried.
“And then suddenly, without a warning, the elec-
tric light went out, and the room was in utter dark-
neSS.
“I heard a swift movement, a cry, a struggle, and
then a deep groan; some heavy body fell to the floor,
and all was still.
“Startled and confused, I stood for a moment hesi-


216 THE SILVER PIN
tating. Then I attempted to grope my way to
where I remembered the door to be. I had not gone
three steps when I stumbled and fell over a body on
the floor. I felt my hands wet with some warm
and sticky liquid which made me shudder and spring
again to my feet. I called out wildly and rushed
forward, but the room was in utter darkness and
strange to me. I struck the sharp corner of the
mantelpiece and staggered back dazed. Man as I
was, for a second I could have screamed like a
child. And then, as suddenly as it went out, the
electric light flashed on again, almost blinding me
with its glare.
“And what a sight met my eyes! On the floor
lay Carlton, stabbed to the heart, and covered with
blood. Kneeling beside him, with her face pale as
death, and her eyes turned to my hands with an ex-
pression which I shall never forget, was Vivienne.
“‘Father!' she cried wildly. ‘Oh, say it's not true!
It can’t be—it can't be true! But, oh God! It was
my fault. It was Iſ It was Il'
“And then we both turned—for there, standing in
the doorway, looking at us with his cold green eyes,
was Usher.”


218 THE SILVER PIN
at the mercy of each instant! God help me, I never
doubted it was she that struck the blow—how could
I? Who could have done it but she? And had not
her words even, seemed to tell me so?
“Vivienne was staring at me with horror and fear
in her eyes; she was hardly conscious, I could see,
and every moment I expected her to fall senseless.
Usher seized one arm, and I took the other, though
I myself had little knowledge of what I did.
“We descended the stairs cautiously, trembling
at every sound.
“At the door Usher stepped forward and looked
out, and I peered over his shoulder. Under a lamp-
post, not ten yards away, stood a knot of young men
laughing and talking. I turned to look at Vivienne.
She was lying insensible on the floor. Usher mut-
tered an oath and stood for a second biting his
fingers.
“‘We cannot carry her,’ he said, ‘they will see us.”
“Even as we spoke, three of the young men left
the group and came directly toward us.
“‘They must not see her l’ whispered Usher. At
any cost that must be prevented.’ And quick as
lightning he drew me out into the street, slammed
the door behind him, and walked me swiftly on,
talking loudly in an easy voice.
“‘We can go back as soon as we have lost sight
of them,” he whispered between two sentences.
“But we were not to get off so easily; and his
very cleverness was his undoing, for almost directly
we heard a shambling step come after us, and a
thick uncertain voice hailed Usher by his name.


IN THE POWER OF A FIEND 219
“Startled, we both turned, and saw before us one
of the young men who had caused the contretemps.
He was a young fellow in evening dress, with a very
flushed face and tie all awry, and there was no doubt
he had been drinking heavily.
“‘Just come from Jimmy's,’ he said thickly.
‘Come along, Usher, old boy; I am going back
there.”
Usher nodded and smiled. “Can't just now, Wil-
son,’ he said, carelessly, ‘we are just off somewhere.”
“‘Right,” said the young fellow cheerfully, ‘I will
come too.”
“Usher ground his teeth, and for a moment I
thought he would strike the man. But he restrained
himself with an effort.
“‘I am sorry, Wilson,’ he said suavely, “but not
to-night. To-morrow I will do what you like.”
“‘To-morrow be hanged 1’ returned the young
man. ‘To-morrow'sh long way off. May never
even see 'morrow. Who's your fat friend? Intro-
duce me, and we'll make a night of it.’
“Usher turned away and caught my arm. ‘Come
on,” he said, ‘and leave this fool—’
“The young fellow had dropped his cane, and was
groping drunkenly for it on the pavement, but he
looked up as Usher spoke.
“‘Who's a fool!' he said. “Always knew you were
a cad, Ush—Ush—Usher. Come and fight!’
“Usher shrugged his shoulders and drew me on,
the young man following.
“‘Yes, yes, come and fight, if you're so damn
clever,” he called after us, reeling along. “Your


220 THE SILVER PIN
friend’ll see fair do’s.’
“Usher did not reply or turn his head, but we
increased our pace in the hope that we should shake
off our unwelcome companion, while we wondered
vainly what was happening to Vivienne.
“But there is nothing so obstinate as a tipsy man
who gets an idea into his head. This young man
had taken umbrage at Usher's remark, and with
the persistence of the offended drunkard, was deter-
mined not to be shaken off.
“We increased our speed till we were almost
running, but still our pursuer shambled after us;
reeling and tripping, but resolved; we turned, and
meeting him, attempted to argue him into leaving us
to ourselves, but it was useless; he would fight
Usher or continue to pursue us, and nothing else
would satisfy him. I believe Usher would have
willingly fought a dozen of him, and I am sure I
would, but to fight in the public streets meant a
crowd, and who knew what more besides; and we
were at our wits' end.
“Heaven knows how far we took that drunken
idiot that night, wandering round and round
(choosing the more deserted streets, for fear that he
should take it into his head to change his tactics
and become more obstreperous), never daring to
go far from the scene of the crime, yet fearful to
go near, because of the drunken man's pursuit.
“It was not until we had been walking for, I
should think, nearly an hour, that Usher, who had
been thinking deeply, at length came to any de-
cision. ‘This will never end as it is,’ he said, at


XXXI
TREACHERY REVEALED
= |S I lay in that cage there, with the knowl-
edge of his treachery, broken to me for the
first time by your intervention, and his ab-
duction of myself from Minden Lane, I
have pieced it all out, going through the different
scenes of that night again and again; with every
look and incident recalled to my mind as clearly as
when it occurred, and I can see it all, or nearly all.
And yet, strangely enough, with all his cleverness,
with all his cold and calculating wickedness, it was
Fate after all which brought about what might have
been, but for you, the complete triumph of his plans.
For the tragedy, the final tragedy of that scene in
the flat in Regent Street, could not have been fore-
seen by one even cleverer than he, though with
lightning astuteness he seized on his opportunity
and used it to further his schemes. He could not
have foreseen Carlton's murder, though it was he—
yes, it was he, the villain'!—who committed it; and
he could not have foreseen Carlton's mad insult, or
the terrible doubt which came to both Vivienne and
myself when we realized that the boy was dead.
“But he foresaw much, nay he planned it. It
was he, I cannot doubt it now, who wrote or caused

223


224 THE SILVER PIN
to be written, the anonymous letters which upset
Vivienne; it was he who sent that poor girl, Mary
Charters, to us with her story, which I fear was
only too true; it was he, I have thought since, re-
membering poor Carlton's amazed look, who
planned that that other girl should burst into the
room when he knew that Vivienne and I would
be there. And his object? Ah, that is clear enough
now ! Vivienne will be a rich woman, and, with her
affections free, any woman may be won. Usher,
I see it now, must have hated poor Carlton and
wished him out of the way; and he planned the
scene that night. It was at the scene that his
plans stopped, however; his quickness and devilish
calculation helped him with the rest.
“I can realize now what occurred. Usher was, as
I have said, in the dining-room when we talked to
Carlton. He was in darkness, and through the
glass doors he could see all that we did. After the
visit of that girl, he must have seen from our faces
the success of his plans, and stolen into the passage
and to the other door of the drawing-room, either to
let her out or to hear better what we said. Watch-
ing there stealthily—the only cool one of the three—
he saw Carlton seize the knife; and the poor boy's
mad frenzy must have flashed into his mind the ter-
rible idea which he afterwards made use of. The
last insult and its effect upon Vivienne and myself
gave him his opportunity; and like lightning he
seized it. By his hand, at the entrance to the room,
was the button of the electric light. At the instant
when I sprang forward to strike Carlton: when
:


TREACHERY REVEALED 225
Vivienne, maddened by the insult to her mother and
herself, flashed around on him : when Carlton, him-
self, looked wildly about, realizing too late what he
had said, he pressed the button, and the room was in
darkness. Carlton was not two yards from him: at
his hand was the table with the knife, which the
unfortunate boy had just thrown down; he seized
the weapon, stabbed furiously through the dark-
ness, and darted from the room. Carlton was out of
his way forever; and with any luck at all, he had a
hundred chances of escaping suspicion. For an
instant he may have hesitated between flight and
remaining; I know not, but he did not hesitate long.
With an infernal calculation he dared all. Return-
ing to the door, he turned on the light, and looked
at us. Carlton was dead; my hands were covered
with blood; in Vivienne's eyes, I can see it now, was
the fear and horror of what, as she then thought,
was my deed. I, fool that I was, knowing myself
innocent, and misled by her words, could not doubt
that it was she who had been carried beyond herself
and struck the blow.
“It had probably—I am, of course, only guessing,
with the help of what that villain let out while
torturing me to-day—it had probably been Usher's
idea that we would put the poor boy's death down
to the act of his own hand. He had already seized
the knife, with the intention of striking himself;
why, when he realized what he had said, should he
not have completed the resolve? But the blood on
my hands, Vivienne's words, and the expression on
our faces, must have given him a better idea still, an


XXXII
AN INTERRUPTION
vºlloRDON, startled, looked up quickly. It
was true; where could the ex-corporal have
got to? Deeply interested in Mr. Gaunt's
=l story, he had taken no count of time; and
when he looked at his watch he saw Sterrett had
been gone nearly an hour.
“I cannot understand it,” he said. “I hope noth-
ing has happened to him.”
“Is it possible that he can have seen Usher
again?” said Mr. Gaunt.
“It is certainly possible. He is a very sharp fel-
low. It is entirely owing to him that I found you
to-day. But yet I hardly see why he should follow
Usher, really. He was put on to find you, and not
that man.”
“To find us? Good heavens ! then what is he P”
Gordon hesitated for a second. “It was stupid of
me. I need have said nothing about it,” he returned.
“But he was in the detective force. He is now,
however, entirely on my side.”
“They were looking for us, then?” -
“Yes; but merely, I think with the idea of getting
information. But if they had known you were pres-
ent that night when Carlton was murdered—”

229


234 THE SILVER PIN
Gordon or Miss Gaunt remembered that Usher was
in the house awaiting her.
Gordon was the first; and, passing swiftly by
Vivienne and her father, he entered the room where
he had spoken to the young girl on the former occa-
sion.
Usher must have heard, and guessed what was
happening. He was standing, as if at bay, with his
back against the wall, and his look turned eagerly
toward the door.
As he saw Gordon, his white face turned paler,
his green eyes glared furiously, but he said nothing
for a moment.
Then he moved toward Gordon. With a con-
temptuous gesture he said: “Let me pass! I am
going. You have done me this time, but you have
not won yet!’
Gordon barred the way; with arms folded, he
looked at him quietly. “I don't think you can go,
so easily as that, if only for that shot you fired at
me!”
Usher raised his hand. “Curse you! I was a
fool not to kill you. Let me go, or—”
He raised his hand, but Gordon seized it quickly,
and in another moment there would have been a
struggle, when suddenly a little cry made them both
turn. Vivienne and her father were in the room.
Gordon dropped the gambler's arm, and turned
away, while Usher stood for a second looking into
Vivienne's eyes. The expression in them made him
grow pale, and stagger for a moment like a drunken
man. Then he passed his hand across his forehead


236 THE SILVER PIN
raised the weapon again; but Gordon struck it from
his hand, and almost instantly another shot rang
out. Sterrett had drawn a pistol, and firing, had hit
the gambler. The man screamed and stumbled, but
did not fall; and as Gordon and Sterrett turned to
Vivienne, he dashed to the window, flung it open,
leaped down six feet to the pavement, and ran limp-
ing up the street.
Gordon had caught Vivienne as she fell almost
into her father's arms.
“You are hurt? You are wounded ?” he cried.
She shook her head. “A little; a very little,” she
said. “See " and she raised the dark hair from her
temple. The blood was flowing freely, but Gor-
don and Mr. Gaunt saw to their joy that the wound
was not dangerous, though had the bullet gone an
inch nearer to the right she must have been killed.
She bore herself with great courage, for the shock
must have been great, but she was on the point of
giving way, as the men could see; and it was a re-
lief to them when Miss Wrent, the lady of the
house, appeared, startled by the shooting, and took
her in charge. Fortunately, a policeman had not
appeared on the scene, and the little crowd attracted
by the noise to the scene, finding nothing to amuse
them, vanished.
“Thank God!” said Mr. Gaunt, as they were left
together downstairs. “What a terrible narrow es-
cape. That scoundrel ! And he has got off.”
“He was struck, sir,” said Sterrett, gloomily. “I
hit him; but he's got away. I never thought of
running after him. Hullo, here's the boy!”


A RECKLESS CONFESSION 237
For at that moment Sterrett's son entered the pas-
sage and beckoned to his father.
“I lost him, father,” he said. “I went after him
when I saw him run, but he took a hansom. I heard
where he told the cabman to go—to the place where
the animals are.”
“Are you sure?” cried Mr. Gaunt. “Then we shall
get him yet, with any luck. How I curse my useless
legs that won't carry me, just when I need them 1
Gordon, I shall need your help again.”
But Gordon had disappeared.


XXXIV
TRAILING THE MURDERER
FºlS SOON as he heard the boy's words, Gor-
| don took his decision. He would hunt
Usher down now, and he would never rest
until he had him in the hands of justice.
The man was a murderer, and he had attempted
Gordon's own life; but more than that was in it.
The villain had tried to kill Vivienne Gaunt, and
for that Gordon was determined he should pay
dearly.
Without waiting for Sterrett's help, or for anyone
to accompany him, he hurried from the house. He
knew, thanks to the “Stoat's" intelligent son, where
the gambler was making for, and, confident in his
ability to hold his own in a struggle with him, he
set out in pursuit.
Fortunately, he had not far to go before he met
with an unoccupied hansom, and, Springing into it,
he ordered the driver to take him to St. George's
Road.
It was probable, of course, that the gambler
would not intend to pay a long visit to the house
where they had found Mr. Gaunt, but Gordon had
started very quickly on his track; the cab he had
hired was well horsed, and with any luck at all Gor-

238


TRAILING THE MURDERER 239
don felt that he should arrive at his destination al-
most as soon as the man he pursued.
As the cabman made his way cityward through
the crowded streets, Gordon had time to think over
the events of the past few hours, and to congratu-
late himself upon his meeting with the ex-corporal.
It was to him that he owed all the success which he
had met with up to now: his discovery of Mr.
Gaunt's hiding-place: his fortunate arrival at Pen-
tonville in time to stop Vivienne from taking a
fruitless journey to Liverpool in search of her
father: and, lastly, the information which had en-
abled him to follow Usher in his flight. Without
the detective's valuable aid what might not have
happened?
Yet, that even now the danger was not over, Gor-
don knew. Should the boy have made a mistake, or
Usher have changed his plans, the position would
become a serious one for the Gaunts. For
their safety it was absolutely necessary that Usher
should be captured; and Gordon felt, as he drew
near to his destination, how much depended on
the next step and his own ability to carry the af-
fair through.
He stopped the cab and dismissed it at some dis-
tance from the door of the warehouse. He did not
think it would be advisable to bring the cabman
into an affair like this and enlist his services; he
felt he would prefer to take the risk of acting by
himself; and for the present he had no immediate
plan of action.
There was no one to be seen near the warehouse


240 THE SILVER PIN
doors or in the entrance, as Gordon cautiously ap-
proached; and he made his way inside, wondering
whether he was too late, and if the gambler had
already been and gone.
But at the foot of the stairs he stopped, arrested
by the sight of one or two drops of blood which
stained the woodwork, and had evidently but freshly
fallen there. He remembered that Usher had becn
wounded by Sterrett's shot, and that, in all proba-
bility, he had not yet had time to attend to the
wound. Those bloodstains must mean that the
gambler had reached the place, and was there in the
rooms above.
Gordon listened a moment, and then cautiously
mounted the stairs.
As he climbed, the noises of the animals came
down to him and the strong scent of them assailed
his nostrils.
Reaching the door, he stopped and peered
through the cracked panels. The room beyond was,
as it had been before, almost in darkness, but to his
relief he could see Usher seated on the floor not
far from him ; and for a second he stood and watched
him. -
The gambler was engaged in winding a strip of
linen around his leg, from which he had raised his
trousers, and Gordon could see, from the expression
of his face, that the operation was a painful one. He
was sighing heavily, and every now and then he
would cease his work to wipe his forehead with his
handkerchief. “There's not much fight left in him


TRAILING THE MURDERER 241
now,” Gordon thought. “The brute! he has got
a worse wound than he gave her.”
And turning the handle, he entered the room.
Usher had evidently not in the least anticipated
the arrival of anyone there, for he started violently
as the door opened, and half arose to his feet. Then,
on recognizing Gordon, he sank back again, with his
fixed white face and cold green eyes upon him. His
attitude was an attempt at carelessness, but Gor-
don's quick glance saw the revolver, which one hand
had swiftly reached, and without a moment's hesi-
tation he flung himself upon the man.
“Not again,” he cried, as he seized the gambler's
arm. “I might not have such luck this time.”
Usher struggled violently, but he was probably
weak from his wound, and Gordon soon had pos-
sessed himself of the revolver.
On realizing this fact, Usher rose with dif-
ficulty to his feet and with a quick rush, half crawl-
ing, half running, made his way to the furthest cor-
ner of the room, where it was almost in darkness.
Gordon, now that he had possession of the
weapon, stood for a moment irresolute. He could
not shoot the man, unarmed as he was, much as he
deserved it; and he had no warrant which author-
ized him to drag him to the police-station if he
could manage to overpower him. He had not
thought out any definite plan on his way down
there; he had anticipated a deadly struggle, know-
ing Usher's desperate nature, and the fact that he
was armed; now that the balance of power was in


TRAILING THE MURDERER 243
and would be gone. This brute, kept in that dark
and narrow cage, must be cowed and half tame. He
might get by in safety, at all events, he decided to
risk it; and keeping his eye upon the still motion-
less animal, he commenced to move forward.
All might have gone well, for he was already al-
most past the door, when suddenly his foot caught
in the rough, uneven planks of the flooring, and he
stumbled forward, nearly touching the cage in his
effort to save himself.
The noise he made, and his wild clutch at the
air, aroused the tiger, and, bounding forward, it
stood for a second at the door of the cage, swishing
its great tail furiously, and glaring. Then, as Gor-
don drew himself quickly to his feet, it leaped down
to the floor of the room and sprang at him.
With the quickness of lightning, Gordon darted
aside and evaded the first spring. He hurled him-
self at the gate which Usher had fastened, but it did
not give; and the next second, with a laugh of tri-
umph, the gambler had opened the door he was
struggling with, and had vanished.
Gordon had scarcely time to turn again before
the tiger was upon him. The brute struck at him
furiously, as he darted aside again, and this time
the huge claws caught his coat and ripped it from
top to bottom, leaving the garment in shreds and
blood dripping from the lacerated flesh. The next
spring would be the last, Gordon knew, but even
as he almost abandoned hope, his eye was caught
by the now wide-open entrance to the tiger's cage.
With the swiftness of an arrow he hurled himself


244 THE SILVER PIN
into it. There was no gate to slam behind him
there, but without hesitating, he darted toward the
narrow grille which separated the cage he was in
from the next one.
“If there is nothing there, I am saved,” he
thought; and flying up the grille, he hurled himself
through it, and dashed it down behind him.
“Thank God,” he cried, sinking on the floor
breathless; for the cage was empty.
– S


246 THE SILVER PIN
“My name is Gordon, I tell you,” he repeated.
“But my name matters very little. The question
is to help me out of here. The tiger has got out of
its cage, and I can't get to the door.”
“Where are you then?” came the question back;
and Gordon, in spite of everything, could hardly
resist a smile as he replied: “In the cage.”
There was an ejaculation of surprise, and then a
murmur of conversation. Then the voice spoke
again:
“Where's the tiger?”
Gordon peered out through the bars of the cage.
“Over in the corner opposite the door,” he said.
The door opened cautiously, and an unkempt and
dirty head appeared.
“Yus, Bill; she's over there in the corner by the
armadillo. Ain't there a lump of meat in the cage
where the gent is?”
A second head appeared also cautiously, and took
a glance around. “Yus,” said the new-comer:
“There's a bit under the sack in the corner, if the
gent 'll look for it.”
The first arrival, with an eye on the tiger who
stood against the wall swishing her tail violently,
but otherwise motionless, waved his hand to Gor-
don explanatorily: “There's some food in the corner
behind yer, gov'nor,” he said thickly. “Shove up
the trap and pitch it into her cage. She'll hear you
and she'll go in. It's lucky it's there, or you might
have stayed where you were for a bit longer.”
The second man poked his head over his com-
panion's shoulder. -


TRAPPEL WITH THE TIGER 247
“I say, gov'nor,” he said, “it’s worth a bit, this
job. What are you going to stand?”
“Why, you rascal,” cried Gordon, “it was your
friend—it was that scoundrel Usher—who let me
in for this.”
“It ain't nothing to do with us, what Mr. Usher
did,” said the first of the two men surlily. “We
didn't ask you here. This is my shop, and these are
my animals, and that there is my tiger. You can't
come here letting a man's animals out like this, and
dangering precious lives, and not pay for it, you
know.”
“It ain’t so much that,” continued the second
man, with a watchful eye on the tiger still, “it’s a
question of helping the gent out with what he done,
Bill; and that's worth something. When she goes
in the cage to get that lump of meat, sir, you see
someone's got to go and shut the door behind her.
Now, we're both married men. What's it worth
now, between man and man?”
“It's for you to fix your price,” said Gordon, real-
izing that there was a considerable amount of truth
in what the man said, and remembering the touch
he had already had of the brute's iron claws.
“Is it worth a quid P” said the second man, after
a moment.
“I will give you a sovereign; yes, certainly,” said
Gordon, feeling that he would have asked consid-
erably more himself.
“Done,” said both men simultaneously.
Gordon lifted the piece of ragged flesh, which was
under a sack in the corner of the cage, and turned
Fl
y


TRAPPED WITH THE TIGER 249
tiger sprang upon him; or would he lose his head
and rush back to the door, pursued by the beast?
The second man was standing at the door with
eyes goggling. Like Gordon, he had seen the dan-
ger, and had almost called out. Fortunately, how-
ever, he had resisted the impulse; and the two rested
motionless, watching the man as he reached the
gate.
It was evident to them both that he realized the
state of affairs at the moment his eye fell upon the
lock, for he started imperceptibly, as he reached and
placed his hand upon it. But he kept his nerve ad-
mirably; and Gordon, who had seen real courage
and admired it always, felt his heart warm toward
this dirty shock-headed Londoner. For the man
did not even draw his hand back, but let it rest
lightly where it had fallen, for a moment. Then,
with great caution, he passed his other hand down
to his trousers pocket and produced a key. The
tiger was watching him angrily, flourishing its tail,
and growling horribly; but it did not move, and
he placed the key in the lock of the gate and turned
it.
It was now the critical moment, and the two
watchers hardly dared to breathe. The tiger had
raised its head swiftly at the turning of the lock;
the sound was familiar, and probably recalled the
fact that its cage was for the moment open. As the
man turned the lock and pulled the gate swiftly to-
ward him, it took a half-step forward; but it was
too late. With a quick and powerful swing of his
arm, the man reversed the gate and slammed it in the


250 THE SILVER PIN
brute's face. It struck wildly out with its huge paw,
but it missed the man's arm and only tore the empty
air; a second's maneuvering fastened the lock, and
the work was done.
Gordon breathed a deep sigh of relief at the man's
escape; but he, as if what he had just done was an
everyday occurrence, turned quietly to Gordon's
cage and commenced to unlock it and release him.
Gordon shook his hand heartily as he promptly
paid his debt, with a good sum added. “You did
that excellently,” he said.
“Oh, it's all in a day's work, sir,” returned the
man simply. “Now, Bill would have done just the
same for half the money. Hullo, who's this?”
Gordon turned to the door. To his relief he saw
Sterrett in earnest conversation with the other man.
The ex-corporal came forward as he caught Gor-
don's eye. “So you've lost him after all, have you,
sir?” he said. “Our cab got blocked for nearly a
quarter-of-an-hour owing to an accident in the city,
but I followed you as nearly as I could. I guessed
you would be here.”
“Yes, the scoundrel has escaped,” said Gordon,
gloomily. “He played me a very clever trick, and
this time I am afraid he has got away.” *
The “Stoat” shook his head. “I am not so sure
of that, sir,” he said, “it will take him all his time.”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Gordon.
“My youngster's after him still,” returned Ster-
rett calmly. “We caught sight of him leaving here
in a great hurry, just as we were driving up, and I
told the kid to follow him.”


XXXVI
THE HAPPIEST OF MEN
RTISS Gaunt met Gordon when he reached
| the house in Pentonville, and entered the
A hall. She was very pale and her eyes
*l were tear-stained, while she wore a band-
age on her temple where Usher's bullet had struck
her. But she looked very beautiful, Gordon
thought, and he felt that he did not for a moment re-
gret the troubles and dangers which his connection
with her had brought upon him; but rather he
blessed the strange chance which had first made him
acquainted with her.
“Your father is ill, I hear,” he said. “I am so very
sorry. How is he now?”
Vivienne shook her head, not trusting to her
voice to reply for the moment.
“He is no better,” she said at last, with an effort.
“I fear he is even worse, and that there is—there
is no hope.”
Gordon looked up with pity. “Is it so bad?” he
said. “I had no idea. Sterrett told me he was ill,
but—”
“He is worse; he is dying, Colonel Gordon; the
terrible time he has had lately, the worry, the strain,
have been too much for him; he has had a bad at-

252


THE HAPPIEST OF MEN 253
tack, and the doctor, who is upstairs now with him,
has told me to prepare for the worst. It is useless to
disguise. It was so good of you to come, Colonel
Gordon.”
“You must know I should be only too glad to
do anything I can,” returned Gordon eagerly.
“I do know, I think,” said Miss Gaunt, lifting
her lovely eyes a little timidly to his, “and that is
why I ventured to ask you to come. I was fright-
ened, and we have no friends or relatives near us.
You have already been so kind, you have done so
much that—”
“I have done nothing, unfortunately,” said Gor-
don, “or very little. Make use of me now, however,
in any way you wish. Are you sure that you your-
self have suffered no ill effects from that scoundrel's
shot?”
“None at all. It is only a scratch, fortunately.
But would you care to see my father? I know he
would be pleased.”
Gordon assented willingly, and Vivienne led the
way upstairs to a bed-room on the first floor.
The doctor met them at the door of the room,
and motioned them to move quietly. “Is this Col-
onel Gordon P” he asked Vivienne. “Mr. Gaunt has
been asking for him. He is not too soon if there is
much to be said. I am afraid, Miss Gaunt, that I
can give you no better news than I gave you a short
time ago. The attack was a very sudden and violent
one. I have managed to pull him around to con-
sciousness for a time, but—” he shook his head
sadly, and Gordon saw that hope was over,


254 THE SILVER PIN
Vivienne bowed her head and turned away, while
the doctor motioned Gordon to enter the room.
“I fancy Mr. Gaunt wishes to see you partic-
ularly,” he said, “and alone.”
Miss Gaunt looked up surprised, but she nodded
her head to Gordon to follow the doctor's instruc-
tions, and withdrew.
Gordon followed the doctor to the bedside. It
came as a shock to him to see the great strong man
with whom he had once had such a fearful strug-
gle now so helpless and so near death's door; but
he attempted to disguise his feelings, and answered
his murmured greeting, when Gaunt at last raised
his half unconscious eyes to his, with as much calm-
ness as he could contrive.
“I am glad you have come, Colonel,” said Gaunt
at last, speaking with some difficulty. “I wished to
see you particularly. I have something I wish to
say to you.”
Gordon bent his head. “I shall be glad to do any-
thing which is in my power,” he said.
Mr. Gaunt smiled sadly. He was lying propped
up in bed, his great shoulders nearly stretching
from side to side of the mattress, and his massive
head raised slightly so as to look Gordon in the face.
He remained silent for a moment or two, watching
him intently and with a half-assured, half-question-
ing look.
“Oh, this is certainly something you can do,” he
said at last, “and yet, should you not feel the in-
clination, it is one of the most impossible things
in the world which I could ask of you.”


256 THE SILVER PIN
us for his own purposes, and who, but for you,
would undoubtedly have succeeded in ruining us, or
at all events, making us his tools. Why did you do
this?”
Gordon, taken utterly by surprise, hardly knew
what to say, and sat staring confusedly at the sick
man, who met his gaze with a kind but anxious look.
“Why did I do it?” he stammered at last.
“Yes, why? You did not know me. You knew
nothing of my daughter, but that you saw her face.
She might have been the most utter adventuress—”
Gordon stopped him quickly. “Never,” he said
eagerly. “But I will answer you, Mr. Gaunt, almost
in your own words. I only saw her face, you say?
Well, it was because I saw her face that I—I did
what little I was able to help her. To see her and
to imagine her an adventuress, or anything but what
was good and pure, would be impossible. I felt she
was not guilty of that murder, even though she as-
sured me that the crime was hers; I felt that
there was some mistake, some misunderstanding;
and, thank heaven, though all difficulty is not en-
tirely over, I have helped to remove the greatest
danger.”
Mr. Gaunt gave a sigh of relief and sank back on
his pillow as if a weight had been lifted from his
mind.
“Your words, and more, your tone, have relieved
me from my last hesitation,” he said. “Colonel
Gordon, will you answer me a question, and will
you forgive a dying man for asking it? Have you


THE HAPPIEST OF MEN 257
any prejudice—is there any reason why you should
not marry?”
Gordon started and stared at him. “None what-
ever,” he said firmly, after a moment.
“Then the rest of my task is made simple,” con-
tinued Mr. Gaunt more easily. “I have fancied, put-
ting two and two together, you know, that per-
haps you had been a little taken with my Vivienne.
Though I say it, she is beautiful enough for a man
to admire: even under the circumstances in which
you have seen her. Heaven knows, it is her beauty
which has led to all this, and, perhaps, poor child,
she would have been happier without it. She has
beauty, Colonel Gordon; she will have wealth, and
she is a good and noble girl, but when I die she will
have not a soul in the world in whom I can trust,
and to whom I can confide her. Perhaps it is our
wandering life; perhaps that at my age one does
not make friends easily; perhaps partly through her
mother's sad story, which affects her not at all, but
which has kept us rather to ourselves; there is no
one to whom I can leave her and feel sure of her
future; no one but—but you.”
“Me?” cried Gordon.
“You,” repeated Mr. Gaunt eagerly. “I like you;
I am a pretty good judge of character, and I trust
you, even if what you have already done for us did
not plead for you. If, as I think, and hope, is the
case, you care for my girl and can persuade her to
return your affection, I shall die at peace and con-
tented. If, on the other hand, what you feel for
her is only friendship and a calmer interest, still, if


ENMESHED IN THE WEB 261
It was not until the morrow that he heard any-
thing, however.
While he was at breakfast, a note was handed
to him from Sterrett. It ran as follows:
“Have got the warrant; there was no difficulty.
The youngster sends word that Usher has made for
Liverpool, where he probably intends shipping it.
Am on the job from headquarters, and am leaving
for Liverpool at once. If you care to take the
trip ask for news at the “Red Lion,” Wharf Street.
Will leave word there if going further.”
Gordon decided that he would call again at
Pentonville before making any fresh plans; and,
hastening over his breakfast, he made his way
thither.
At the Gaunts’ he was told that Mr. Gaunt had
taken a sudden turn for the better, and on seing
the doctor the latter informed him that he had now
every hope of his patient's recovery. Miss Gaunt
he did not see, as she had gone out to obtain some
things necessary for the sick room, her father be-
ing quietly asleep, and her presence not being neces-
sary.
Gordon turned away with a lighter heart. It had
not seemed to him on the previous evening that
there was any hope of a recovery, but after the doc-
tor's confident tone, he could doubt no longer, and
he determined to accept Sterrett's invitation and
join in the chase after Usher.
It was probable that, with that sharp youngster
and Sterrett after him, the gambler would have little
- chang ;" escape, unless he had already contrived


266 THE SILVER PIN
Gordon did not reply immediately, and then sud-
denly he bent down to look at the ground. “Find
me a footprint with a very pointed toe—a long nar-
row footprint with a very light tread,” he said
brusquely to the “Stoat,” and bending down he
commenced to peer about in the road.
Rain had fallen within the past twenty-four hours,
and the street was muddy and wet. There had,
however, been little traffic; it was not a street where
there was likely to be much; yet there were many
footprints, nevertheless, and many which were un-
recognizable. Several times Gordon hit upon one
which seemed to recall those which he remembered
on the floors of the empty house where he had first
met Mr. Gaunt; but on each occasion some pecu-
liarity, or some subsequently discovered difference,
made him change his theory; and he was about to
give the task up in despair, when suddenly a cry
from Sterrett's son aroused him.
The boy had set himself stolidly to work, after
Gordon's first words to his father. He had taken
a line at some distance from the latter's, and for
some time, apparently, his efforts met with no more
success than theirs. Now, his eager eye and quick
gesture told a different tale, and Gordon and Ster-
rett went quickly to his side.
He was pointing to a spot near the pavement on
one side of the street, about fifty yards from the
place where it had first been disinterred by Sterrett's
cane. Gordon looked eagerly down to where he
pointed, and drew a long breath. “I was right,” he
said. “I am sure of it now. That is the pencil-case


ENMESHED IN THE WEB 267
sure enough, for I recognize this mark at least.”
Before them, clearly printed on the soft soil of the
roadway was a long narrow footprint, which Gor-
don, at least, could not doubt was Usher's.
The task was not easy even now that they had
gained the first step, but it was not so difficult for
Gordon as it would have been for another. His
African experience stood him in good stead, and he
picked out here and there a half-obliterated foot-
print, which Sterrett and his son would have passed
unconsciously.


XXXVIII
IN THE HANDS OF THE LAW
T WAS fortunate that the street was such a
very quiet one, or otherwise their proceed-
ings, much as they attempted to disguise
them, must have attracted some attention;
but the quiet, little, dingy houses remained impene-
trable, no one seemed to take any notice of them;
and at length they paused near a house which
seemed quieter and more unconscious than its
neighbors. It was here that Usher had stopped,
unless Gordon had been mistaken in all the signs on
which he depended; and standing a little aside, out
of range of the windows, they examined it.
Their scrutiny, however, told them nothing. The
house might have been empty for all sign it gave to
the contrary. The curtains were closely drawn
across the windows; no smoke came from the chim-
neys; and no sound reached their ears from within.
Sterrett, who had taken a turn around the rear of
the building, returned after a moment or two.
“There is no back door,” he said. “But I have left
the boy around there in case of accidents. Our man
may have gone in there, or he may not. I am going
to find out, at all events.”
Gordon nodded, and the detective walking up the
steps, rang the bell.


IN THE HANDS OF THE LAW 269
After a moment steps were heard coming down
the passage, and the door opened, disclosing a neat
little maid, who inquired their business.
Sterrett, who had made the inquiry, did not take
any notice of the girl, but brusquely pushing past
her, entered the passage. There was a door on the
right, and opening it, he looked in.
Gordon, who had followed him closely, looked
over his shoulder, and for a second the two stood
motionless, for as the door opened Usher had sprung
to his feet and faced them.
“You !” he cried. “How the devil do you come
here?”
Sterrett allowed Gordon to pass, and quietly
closed the door.
“You are wanted on a charge of murder,” he said.
“Here is my warrant.”
Usher's pale lips tightened, while his eyes fixed
themselves on the paper. But he pulled himself to-
gether.
“Curse you and your warrant!” he said. “Do you
think I am such a fool as to be taken quietly? You
have been clever enough to follow me here, but a
tiger, tracked to its lair is not necessarily a tiger
which is caught, my friends. Look out for your-
selves l’’
Sterrett flung himself aside only just in time, for
Usher drew a revolver and fired with the rapidity of
lightning. The ex-corporal's movement saved his
life, the bullet almost grazing his shoulder.
Gordon sprang at Usher to seize him and stop him
from firing again, but the gambler was too quick


270 THE SILVER PIN
for him. He darted under his outstretched arm,
passed Sterrett, who was still staggered with the
smoke and noise, and reached the door.
In another moment his hand would have been on
the handle, when suddenly it turned, and the door
opened.
A tall old lady, with white hair, appeared on the
threshold suddenly, and turned with fear and aston-
ishment in her eyes, from Usher to the other two
inen.
“Phillip !” she cried.
Usher, who had made an attempt to hide the re-
volver, had grown as pale as death, and stood with
his head hanging down, apparently completely over-
whelmed, and the old lady turned from him to Gor-
don and Sterrett.
“What are you doing here? What does this
mean?” she asked haughtily.
Something in her face made Gordon turn away
without replying, but Sterrett stepped forward. “If
you want to know what we are doing here, we've
got a warrant for his arrest,” he said brusquely,
pointing to Usher. “And he's just had a try putting
me out of the way. He's a bit free with his re-
volver.”
The old lady had staggered and put her hand to
her heart at the word “warrant,” but she drew her-
self up with an effort.
“I do not know what my son has done, but you
must forgive him, gentlemen,” she said. “It is noth-
ing bad, I am sure,” she continued proudly. “It is
some misunderstanding, which we shall very shortly


XXXIX
THE COLONEL'S REWARD
N HOUR after the return to town found
Gordon again at the house at Pentonville.
Mr. Gaunt was dying. There was no doubt
of the fact on this occasion. He had been
right when he had felt himself assured of his ap-
proaching end, and the doctor's prognostications
had been altogether falsified. The improvement had
not continued: a relapse had set in, and Gordon had
only just arrived in time.
He was shown into Mr. Gaunt's bed-room, where
he found Vivienne kneeling by the bedside. She
had her hand in her father's, and Gordon could see
that he pressed it as he entered the room. Her eyes,
however, were bent down, and they did not meet his
as he approached.
Mr. Gaunt held out his other hand to Gordon,
who nodded as their eyes met, replying to the mute
question in the other's eyes.
“He is taken and is now in prison,” he said. “He
has confessed.”
Vivienne looked up, and Mr. Gaunt gave a sigh of
relief.
“Thank God l’’ he said. “Then there will be no
trouble in the future. And now I have something

274


THE COLONEL'S REWARD 275
to say to you two. Gordon, I have spoken to my
daughter—no, don't stop me, Vivienne ! I have told
her what I said to you, and what your answer was.
You know how that answer pleased me, and how
it has lightened the burden of my going. I have
been made still happier by the knowledge that—
but give me your hands—there, now they are joined.
Gordon, my boy, you have done a great deal for her,
be good to her; I am sure you will.”
Gordon felt her hand lie warm and soft in his,
and, as they bent over the bed, he pressed it and
murmured something in her ear which made her
bend lower, while the color came to her cheek. And
then all other consideration vanished, in thought
for the man who had thought so much for them.
xk xk × × >k
Vivienne Gaunt mourned sincerely for her father,
whom she had always loved deeply, but sorrow
passes, and there came a time when Gordon ven-
tured to renew the subject which had occupied Mr.
Gaunt's mind before his death, and when he again
clasped Vivienne's hand in his. They had both
grown to know each other better by that time, but
time and acquaintance had not changed their
thoughts; and Vivienne's father might have been
quite happy could he have seen the result of his
care for his daughter's future, for, when Gordon
asked her the question which was to decide that
future, her answer was “Yes.”


- - -
*


----
***