MILLIONS
OF MISCHIEF
HEADON HILL


190 |






Vac
“ With That Shining Tube Pointed at Me
(Page 73)


Grainger, Francis Lusted,
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
"
THE STORY OF A GREAT SECRET
BY
beadon bill
AUTHOR OF
“BY A HAIR'S-BREADTH, “ THE DUKE DECIDES,”
"A RACE WITH RUIN,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
"And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of
mischief."-Julius Cæsar, Act IV., Scene i.
AKRON, OHIO
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
NEW YORK
1905
CHICAGO


COPYRIGHT, 1904,
BY
HEADON HILL
MADE DY
THE WERNER COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO


CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER
PROLOGUE
7
ARTHUR RIVINGTON'S NARRATIVE
13
22
.
29
38
.
I BRINK OF THE SCAFFOLD
II A TERRIBLE TASK
III I PICK UP A LADY
IV So NEAR AND YET SO FAR
V I TRY A Ruse
VI CREAKING OF THE STAIR
VII JANET READS THE RIDDLE
VIII IN THE BRANKSOME PINES
IX HERZOG'S CLAWS
X WHAT JANET DISCOVERED
XI ENTER LORD ALPHINGTON
45
52
60
67
.
73
80
.
87
.
JANET'S NARRATIVE
95
.
104
XII IN THE LONDON EXPRESS
XIII Mrs. WEBLEY'S FICKLENESS
XIV IN PERIL BY DAY
XV IN PERIL BY NIGHT
XVI A PEACE MAGISTRATE
III
117
125
.


4
CONTENTS
ARTHUR RIVINGTON'S NARRATIVE
CONTINUED
CHAPTER
PAGE
.
.
XVII THE TUBE OF ATROPINE
XVIII SLEIGHT OF HAND
XIX AN UNWITTING CHAMPION
XX THE COLONEL'S TIDINGS
XXI IN DEAD OF Night
XXII A STRANGE ALLIANCE .
XXIII A RISKY HIDING-PLACE
134
140
148
155
163
171
180
.
JANET'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED
185
193
202
.
209
217
.
XXIV SIR GIDEON's BARGAIN
XXV THE FACE AT THE GANGWAY
XXVI "SEALED ORDERS"
XXVII OPENING THE ENVELOPE
XXVIII DEATH-WARRANT-OR WORSE?
XXIX WAVING THE LANTERN
XXX HERZOG FACES Both Ways .
XXXI THE PROOFS OF GUILT .
XXXII A FIGHT AGAINST TIME
XXXIII SHIPWRECK .
XXXIV ROGER MARSKÉ ARRIVES
223
230
238
245
254
263
.
ARTHUR RIVINGTON'S NARRATIVE
CONTINUED
XXXV A DOUBTFUL FRIEND
XXXVI DISCOVERY
XXXVII THE PREMIER TAKES SNUFF
XXXVIII Two VOLUNTEERS
XXXIX AFTERMATH OF STORM .
270
277
287
206
.
.
304


ILLUSTRATIONS
Frontispiece
147
“With that shining tube pointed at me,”
“It will be safer in my possession"
"I quickly extracted the envelope"
"They sprang upon one another like tigers”
222
269
.


PROLOGUE
T
HE meeting of the Cabinet came to an abrupt
termination with the sudden rising of the
Premier. Lord Alphington's colleagues
watched him nervously as he strode to the
door of the council chamber, and watched him with
graver apprehension as he turned there and faced
them, his usually impassive countenance ablaze with
righteous wrath.
“That, my lords and gentlemen, is my policy,” he
exclaimed. “If you will not agree to it I must recon-
struct or resign."
For twenty seconds the great statesman stood with
his majestic figure framed in the black oak of the
doorway, his eagle glance singling out the three dig-
sentients. Then, shaking his mane like an angry lion,
he turned and was gone.
After an interval of awe-struck silence the other
ministers followed him out of the room-all but the
three who had been the cause of this unrehearsed
effect. These pulled their chairs closer and prepared
for an informal discussion of their position. The tall
man with the stooping shoulders and the yellow snags
of teeth was Sir Gideon Marske, the Chancellor of the
Exchequer; the ponderous, oily man was Mr. North-
7


8
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
moor, the Home Secretary; the brisk little man with
the furtive eye was Viscount Trevose, Secretary of
State for War. In their different ways they all looked
frightened.
And well they might, for having failed to carry
their point at this, the stormiest Cabinet council of
the century, they were left face to face with the pros-
pect of being stripped of the emoluments of office.
Professional politicians each and all, they were none
of them rich, and the Premier's threat to reconstruct
or resign touched the pockets of these pretentious but
impecunious men.
“Political assassination has long been in the limbo
of the past, or it would be a case for a hired bravo
and a dagger," said Sir Gideon Marske, with the
nervous laugh of one who throws out a tentative jest.
The other two started and looked at him fixedly.
It was true that Lord Alphington's death would cut
the Gordian knot of their perplexities. The question
at issue was the attitude to be preserved toward a
Foreign Power which need not be specified. The Prime
Minister's policy made for conciliation, with a view
to reducing the people's burdens; his opponents were
for yielding to popular clamor, which would probably
plunge the country into war with its inevitable conse-
quence of enormous expenditure.
Lord Trevose, with the memory of his mortgaged
acres pressing him, echoed the Chancellor's laugh.
“Of course it is an anachronism, but a knife in
Alphington's ribs would assuredly save the country
from humiliation; only a bold front can prevent a
costly war," he said. Himself he could not deceive,


PROLOGUE
9
but, like his associates, he half hoped to dress up his
mercenary aspirations in the garb of patriotism-for
the deception of the other two.
Mr. Northmoor, the Home Secretary, did not laugh.
He was one of those who had no need for laughter of
that kind, inasmuch as in his speech was a bland,
purring note that left his hearers in doubt as to his
sincerity. You could take him seriously or not, as you
chose, which was convenient to a many-sided man.
But those who knew him well were aware of a certain
peculiarity-a mere trick of manner. He always
coughed unconsciously after making a statement which
he himself meant in earnest.
“The thing could be done now-quite easily," he
said, glancing quickly from one to the other of his
colleagues. Sir Gideon and Lord Trevase watched
him, open-eyed and open-eared. Yes, the remark was
followed by the short, wheezy cough significant of
intention.
For fully minute the three statesmen sat and
looked at each other in an awe-struck silence, which
Sir Gideon was the first to break.
“You are always fond of your little joke, North-
moor," he faltered huskily. "How-supposing, of
course, that we meant business-how could the thing
be done?”
“You have heard of the Rivington murder case,
for which one Arthur Rivington is now lying under
sentence of death in Winchester Jail ?" Mr. North-
moor asked quietly.
Yes, they had all heard of the case, as how should
they not, when all England was ringing with the


10
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
infamy of the young man recently convicted of the
cold-blooded, calculating murder, at intervals and by
poison, of his mother and sister!
“Well, in that wretch, gentlemen, we have an in-
strument ready to hand," proceeded the Home Secre-
tary impressively. And, feeling his ground by a glance
at his colleagues' faces, he went on: "For no partic-
ular reason with the maudlin sentimentality of the
age, perhaps—the jury recommended Rivington to
mercy, and the matter came before me officially to
decide. As usual, I sent for the judge who tried the
case, who happened to be Sir James Morrison-about
the most lenient of the pack. He was dead against
any deviation from the capital sentence, ridiculed the
recommendation of the jury, and affirmed that the
prisoner's guilt was beyond the possibility of doubt,
and that the crime was the most cruel, the most cun-
ning, the most carefully covered-up that it had ever
been his lot to try. 'A fiend in human shape,' was
the learned judge's last word about Arthur Rivington;
and I maintain that as patriots, with our dear country
hovering on the brink of a terrible war, we are justi-
fied in using any fiend in any sort of shape, for avert-
ing such a catastrophe."
His hearers were not deceived by his heroics, though
they struggled hard to believe that in their own indi-
vidual cases that whole-souled sentiment was really
genuine.
“But if the fellow is going to be hanged how could
he serve our-I mean the turn of the country?” haz-
arded Lord Trevose after a pause. Though willing to
go far, the Secretary of War was not an imaginative


PROLOGUE
11
>
man. His obtuseness caused irritation to Sir Gideon
Marske, whose shifts and expedients were a by-word.
"Don't you see? Northmoor, as head of the Home
Department, has his grip on the prison service," said
Sir Gideon. "Northmoor will pull the strings and
the little figure will
“Escape," interjected the Home Secretary with a
snap. “Marske has grasped the situation to a nicety.
I can see to it that the cage is left unfastened and that
the bird flutters out-only to be recaptured and turned
to our purpose immediately. Herzog, of the Secret
Service, is the man to take him in hand and tell him
what he has to do as the price of his freedom.”
“But what of Herzog himself !” Lord Trevose sug-
gested uneasily. “I know something of the fellow-
that he is an unmitigated scoundrel. We should be
simply delivering ourselves bound into his hands if
we asked him to act as go-between in such an affair.”
Mr. Northmoor purred softly, like a large, sleek,
well-fed cat. “Ask Sir Gideon," was all the answer
he vouchsafed.
“Mr. Herzog's value as the most faithful and un-
scrupulous member of the Secret Service lies in the
fact that at a word from me he would go into penal
servitude for life," said the Chancellor. "He was in
my Department originally, you know—as a Surveyor
of Taxes. When he went wrong I spared him because
I recognized that the Service would gain by the addi-
tion of a tool without conscience or compassion, who
would not dare to decline any dirty work the State
might require of him. And the State does require
dirty work sometimes."


12
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
In their blind egotism the unintentional naïveté of
the concluding words escaped them all, or they did
not see, or affected not to see, that the task to be
entrusted to Herzog's hands came under the category
of the Chancellor's sententious pronouncement. All
that they were concerned with was the assurance,
with
which Sir Gideon was able to satisfy them, that the
proposed tool was so utterly discredited, and his
dossier so well known to the permanent officials, that
even if he proved recalcitrant no one would believe
him against the ministers of the Crown. And of
course he would be instructed verbally, by one of
them, without witnesses.
So far the discussion, and then silence swooped on
the three statesmen again. Once more they regarded
each other with eyes striving furtively for limitations
of the mutual confidence necessary to conspiracy.
Presently Lord Trevose yawned, then rose briskly and
said:
“Well, we've wasted a lot of time over this fairy
tale. I shall go to the club for lunch.'
Mr. Northmoor laid a fat hand on his arm and
whispered, “Sit down, Trevose. It isn't a fairy tale,
is it, Sir Gideon ?"
"Not so far as I am concerned,” replied the Chan-
cellor of the Exchequer, showing his yellow fangs in
an evil grin.
And Lord Trevose sat down again.
:


ARTHUR RIVINGTON'S NARRATIVE
CHAPTER I
BRINK OF THE SCAFFOLD
O
NE, two, three, four," tolled the clocks of the
ancient city, led by the cathedral chimes. Four
o'clock on Monday afternoon, and at nine
o'clock on Thursday morning I was to be led
out to die. The medley of musical sounds wafted
from afar through the iron-barred window meant that
I had exactly sixty-five hours to live before I passed
for the last time out into God's sunlight, there to be
hanged by the neck till I was dead.
The harsh voice of the judge who had flung those
fatal words at me across the crowded court three weeks
before was still ringing in my ears. Then I had hardly
realized their real import, welcoming them indeed as
the conclusion of a horrible nightmare, and, above all,
as terminating his lordship’s ruthless invective on the
enormity of my offense. But now, with the sands in
the hour-glass of fate so nearly spent, the words of
13


14
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
doom buzzed in my ears with a meaning full of men-
ace.
Glancing round the sombre limits of the condemned
cell, at the bare, drab-colored walls, the bare table
with its drab-bound Bible, the drab counterpane of
the hard bed on which I had spent what seemed a
lifetime of sleepless nights, I felt that I could welcome
the realization of the grim words of my sentence, but
for one fact—that I was innocent of the almost name-
less horror of which I had been convicted.
And given a month of freedom I was confident that
I could lift the load of ignominy that had overwhelmed
me, by shifting it to the right shoulders. At any rate,
I should have the chance of proving my innocence at
the expense of the unknown fiend who had robbed me
of mother, of sister, and of good name.
And once again I laughed in derision at the idea
that I, Arthur Rivington, should have been deemed
capable of having schemed with diabolical and cruel
cunning to poison, for the sake of a few paltry hun-
dreds, the two women whom, next to one other only, I
held most dear.
The sound of my laughter was quickly followed by
the grating of the key in the lock of my cell. The
door swung open, and the warder who had charge of
me entered, regarding me with a keen glance of what
looked very like anxiety. Hitherto this man's de-
meanor had been one of callous contempt, his scanty
speech and rough manners showing that he shared the
public loathing in which I was held. But this after-
noon some new emotion seemed to have awakened in
him. It was hardly pity, and certainly not friendli-


BRINK OF THE SCAFFOLD
15
ness; yet I could see that he was eyeing me with an
intentness that bespoke a personal interest.
“What's up?" he said curiously. “Did I hear you
laugh!"
Such was my mood that I made him no answer,
but
went on laughing. The warder stepped to the door,
peeped up and down the corridor, and came in again,
shutting the door behind him and placing his back
against it.
“Look here, I can't have you going off your head
just when you've become valuable,” he said in a hoarse
whisper. "I'd meant to keep it to the last minute,
lest the chaplain or the governor should pay you a
visit and notice anything, but I must chance that-
sooner than have you go barmy. I can tell you some-,
thing to make you laugh the right side of your face.'
“They have found that I am innocent! I am par-
doned, or at least reprieved ?” I cried.
“If you raise your voice like that I'll knock you
down," said the brute, advancing a step. “Pardoned !
Reprieved !” he added, with a contemptuous belief in
my guilt that was obviously genuine. “They don't
hand around pardons and reprieves to your sort. It's
me that's the pardoner and repriever, and I'll tell you
the way of it, if you'll promise to keep quiet, and not
get shrieking like a silly woman in the high-strikes.”
Feverishly I gave the required promise, and strove
to calm myself while the hulking, beetle-browed fellow
poured his whisky-laden tale in my ear. He had been
heavily bribed by a "well-wisher" of mine, as he
called it, to arrange my escape from Winchester
prison, and to put me on the way to safety afterwards.


16
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
He had got the details all cut and dried; nothing
seemed easier. He would bring me a warder's uni-
form, and I would leave the prison with him at nine
o'clock when he went off duty and the night shift
came on. He would take me to his house in the town,
supply me with private clothes, and do all that was
necessary to give me a clean pair of heels.
“But the thing is impossible!” I faltered, when I
had recovered a little from the shock. “You have to
hand me over to the night warder,”
“He's in it, too," was the laconic rejoinder,
“You will both be discharged.”
“It has been made worth our while," said the
warder, with a sardonic grin that left no doubt as to
the truth of his statement, though it increased my
dazed perplexity. The only person on earth who
believed in my innocence, so far as I knew, and who
cared enough to snatch me from the gallows, was my
own true love, Janet Chilmark, and she, poor girl,
could never have satisfied these venal sharks out of
her limited means.
Yet I could think of no one else
who had done this thing, and I could only conclude
that Janet had made some superhuman effort to raise
the needful money.
To my importunate questions as to who had bribed
him the warder remained dumb. All he would say
was that “my friend” would be waiting for me, ready
to render me further assistance, at the ‘Pilot's Rest,'
a third-rate hotel at Southampton, whither I was to
go that very night. Bidding me control my impa-
tience, he withdrew to his usual post outside the cell
door.


BRINK OF THE SCAFFOLD
17
The next few hours were, I think, the most nerve-
straining that I had passed since my arrest. Always
there was present to me the horrible thought that the
warder's statement was all a horrible jest at the ex-
pense of a wretched prisoner to whom he had taken a
dislike from the first. It seemed too good to be true,
that certain doom was to be changed by some unknown
magician into at least a chance for life, and what
meant more than life-a chance to reestablish my
innocence. With each succeeding chorus from the city
clocks this feeling of doubt grew, till it became an
agony, and I could have cried aloud in my distress.
But with the stroke of nine came relief with the
reappearance of the warder, accompanied by the col-
league who was to take his place. One was wearing
two tunics, the other two pairs of trousers, of which
they promptly divested themselves of the outer ones.
“Look sharp and slip into them," said the day man,
producing a “cheese-cutter” cap from the chest of his
own tunic, while his colleague disburdened himself of
a cleverly-concealed pair of boots.
With' so much before me to tell of the next few
crowded weeks I will pass over the details of my
escape, and I can do so the more readily as they were
quite without incident. Clad in the official costume, I
simply walked out of prison side by side with my surly
rescuer, and went with him to a little house not far
from the gates, where I changed into a suit of tweeds
that had been provided. Then he handed me a sover-
eign for my railway fare, and bade me catch the nine-
thirty train for Southampton.
“No need to skulk,” said the warder as he opened


BRINK OF THE SCAFFOLD
19
good-fellowship, yet the thin, straight lips spoke of
asceticism, or possibly cruelty. Again, the eyes, which
twinkled with appreciative humor at some joke in the
paper, grew as cold as steel when he seemed to lapse
into an introspective mood, gazing out into the night.
The journey to Southampton was soon accomplished,
and my fellow-passenger, descending before me, dis-
appeared amongst the crowd on the platform. With
the haunting dread of being followed and recaptured
strong on me, I dared not, at the station, take a cab to
the hotel, or even inquire the way to it, but, striking
out into a succession of quiet streets, I put a consid-
erable distance between myself and the railway before
I ventured to ask a passer-by for Backwater Street.
Luckily he was able to direct me, and traversing the
length of the mean thoroughfare I found that the
“Pilot's Rest” was the corner house at the far end.
The hotel seemed to be of the class frequented by
inferior officers of the mercantile marine. The dingy
hall was ill-lighted, and on one side of it was a counter
which did double duty as a bar and the office. Pre-
siding thereat was an elderly barmaid, engaged for the
moment in listening to a friendly argument between
two coasting skippers.
“Mr. Herzog !” she repeated, in answer to my ques-
tion. “Yes, he's here-arrived about half-an-hour
ago. If you're Mr. Tennant, go right upstairs, please,
and knock at the second door on the left. He's ex-
pecting you."
“Is-is there a lady with him!” I hazarded, with
a wild hope at my heart that Janet might have come
to meet me, and yet full of fear at the risk she would


20
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
run in assisting the escape of a condemned convict.
But no. With a shake of her head the woman de-
nied me that blessed prospect, and, obeying her in-
structions, I mounted to the first floor. A tap at the
door she had indicated elicited a sharp command to
enter, and an instant later I was in the presence of -
my recent fellow-passenger.
He rose from a table, on which were a decanter of
whisky and a box of cigars, and surveyed me with a
long, cold scrutiny that was hardly that of a friend
who had broken, and was breaking, the law on my
behalf. I had a better view of him here in the gas-lit
room than in the railway carriage. His large, fleshy
face was thrust slightly forward; his expressionless
eyes seemed to be appraising me as a marketable com-
modity; his hands were pushed deep into his trousers
pockets, holding back his silk-lapeled frock-coat and
disclosing a well-filled waistcoat. Then, suddenly, as
in the next momentous days I discovered was a habit
with the man, his mood seemed to change and his eyes
brimmed with fun.
"So!” he exclaimed, waving me to a chair by the
fireplace and resuming his seat. “You were fright-
ened of me in the train, my friend, but not so much
as I of you.'
“You were frightened of me?" I said in honest
wonder. "Surely there was nothing terrifying in my
demeanor towards you."
He looked at me curiously, "Not in your demeanor,
Captain Rivington, but in your reputation,” he re-
plied. “It is not a pleasant experience to take a rail.
way journey in the company of a murderer who is as


BRINK OF THE SCAFFOLD
21
yet ignorant that he is beholden to one for arranging
his escape.”
I started at his words. Was it possible that this
man, who had been the prime mover in enabling me
to break prison, had done so in the full belief that I
was guilty of the horrible crime for which I had been
condemned! Yes, I could tell by the frosty glitter of
those cunning eyes, by the pitiless curl of the thin lips,
that whatever he had done for me had not been done
through friendship. The solace of thinking that I
had been helped to freedom because of my innocence
had been short-lived indeed.


CHAPTER II
A TERRIBLE TASK
HO are you, then, and why have you risked
Wimprisonment in aiding such a desperate
wretch ?" I asked bitterly. A swift intui-
tion told me that to protest my innocence
would be useless, and the brutal directness of Herzog's
method soon convinced me that I was right in my
surmise.
“Sit down and help yourself to whisky and a
cigar," he said, pushing his chair back and crossing
his legs. “So! that is better. It will be wiser to dis-
illusion you at once, my friend, from any false hopes
as to rehabilitation. You have been removed from
Winchester Jail because you are a desperate wretch,
and because, by doing one more desperate deed, there
is the barest chance that you may save your forfeited
life.”
6
“But what if I refuse?” I asked him.
He went on in the same even tones, as though un.
heeding the interruption. “You are to remember
that for the present you are just as much a prisoner
as if you were back in the condemned cell, to which at
22


A TERRIBLE TASK
23
a hint of revolt you would return. You are mine,
body and soul, to do the task I shall set you, or go
back and be hanged on Thursday morning."
“Then by all means allow me the privilege of hear-
ing what it is you wish me to do," I replied, with a
forced laugh. Even thus early in our intercourse I
was beginning, from an instinct of self-preservation,
to shape the course I had to steer. But I should have
to keep a light hand on the tiller, with a keen eye for
rocks and shoals; for this was no mean opponent, and
he held me surely, so far, in a grip which he would
never willingly relax.
"You have killed two women, both nearly related
to you-killed them for paltry gain," he said, pro-
truding his fleshy face toward me.
I winced inwardly from the loathsome charge, but
braced myself to answer callously, “What of that?
It is of the future that we speak."
“Good !” he chuckled. “I had begun to have my
doubts of you, but that sounds better. Well, what I
want of you is to kill a man this time, and I am em-
powered to give you this assurance, without naming
my authority, that every facility will be given you,
not only for striking the necessary blow, but for get-
ting clear away afterward. You can understand that
it would not be convenient to my principals to have
you caught.”
“The thing has to be done at once?" I asked.
“Within a fortnight. Apart from more vital con-
siderations it might be difficult to keep you from re-
capture for longer than that," was the reply.
"Permit me five minutes for consideration while I


24
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
finish this excellent cigar," I said, playing up to the
rôle which I had adopted of calculating scoundrel.
“As we sleep here to-night, I will give you as long
as you like, but to spare you needless trouble, let me
warn you not to waste time on scheming to break away
from me," said Herzog, fixing me with one of his gim-
let stares. “As I said before, you are as much a pris-
oner, here in the ‘Pilot's Rest,' as you were at Win-
chester. This affair has not been entered upon lightly.
I have three skilled assistants in and around the
hotel."
I could quite understand that he spoke truth in that,
for the suborning of the warders at the prison sug-
gested careful organization, in the preliminaries of
which the principal would not have appeared. Nor
was I meditating any such attempt as he hinted at,
for the simple reason that without friends and with-
out money my recapture would have been only a mat-
ter of hours. No, my policy seemed to be to appear
to accede to his demands in the hope that during the
fortnight's grace I might discover the missing link in
the evidence necessary to secure my pardon. That he
would be a difficult man to deceive as to my ultimate
intentions I foresaw, but I had this in my favor, that,
he believed me guilty, and would not, if I played my
cards well, suspect me of employing my comparative
liberty to upset the verdict of the jury. But the ques-
tion which pressed me most closely was whether a
fortnight, during which I should doubtless be under
close surveillance, would be sufficient for my purpose.
Since my arrest I had always longed for a month of
absolute freedom to pursue independent inquiries, and


A TERRIBLE TASK
25
now not only would the time be curtailed by one half,
but I should be virtually in Herzog's custody. The
question called for a review of the situation, to ascer-
tain if I could extract a ray of hope therefrom.
In all truth it was but the merest glimmer. As I
have stated, the alleged crime for which I had been
condemned was the murder by poison of my mother
and my sister, Clara. The widow and daughter of a
country clergyman, they had lived in a modest way
in a cottage near Brockenhurst in the New Forest, to
which I had been a visitor as often as my military
duties as captain in the artillery would allow. One
of the principal points made against me at the trial
was that their deaths had occurred, at intervals of six
months, during these visits, and that I was the only
one who would benefit pecuniarily.
With the nurse and the doctor I had been present
at the death-beds of both my dear ones—my mother's
first, and a little later my sister's—and it was on three
disjointed words that Clara had whispered in my ear
that I had built my slender hopes. Raising herself
with her last effort, she had mustered strength to
breathe the unmeaning words: “Man, mask, Roger."
On being accused, I had mentioned this strange saying
to my solicitor, who had been able to make nothing of
it except that she may have alluded to a masked man
whose name was Roger. In this I had agreed with
him, but I had always thought that he had made no
real effort to trace out the mysterious “Roger.” In
fact, my solicitor, like all the world save one, was, I
knew, after my first interview with him, convinced of
my guilt.


26
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
Could I, in a fortnight, and with the basilisk eye of
my unfathomable liberator on me, run this unknown
Roger to ground? Well, as the alternative was to go
back to Winchester and be hanged on Thursday, I
would at least make the attempt.
Draining my glass, I flung the stump of my cigar
into the empty grate and met Herzog's mocking gaze.
I struggled not to quail under it for I had to live up
to my reputation if I was to live at all. “A desperate
wretch," he had called me, and a desperate wretch
he must continue to think me while I searched for a
rift in the clouds.
“Well, my noble captain; I can see that you have
decided to cheat the gallows by the paradoxical method
of deserving them twice over. Is it not so?” he said.
“I appear to have no option in the matter," I re-
plied, affecting the sullen resignation that under the
circumstances would have been natural to the villain
he deemed me.
“Pshaw! I knew all along that you, being what
you are, would take the sensible view, and there is
this consolation-that if you are caught after crime
number two you can only be hanged once," he
chuckled. “And now, my friend, that is the last word
I shall say to harrow you,” he went on in a pleasanter
tone. “A little harshness was necessary to show you
the futility of trying to gammon me with pleas of
innocence, but having accepted the situation you shall
be treated with all courtesy during our association-
so long as you are true to the compact. Only so long
as that, mind. But it will be your own fault if you
do not find me a cheerful and resourceful comrade,


28
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
he drew a long breath of relief and poured himself
out a fresh drink.
“To-night Lord Alphington is in London,” he said,
when he had refreshed himself. “But in a day or two
he goes to a mansion near Freshwater in the Isle of
Wight, which he has taken for the recess—at Totland
Bay, to be precise. We also shall become denizens of
the Isle of Wight to-morrow, my friend-in the char-
acter of harmless summer visitors."
Once more, at the very outset of my intercourse
with this remarkable man, I needed all the restraint I
could muster. My true Janet, the girl of my heart,
and the only being in the wide world who believed in
me, was staying at Totland Bay.
But I succeeded in conjuring up a malignant laugh
as I repeated the phrase, "Harmless summer visitors !"
99


CHAPTER III
I PICK UP A LADY
T
HAT night as I lay awake in the bedroom
which I shared with Herzog at the Southamp-
ton Hotel I was elated and depressed by turns
at the prospect of having Janet near me dur-
ing the coming ordeal. I dreaded dragging her into
the horrible vortex in which I seethed, and yet it might
be that she would be able to help me if I could only
communicate with her unknown to Herzog. Without
some one who was a free agent to aid me I did not see
how I was even to attempt the solution of poor
Clara's
last mystic utterance, and Janet was the only one to.
whom I could safely appeal without fear of being be-
trayed.
On the whole, then, I accepted it as a good omen
that I was going to the one place where I might find
an opportunity of enlisting her help if I finally de-
cided to do so.
Looking back at those momentous days, I am struck
by the singular apathy of my mental attitude towards
the stupendous event of which I was the pivot. I had
lost all sense of proportion. By the side of my own
sad case the projected murder of the Prime Minister,
29


30
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
under apparently powerful auspices, seemed a com-
paratively small matter. I was filled with a mild
wonder, whether such an anachronism as political
assassination was afoot, or whether Lord Alphington's
death had been planned by some secret society of an-
archists-that was all. I was inclined to the former
view, from the ease with which my escape had been
arranged. It pointed to wire-pullers in high-places,
who had sufficient influence to open the prison doors.
But seeing that I did not mean to kill his lordship, I
really didn't care much.
From my minor standpoint, Herzog was the only
person that mattered, and when, toward morning, I
woke from a fitful sleep and found him bending over
me with a thoughtful frown, he seemed to matter
more than ever.
“Do not be alarmed,” he said. “I was only study-
ing your features as an artist. In other words, I must
disguise you before we set out upon our enterprise,
and I see that your countenance is adaptable. Your
mustache must come off, and then, with the addition
of some false side whiskers, you will be unrecogniz-
able. You will travel under the great protection of
being in the company of the last man in the kingdom
with whom you will be looked for."
After we had breakfasted, he effected such a change
in my appearance that I should not have known my-
self, but his method was so simple that there was but
little chance of detection. Shortly afterward we left
the hotel, I at his bidding preceding him by five min-
utes and waiting for him at the corner of the street.
“Mr. Tennant," the name by which I had passed at


32
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
green hills of the Isle of Wight; to the right the
sparkling tide danced gaily toward the Needles and
the open sea; to the left, half-a-dozen white-winged
yachts from Cowes raced for the Spit Buoy. The
fresh salt air stung the face with its promise of health.
Janet was somewhere there among those tree-girt
villas now coming into view under the mighty down
four miles away. All this, and yesterday at this hour
I was in the condemned cell, in the eye of the law a
felon, doomed to die forty-eight hours hence!
And if I made one little slip I should return there
to suffer the dread penalty. The thought wiped away
the delight of the contrast and brought me back to
earth again. It being the height of the tourist season
the little steamer was crowded, running as it did in
connection with the first fast London train of the day.
Herzog had, doubtless for reasons of his own, taken
first-class tickets, with the result that we had been
free to mount the bridge deck. He, who was at once
my evil genius and my preserver, stood at my side,
leaning over the rails and chattering trifles to me
for the benefit of bystanders.
Of these, the nearest was a tall, handsome girl,
plainly but expensively dressed, who, save for a maid,
seemed to be traveling alone. There was an air of
detachment about her, and yet of interest in her im-
personal surroundings, that somehow gave the impres-
sion of the "great lady.” I could see that Herzog
was keenly alive to her propinquity, and probably
knew who she was. At any rate, he seemed to be talk-
ing at her, laboring the relations supposed to subsist
between him and me.


I PICK UP A LADY
33
"If you find the air too cold up here, Mr. Martin,
let us go down to the lower deck," he said. "I can't
have you catching cold, you know, just as you are
going to begin your cure.”
Determined to play my part for the present, I was
making some appropriate reply, when a broad-shoul-
dered, slim-waisted man came up the stairs and ad-
vanced toward the fair unknown. There was a swag-
gering braggadocio in his manner, a self-assertion
about his waxed mustache, that filled me with vague
dislike. He glanced contemptuously at me and was
treating Herzog to the same sort of survey, when his
eyes, blood-shot and red-rimmed they were, dilated
for one fleeting instant, and were quickly averted.
“Sorry I could not come up before, but I have been
occupied in looking after your luggage,” he said as
he joined the lady.
“It doesn't matter at all," was the reply that
sounded like a snub. “Have you done with your
newspaper yet? If so, I should like to look at it."
The gentleman affected to search in the pockets of
his traveling cape, and then gave vent to an exclama-
tion of annoyance. “I must have left it in the train,
he said. "Are you always as eager for news as you
are this morning, Lady Muriel ?"
“No, but I am particularly interested in this escape
that every one is talking of,” was the answer that
thrilled me with a wonder that increased tenfold when
the speaker added in a grave, sweet tone, "Not on my
own account, you know, but a friend of mine is a
staunch believer in Captain Rivington's innocence,
and she has affected me with some of her enthusiasm.'


34
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
care less."
The effect of this to me astonishing communication,
which presumed an acquaintance between “Lady
Muriel” and my Janet, on the person to whom it was
addressed was marked and instantaneous. His brows
contracted in a deep scowl, and he waved his hand
with a gesture of impatience.
“Don't waste your sweetness on such a scoundrel.
There was no doubt that he was guilty-any more
than there is that he will speedily be caught and
hanged," was the amiable comment which, accom-
panied with a glare around that chanced to rest on me,
filled me with nervous apprehension.
“You speak so violently that the wish might well
be father to the thought,” said the girl coldly.
“Not at all. I know nothing about the case, and
And then, with the obvious intention
of changing the subject, my unknown detractor ex-
claimed, “By Jove! look at that big steamer we are
passing-a troopship, I think."
We had reached the narrowest part of the Solent,
where the long spit of shingle terminating in Hurst
Castle stretched out toward the Wight opposite, and
through which the pent-up current swirls like a mill-
race seaward. The girl turned suddenly to look at
the huge vessel that was rapidly nearing us, and in her
excitement put her feet on the lower rail and leaned
over. What followed happened so quickly that rec-
ollection fails me to describe it. The girl, who had
been called Lady Muriel, overbalanced herself and fell
into the sea; the captain rang down a sharp “stop”
to the engine-room; a deck-hand began to fumble with
a recalcitrant life-buoy; a glance at the man who had


I PICK UP A LADY
35
first right of rescue told me that instead of availing
himself of it he was running distractedly to and fro,
plucking at his waxed mustache.
In that supreme moment I forgot everything-for-
got that I was a condemned criminal, to whom at-
tracted attention might probably mean death, forgot
that I wore a disguise that salt water might ruin;
forgot, in fact, all that was vital to my own interests
in face of the imminent catastrophe of a fellow
creature drowning before my eyes. Shaking off
Herzog's restraining hand, I plunged overboard and
struck out for the limp figure just floating to the
surface after the first immersion. As she was sinking
again I managed to grasp her dress, and so to hold her
up till the steamer had backed down to us. By the
time we had been helped on board I was nearly ex-
hausted and was only conscious that Herzog, as he
led me below in an iron clutch, murmured in my ear:
“Idiot! were you trying to put the noose round your
neck? If the springs of those false whiskers hadn't
held you'd have been a dead man the day after to-
morrow.”
They warmed and dried me before the furnace be-
low, Herzog superintending the operation with pro-
fessional care, and procuring a change of clothes from
my recently-purchased wardrobe. During the process
I was too dazed to think of anything except to rejoice
that I had saved a life, but when I stood up, dry and
comfortable again, yet apprehending a fresh outbreak
of abuse from my conductor, I saw that he had recov-
ered his chronic good-humor.
“You might have ruined everything by, that rash


36
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
act,” he said, as we returned to the deck. “You
would have done so if I had used gum for those
whiskers instead of springs. As it is, you have be-
gun well, my friend, and have established your foot-
ing in your victim's camp. You will experience no
difficulty in approaching his lordship now."
“Why?” I asked, not comprehending his mood.
“That dainty piece of femininity which you pulled
out of the water is no less a personage than Lady
Muriel Crawshay, Lord Alphington's daughter,” he
whispered with a horrid chuckle in my ear. “I shall
see to it that you are a persona grata now, my friend.
You shall be asked to the house. You will get your
chance for the stroke, which is to make history, at
close quarters.”
The treacherous suggestion sickened me, and I
needed all my self-restraint to keep from telling him
that he was mistaken if he expected his murderous
mission to benefit by the rescue. Luckily at that mo-
ment a diversion was caused by Lady Muriel's maid,
who came with a prettily-worded message of thanks
from her mistress. Lady Muriel was below, changing
into dry things and recovering from the shock, but
she hoped to have an opportunity of thanking me in
person before we landed.
That, however, was not to be, for directly the boat
touched the pier Herzog hurried me ashore, and Lady
Muriel had not yet reappeared on deck.
“It would never have done to let her thank you
amid all this hurly-burly," he explained, as we walked
up the pier ahead of the other passengers. “It might
have made a premature end of the whole business.


I PICK UP A LADY
37
Now she will be certain to look you up at our lodgings,
and it shall not be my fault if the acquaintance does
not ripen.”


CHAPTER IV
SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR
А
T the pier-head a surprise of the pleasantest
kind was in store for me. Herzog stopped
for a moment to instruct the pier-master
what to do with our luggage.
"There are two portmanteaus on the steamer, one
labeled Martin' and the other 'Doctor Barrables,'
he said. “Please send a porter up with them to
'Springthorpe,' where we have taken rooms."
I walked on at Herzog's side, wondering if my ears
had deceived me, for if I had heard aright it seemed
that the hand of Fate was strong upon me—for good
or evil, who could say? “Springthorpe" was, I knew,
the name of the house where Janet and her father,
Colonel Chilmark, had been lodging since the winter.
From that address she had sent me several letters
while I was in prison, both before and after my trial.
It would go hard with me if, staying under the same
roof with my love, I could not obtain speech with her
and tell her my desperate case.
"You have already engaged rooms?” I hazarded,
mastering my emotion as we trudged up the steep
38


SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR
39
road leading to the scattered clusters of red-brick
villas that form the rising watering-place of Totland
Bay. The attitude I had assumed toward my task
made it absolutely necessary that I should evince an
eager and intelligent interest in our programme.
“I do not jump in the dark, my friend,” my com-
panion replied. “I have selected our pied-à-terre
for two good reasons. The first and most important
is that our windows overlook the grounds of 'Ard-
more,' the mansion where Lord Alphington is to
spend his leisure. The second, of almost equal con-
sequence, is that there is only accommodation for one
other set of lodgers, the present ones being people,
according to my information, who are not at all likely
to interfere with our plans. A retired Indian Staff
Corps colonel nursing a deranged liver with the aid
of a devoted daughter is not a combination that should
prove dangerous to men with a secret like ours."
The Colonel's liver! How I blessed that tremen-
dous factor in my fortunes at that moment.
owing to that disorganized organ that my engagement
to Janet was a secret one. Nobody knew of it but
ourselves and my solicitor. I had only met Colonel
Chilmark twice, but those two occasions had been
enough to convince me that Janet paid a just tribute
to his temper in not wishing to divulge our mutual
compact till we were in a position to marry. After
my arrest, she had written to beg to be allowed to
show her faith in me by proclaiming our engagement,
but my legal advisers had been dead against it. Not
only would it have furnished the prosecution with
another weapon in an additional motive for my alleged
It was


40
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
2
crime, but it would have doomed the girl to the life-
long disgrace of having been associated with me.
That we had never been avowed lovers was greatly
in my favor now, for I might be able to communicate
with her before Herzog discovered that he had
chanced to establish me in close propinquity to such
a staunch ally.
Five minutes' walk brought us to “Springthorpe”
-a pretty little house standing in a shady garden.
As we passed up the path to the front door my heart
beat wildly, for there, at the open window facing us,
sat Colonel Chilmark, smoking and reading a news-
paper. He looked up at our approach, and favored
us with the jealous scrutiny of a seaside visitor ap-
praising possible fellow-lodgers, and it was a good
test of my disguise that he showed no signs of recog-
nition. I must have been in his mind, too, for he
had doubtless been reading the account of my escape.
The front door stood open, and the landlady herself
darted out to meet us. I studied her anxiously,
guessing how much might depend on her.
I saw
with dismay that she was a quick-moving, bright-
eyed, alert little woman, who would be certain to see
and hear every movement of her lodgers if she wanted
to. Should she prove as inquisitive as she looked
sharp I should have no easy task in disclosing myself
to Janet.
“How do you do, Mrs. Krance? I have brought
my patient up to time, you see,'' said Herzog, playing
his horrid part with the ponderous affability of a
pompous medico. “Our rooms are ready, I pre-
sume?"


42
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
Herzog with evident reluctance. “You can send
us up a snack of something, and then we shall prob-
ably go for a walk."
As soon as we were alone in the sitting-room,
Herzog came up to me, and, resting his hands on my
shoulders, looked me full in the eyes. I returned
the stare boldly, for I saw that he was trying to read
my inmost soul. Finally he relaxed his grasp and
broke into a disagreeable laugh.
“I do not think you are so foolish as to try to take
advantage of the mistake about the bedrooms, my
friend, but if there is anything of that sort in your
mind do not forget that success in giving me the slip
would also mean success in getting yourself hanged,"
he said softly.
“Why do you keep harping on that?" I replied,
affecting to be irritated by his suspicions. “So long
as my bedroom window gives a fair shot into the
‘Ardmore' grounds you will have no reason to
grumble. I am playing for a bigger stake than you,
you know."
He appeared to be satisfied, and proposed that we
should go upstairs and view the new arrangement
which had unexpectedly thwarted his intention not
to let me out of his presence by day or by night.
Bracing myself in case we should meet Janet on the
stairs, I accompanied him to the upper floor, where,
after a glance into the room he had originally selected
for our joint use, he led me into the next one-a
slightly smaller apartment, not quite so well fur-
nished.
It was the window that interested him, and me also,


SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR
43
for the matter of that. Immediately beneath it was
the small back garden of the house we were in; but
beyond that, separated by the terminal hedge, was a
lovely vista of well-kept lawns and shrubberies, with
a peep of a large modern mansion between the trees.
I was determined to take the wind out of Herzog's
sails this time.
“Look at that seat under the lime tree by the
fountain," I whispered. “The distance, I judge, to
be a hundred and twenty yards. If Lord Alphington
sits there I could pick him off with a sporting rifle
to a certainty. That is," I added doubtfully, "if
you mean to entrust me with firearms."
He gave me one of his quick glances. Yes, I think
that the suppressed eagerness in my tone really did
deceive him that time, for he broke into the low-
chuckled comment:-"When the chance comes, I shall
find a weapon for you, never fear. But I hardly
think that it will be a thing that makes a noise and
might compromise your presumed medical guardian.
You seem to have got your knife, figuratively, into
his lordship, my noble captain; perhaps I shall be
able to engineer an opportunity for you to do so
literally."
He was gaining confidence in me, I could see, but
was not yet quite convinced. I was fighting for my
life, more or less in the dark, remember, and to de-
ceive this man was the essence of a righteous cause.
I essayed another stroke on the anvil of his unbelief.
“Look here!" I blurted out impetuously. “The
chances from the next room are the same as from
here, whatever you may be planning. If it will


44
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
>>
make you easier about me, why shouldn't we both
occupy the same bed in there? I don't mind, if you
don't."
I had struck home. His brow cleared and his
baggy cheeks rippled in a voluminous smile. “No,
my friend, it is not necessary," he said. "Why
should we sacrifice our comfort, when we see eye to
eye in this matter? Come, let us refresh the inner
man before we investigate further."
For the present Herzog believed in me. How long
should I be able to sustain that belief?
So, ostensibly on terms of perfect accord, we de-
scended to the sitting-room and partook of the meal
which Mrs. Krance had prepared for us. As we were
discussing it a well-loved voice sounded in the pas-
sage outside our door, and, a moment later, looking
through the window, I saw my Janet's trim figure
pass down the path and disappear through the garden
gate into the road. She was walking quickly,
though under the influence of some excitement.
My heart thrilled at the probable cause. She must
have heard of my escape from jail, and the thought
of her reception of the news, not daring to let her
father see her interest in it, brought home to me the
slow agony she must have suffered since my convic-
tion. To have had a lover lying under sentence of
death, and to have been without comfort or sympathy,
must have been little short of martyrdom.
And how was I to gain speech of her, with the
lynx eyes of my custodian ever on me?
as


CHAPTER V
I TRY A RUSE
A
S my association with Herzog progressed, the
more was I convinced that he was a many-
sided man. He had the faculty, or at least
the semblance, of detaching himself from the
deadly purpose in hand, though without ever losing
sight of it, and of thoroughly enjoying his surround-
ings—his meat, his drink, his excellent cigars, and his
own conversation. It may be that he only feigned this
attitude in order to throw me off my guard, but I am
inclined to think that some of it was natural to him.
“Come," he said, when we had finished our lunch,
“let us combine business with pleasure and take a
stroll.
As a soldier you will want to reconnoiter
your ground, while as a student of seascapes I shall
be able to indulge my hobby. There is nothing like
a combination of purple heather, blue water, and
lapping tides to make a world-wearied man feel young
again.'
No one would have suspected the speaker of en-
deavoring to compass the death of the greatest states-
man of the age by cold blooded murder, and when
we had sallied forth, still under the vigilant eye of
45


46
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
>>
no.
-
Colonel Chilmark at his window, I plucked up spirit
to rally him on the subject.
"You are pretty cheerful," I said, "considering
that if I succeed in killing the Prime Minister and
am caught afterwards, you will most assuredly be
hanged as an accessory before and after the act.”
Had I touched him on the raw! For one fleeting
second I thought so, from the swift contraction of
his brows and the quaking of his baggy cheeks. But
He placed his forefinger alongside his fleshy
nose and solemnly winked at me.
"Make your mind easy on my account, and also
on your own,” he chuckled. “In the fact that I shall
take good care that you are not caught lies my safety,
and yours. Within limits we are hunting in couples
- with this difference, that if the catastrophe you
foreshadow should occur, I have a nice little bolt-hole,
all cut and dried, to wriggle out of. But his lordship
does not arrive till the day after to-morrow, so let
us shove black care into the background to-day. By
George! what a view."
We had turned out of the road in which we lodged,
and had passed round into that on which “Ardmore"
fronted. It ran at right angles to the cliffs, and both
ahead of us and to the left stretched the glorious
panorama that had called forth Herzog's exclama-
tion. Under a cloudless sky the sea, framed in the
emerald leafage of the nearer distance, shimmered in
the dancing sun-rays, while the grand curve of the
island coast-line swept round to the wave-washed
sentinels of the Solent, the Needles Rocks.
I gave vent to what was intended to be a snort of


I TRY A RUSE
47
disdain. “I have no taste for scenery so long as my
neck is in danger,” I growled. "These
appear
to be
the entrance gates of Alphington's residence. Why
should we not call to inquire if Lady Muriel is any
worse for her ducking! It would give me an oppor-
tunity of prospecting the lay of the land.”
But Herzog, as I had hoped he would, dissented
vigorously from the proposal. “I perceive that I
shall have to ride you on the curb,” he said. “It
would be a fool's trick, betokening eagerness and pos-
sibly engendering suspicion, to do any such thing.
The first overtures must come from the other side."
In spite of his prohibition, I lingered for a moment
at the gates, peering up the carriage-drive, and pre-
tending to scrutinize windows and doors, till Herzog
plucked me angrily by the sleeve.
“You will give the show away if you carry on so,'
he snarled. “I have a plan of the house, which you
can safely study indoors if it becomes necessary. By
reconnoitering your ground I meant that you should
master the geography of the neighborhood, for it is
most probable that it will be in the open country that
you will get your chance.'
So we started for an exploration of the lanes and
by-ways, taking an inland course towards Fresh-
water first, and returning to Totland by way of the
heather-clad warren. Any minute a breach of confi-
dence on my part toward Herzog, or close pressure
by the pursuers, who were in full cry after me, might
drive me to fly for my life, and I had used my walk,
not, as I led my companion to believe, to search for
convenient spots to kill Lord Alphington, but rather


48
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
in looking about for routes of retreat in case of
emergency
In all truth it was a difficult place to win free from.
I was not only on an island, but on a narrow prom-
ontory of it, bounded on three sides by the sea-
a populous triangle at any time, but now ten-fold so
by reason of the summer visitors. We met girls in
blouses and young men in flannels, afoot and on
bicycles, at every turn, and more than once I heard
these gay butterflies chattering as we passed about
“the escaped murderer," and speculating as to his re-
capture.
Yet, if flight were difficult, I found that, small as
was the area at my disposal, there were several routes
that could be attempted. To reach the mainland I
could either take steamer at Totland or at Yarmouth
for Lymington, or I could make my way northward
across the island to Ryde or Cowes, and there embark
for Portsmouth or Southampton-provided I could
lay hands on some money. There was plenty at my
bankers, waiting to be handed over to Janet under a
will I had made in prison, so soon as I should have
been hanged, but I could not get at it.
Speculating gloomily on my lack of funds, I put the
question to Herzog :—“How am I to get away after
I have settled Alphington? I can't make tracks for
South America without a supply of cash.”
“You will have a sufficiency-when you have
earned it. I have gained faith in you, my friend.
You really must have a little in me,” was all the
reply he would vouchsafe. Evidently I was not to
be trusted with money before the end was gained.


I TRY A RUSE
49
I could not press him further, for we were de-
bouching onto the turfed promenade in front of the
hotel, now, in the cooler hours of the afternoon,
crowded with visitors. Almost before I realized what
was happening, we came face to face with Lady
Muriel and her male companion of the morning, and
with them-Janet, a whole history of anguish in her
troubled eyes.
I lived a lifetime in the ensuing ten seconds. I
almost felt the drop give way under
my
'feet. Would
my love recognize me under my disguise, and, if so,
would she have the self-control to conceal it? After
one furtive glance I dared not look at her to see, but
in that flash of time I thought I detected a faint
tinge of color mounting in the pale, wan cheeks.
Lady Muriel advanced with extended hand, and
very prettily expressed her gratitude for the service
rendered.
“It was naughty of you to run away from the
steamer without giving me an opportunity of thank-
ing you,” she added. “My father will be here in a
day or two, and I am sure he will want to join his
thanks with mine.'
Afraid of the effect my voice might have on Janet,
and conscious that Lady Muriel's escort was regard-
ing me with a sinister scowl, I only mumbled a few
incoherent words. I positively felt Herzog's glare
on the nape of my neck, and I knew that, from his
point of view, I was acquitting myself badly.
“Let me introduce you to my rescuer and his med-
ical attendant," Lady Muriel chattered on, turning
to those with her: “Mr. Marske and Miss Chilmark


50
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
-Mr. Martin and Doctor Barrables. You see, Mr.
Martin, I have already ascertained the name of my
preserver from the pier-master who had charge of
your luggage. I was not going to let you off as easily
as your modesty seemed to expect.”
In bowing to Mr. Marske, whom I guessed from her
association with him to be a relative of Sir Gideon
Marske, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, I noticed
a curious, curl of his lip at her pronouncement of
Herzog's pseudonym. Having effected the introduc-
tion, Lady Muriel, with charming impetuosity, turned
to accompany us, chatting gaily. By an adroit move-
ment Marske took possession of Herzog, going on a
little in advance, with the result that I followed with,
Lady Muriel and Janet.
I was walking on Lady Muriel's left, and Janet on
her right, so that for purposes of secret communica-
tion, with this lively barrier between us, my sweet-
heart and I were poles asunder. Yet it might be a
case of now or never. Every minute lost in making
myself and my desperate straits known to Janet was
& step toward the gallows. Surely my wits could
find a straw to clutch at.
No, not a straw, but a common bit of thorny hedge-
rose, plucked and cast aside by some tripper earlier
in the day. I spied it lying on the turf ahead of us,
and so contrived as to steer Lady Muriel straight over
it. Would it? Would it! Yes, it stuck to her
dainty skirts and trailed after her, hampering her
graceful gait and causing instant annoyance.
“Would you mind, Mr. Martin: There's a horrid
thing on my dress,” she turned to me graciously.


I TRY A RUSE
51
I was on my knees in a moment, fumbling clumsily
and to no purpose.
"Miss-ah, Chilmark," I said, intentionally hesi-
tating at the name and not daring to look up. “Your
fingers are probably more deft than mine. Would
you! Ah, now we shall be all right.".
And then, as my dear girl stooped to help me, I
whispered in her ear-
“For God's sake command yourself. It is I-
Arthur. Lodging at Springthorpe. Must see you,
unknown to the man with me.”
Her soft palm, after detaching the bramble, closed
for a second on my wrist. I took it as a signal that
she understood.


CHAPTER VI
CREAKING OF THE STAIR
W I felt that
ITH the diclosure of my identity to Janet
my
affairs had entered on a new
phase. But, though it had cleared the ground
of one obstacle earlier than I could have
hoped for, it could not be deemed to have brought
me much nearer to the solution of the mystery that
enshrouded the death of my mother and sister. By
that alone could I put myself in a position to defy
Herzog and expose the conspiracy against the Prime
Minister.
Though Janet now knew me, and knew also that
I was staying in the same house with her, I was as
far as ever from obtaining the private interview with
her that was necessary to turn her loving loyalty to
a practical use. That interview would have to be of
considerable duration, too, in order to explain fully
the importance I attached to that last strange utter-
ance of poor Clara in her death agony. And when it
was explained I greatly feared that it would be beyond
my dear girl's powers to cope with the puzzle in the
limited time at our disposal.
52


CREAKING OF THE STAIR
53
Yet the revelation of my personality was a distinct
advance, and when I sat down to dinner with Herzog
in our lodgings I was in better spirits than since the
judge had pronounced my doom. Sometimes, when
Mrs. Krance opened the door to bring in a fresh
course, I could hear Colonel Chilmark's querulous
tones and Janet's sweet voice in the room across the
passage, and I had much ado, under my companion's
inscrutable eyes, to dissemble my interest in our fel-
low-lodgers.
Curiously enough it was Herzog himself who re-
ferred to them, and his reference caused me a qualm
of alarm. The man's methods were so subtle that I
could not be sure he was not testing my apparent
listlessness about the Chilmarks. He had been in
front of us when I released Lady Muriel's dress from
the bramble on the cliff-walk, but he was the kind of
person who has eyes in the back of his head.
“Nice people—those opposite, " he remarked with
a shrewd twinkle in his inconstant eyes. "The girl,
at any rate. It is on the cards that I may have to
cultivate the Colonel's acquaintance before our little
business is finished.”
“The less we have to do with outsiders the better,
I should say," was the growling comment I forced
myself to make. Was I, I wondered, playing the
outcast, truculent villain to the life, or only bungling
my part, to the secret amusement of this close ob-
server? I would have given the world to know.
"How did Mr, Marske strike you?” he went on,
chatting just as if we were what we professed to be
-two seaside idlers with nothing to do but gossip.


54
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
"I thought him a man in a bit of a-what shall we
say-a predicament."
“In what way!" I snapped, for Mr. Marske didn't
trouble me two straws.
“He seemed to me to be like Issachar-an ass be-
tween two burdens, grinned Herzog. “In other
words, I diagnosed him as a man making duty love to
one woman, while his real attraction was toward the
other."
I was sorely tried, but under cover of helping my-
self to a banana I managed to laugh, “And which
might be the object of what you call the 'duty' love ?”
“Lady Muriel, of course; being from the matri-
monial standpoint a prize to a penniless man,” was
the reply that once more strained my powers of self-
control almost to breaking point. The horrible in-
ference that this fellow Marske, who had gratuitously,
and in my hearing, gone out of his way to vilify me,
and who had inspired me with instinctive repugnance,
should be making eyes at Janet was gall and worm-
wood.
“A sort of Blue Beard," I forced myself to com-
ment carelessly.
“Yes, his record would blacken a whole street,
Herzog mused aloud. “And the trouble of it is that
-ah, bah! what am I talking of?” he checked him-
self. “After all, I am discussing the gentleman with
one to whom the subject of records must be a sore
point. A thousand pardons, my friend, I did not
offend intentionally."
His reluctance to hurt my feelings—the feelings,
be it understood, of one whom he deemed a cruel


CREAKING OF THE STAIR
55
It was
murderer-was, I felt sure, an excuse for stopping
short in a sentence not meant for my ears.
a revelation to me that this Sphinx-like plotter could
be guilty of such a laxity as letting his tongue run
away with him. That he would do so except under
the strongest emotion I could not believe, but what
could there be in common between this conspirator
against the Prime Minister and the son of a member
of the Cabinet? I could not answer the enigma,
but I was not likely to lose sight of it.
“Come," said Herzog at the conclusion of our
repast, “let us go over to the hotel and play a game
of billiards, or look on if we cannot get the table.
There must be nothing mysterious about our move-
ments. To play the hermit in a place like this would
be to attract attention, and that might result in-"
He took his fat neck in his white capable-looking
hand and made a significant motion as of choking
himself. I understood the allusion and saw the force
of his argument, though it was distressing to have
to leave the house. I had hoped all through dinner
that we should sit in the garden, perhaps, or in our
sitting-room with the door open, and that I might be
able to find or make an opportunity of speech with
Janet. To think of her as just across that narrow
passage, eating her heart out for that opportunity,
was maddening.
However, preserving my chronic demeanor of surly
obedience, I rose and went out with him in the dusk
to the hotel, where I was glad to find the billiard
table not only occupied but engaged-four deep.
There was nothing to do but to sit in a corner and


56
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
watch the play, while Herzog talked to his neighbors
on the settee and advertised our ostensible reason for
being at Totland. I was treated with due respect
as a wealthy invalid traveling with his private medi-
cal man, and I dare say I looked ill enough. It was
not conducive to a robust appearance to hear the
smart young stockbrokers and pursy business men
from London wagering their sovereigns for and
against the recapture of "the Brockenhurst mur-
derer."
At ten o'clock we left the hotel and returned to
“Springthorpe," and on approaching the house my
hopes sank as I saw that there was no light in the
Chilmarks' sitting-room. Janet and her father had
retired for the night, and I had lost a day in the
task before me.
Hearing us enter, Mrs. Krance appeared from the
back regions, her little ferret face encircled in curl
papers.
“I don't know if you gentlemen want anything
more,” she said with acerbity. “This is an early
house, and I was about to go to bed.”
Herzog gave her a sharp glance and pulled out his
watch. “Why, it isn't half-past ten,” he replied.
“Come,” he added in his oiliest manner, “you are
not yourself to-night, Mrs. Krance. Something has
upset you."
“Well, yes; it isn't to you I ought to be cross,
Doctor,” said the woman obviously inollified. “The
fact is my other lodgers, that I thought were per-
manent, gave me notice to-day of leaving at the end
of the week. Then they took it back again, after


CREAKING OF THE STAIR
57
the young lady came in from her walk, and want to
stay on indefinite. I don't hold with such blowing
hot and cold, and me given no reasons.”
For the fraction of a second Herzog's brows con-
tracted. “No, Mrs. Krance, it is always annoying
when we cannot divine people's reasons,” he said, his
eyes fixed on me as he spoke. “But if you are not
to lose your lodgers, all's well that ends well. So far
as we are concerned, by all means go to bed as soon
as you like, for we are going up too. One word,
though. Mr. Martin is an invalid, you know. Are
you a light sleeper-in case I should want hot water,
or anything, for him in the night?”
“I can't say that I am, sir; I have such a hard
day's work that I sleep pretty sound," the landlady
replied.
“Ah, well, let us hope that the occasion for dis-
turbing your rest will not arise," said Herzog affably.
“Good-night to you, Mrs. Krance, and pleasant
dreams."
The breeze with the waspish little woman over, we
took our candlesticks and went upstairs. I felt that
it was a tribute to my duplicity that Herzog parted
with me at the door of his bedroom without any
warning against attempts to escape. I had lulled
him into complete confidence in my motives and in-
tentions- unless, horrible thought, his net was drawn
so securely round me that he knew I could not
break away from him. I remembered that at South-
ampton he had alluded to subordinates. Possibly he
was putting his trust in them to watch the house,
though neither on the boat nor since our landing in


58
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
the island had I seen him speak to any persons who
would be likely to be his colleagues.
Left alone in my bedroom I reviewed the situation
as I mechanically began to undress. It seemed hope-
less to gain speech with Janet that night, though she
was in the same house, and must be only a few yards
away. Yet, that she meant to endeavor to grant
my whispered appeal for an interview was evident
from the news indirectly brought by Mrs. Krance.
The revocation of the Chilmarks' notice to leave I
looked on in the light of a message. It was a blessed
promise that Janet would stick to me, and I could
only trust that fortune would be kinder to me on the
morrow and allow me to meet her.
At least there was a change in my circumstances
for the better. Two nights ago I had slept in the
condemned cell at Winchester; last night I had slept
in a shady hotel at Southampton; to-night I was going
to sleep, if I could, in a decent lodging in a rising
watering-place. If I could keep up this rate of
arithmetical progression, where should I be at the
end of Herzog's fortnight? Nothing short of being
honorably free, with character and friends restored,
would satisfy me, and that, as my sudden fit of ela-
tion passed, I perceived to be nearly as far from
realization as ever.
For what mattered the slight increase in personal
comfort, what would Janet's propinquity and loving
care avail me, so long as I was a hunted criminal, with
the black shadow of a recorded sentence hanging
over me! Even if I could fool Herzog a little longer
in the pretense that I meant to carry out his mur-


CREAKING OF THE STAIR
59
derous behest, the end would be as surely and inexor-
ably the same as though I had never quitted the
prison cell.
Unless—some unseen devil whispered in my ear-
unless I ceased to deceive Herzog and steeled myself
to sear my soul with the stupendous crime he had
liberated me to commit.
With a shudder I drove the vile temptation away,
and presently flung myself on the bed and slept.
But sound slumber was not for a poor nerve-racked
creature such as I had become, and after a while I
was awakened by the sound of movement, faint but
unmistakable, beyond the lath and plaster partition
separating Herzog's room from mine.
Late as was the hour my custodian was up and
stirring. Yes, and he was doing more than that-
he was stealthily leaving the house. For after I had
lain breathlessly, but in vain, waiting for a repetition
of the sounds in the next room, I heard another of a
different kind a little further off.
Not loud enough to awaken a sleeper, but quite
audibly to one listening with straining ears as I was,
a stair creaked.


CHAPTER VII
JANET READS THE RIDDLE
T
HROWING on some clothes, I softly opened
my bedroom door and stole out on to the
landing in time to gain confirmation of my
surmise. There was a window at the stair-
head, overlooking the front garden and the road, and,
sure enough, there was Herzog, plainly distinguishable
in the moonlight, in the act of passing out through the
gate. Turning to the left, he walked off briskly and
disappeared.
My first sensation was one of intense curiosity as
to why he should have gone out at such an hour.
That important business had taken him afield was
self-evident, since, for all his apparent confidence in
me, he would not willingly have left me unguarded.
His nocturnal expedition, too, must have been pre-
meditated, I guessed, when his questioning of Mrs.
Krance as to her powers of sleep recurred to me.
But what was the use of speculating on the motives
of such a man, when his exodus had left me unsuper-
vised, for a few minutes at any rate, under the roof
that covered Janet? I turned wildly from the win-
dow to scan the doors giving on to the landing, won-
60


JANET READS THE RIDDLE
61
dering which was hers, when, lo! one of them opened,
and there stood Janet herself, peering at me in the
half-light.
Then she stole forward with a suppressed cry of
recognition and pillowed her fair head on my breast.
What followed—the few words we dared whisper-
concern no one but ourselves, nor could I remember
them if I would. Janet was the first to recover her-
self, and with her finger to her lips led me into the
room whence she had emerged.
“This is no time for false prudery,” she observed,
when she had softly closed the door. “We might
be heard if we talked on the landing, and my room
has an equal advantage as to the window. The out-
look is the same, and we shall be able to watch for
that man's return while we talk."
“You heard him go out?” I said, taking up my
station behind the curtain.
“Heard him and saw him," my brave lass replied.
“Did you think that I should do anything but wait
and watch till I had spoken with you?”
Recognizing that every moment was of value if I
was to make her understand how I was situated, I
began my narrative at once, and without any pre-
amble told her of all that had happened in connec-
tion with my escape from jail, and of the fearful con-
dition that had been laid on me by my mysterious
liberator. Naturally she was greatly shocked that
such a dastard design should be hatching against Lord
Alphington, but her horror was evidently blunted by
her concern for me.
“You must get away from this terrible man's


62
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
clutches, Arthur," she insisted. "With my help
surely it can be managed, for the chance he has given
you to-night shows that he is not infallible."
But I had to dash her hopes with the expressed
conviction that Herzog would never have left the
house, even trusting me as I believed he did, unless
he had taken steps to prevent my eluding him. And
I went on to say that life would be of no use to me,
that I would just as soon go back and be hanged, if I
could not turn my spuriously-won respite to good
account.
“I have no mind to be a hunted fugitive for the
rest of my days, which would be my lot if I could
shake Herzog off," I said. And I proceeded to tell
her how, when the venal warder had broached the
news of my coming escape, my one idea had been to
utilize it to clear my name by finding the real scoun-
drel who had done my mother and sister to death.
I narrated the grounds of that forlorn hope-my
dying sister's last words: “Man, mask, Roger."
Janet had stationed herself behind the other win-
dow curtain to help me in my vigil for Herzog's re-
turn. The slanting moonbeams fell on her motionless
figure in the pretty blue dressing-gown and touched
her beautiful, wistful face with a tender glow all
through our scarcely audible conversation. But now,
at the sound of those to me meaningless words, she
started, and her dear eyes shone with swift excite-
ment.
“Say those words again, Arthur,” she scarcely
breathed.
"Man, mask, Roger," I repeated. “Clara must


JANET READS THE RIDDLE
63
have referred to a man called Roger who wore a mask,
probably for the purpose of his crime."
The wash of the tide on the shore of the bay alone
broke the silence as Janet gazed across at me.
A
dawn of hope, in which a great fear mingled, had
come into her face.
“Arthur,” she whispered, "what if the man's name
sounded like that—not mask, but m-a-r-s-k-e? I
know a Roger Marske. You saw him with Lady
Muriel and me this afternoon."
My heart gave a great bound at the suggestion,
which would have occurred to me before had I known
the christian and surnames Roger and Marske in
combination. The ingenious idea had much to recom-
mend it. There was my instinctive dislike of the man
at first sight; there was his viciously-expressed confi-
dence in my guilt; there was his evident desire to
check and thwart Lady Muriel's interest in my escape
by withholding the newspaper from her.
Yet, on the other hand, I had never heard of him
before in my life-certainly not in connection with
my mother and sister, nor had I the slightest reason
for believing that they were acquainted with him.
That being so, what earthly object could he have had
in compassing their death-always provided that
Clara's incoherent utterance was intended to indicate
her murderer?
Clutching at straws, however, as I was, I could not
afford to throw cold water on any clue-still less
on one that had in it so many elements of probability.
“If we could find that this Roger Marske ever had
any sort of association with my people I should know


64
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
that you had read the riddle aright," I said. “And
then all would depend on something being discovered
in the nature of that association to connect him with
the double murder. For it would not follow that he
murdered Clara because she mentioned him with her
dying breath."
Janet's fingers quivered so that she shook the cur-
tain which she was holding back for a better view of
the road. “Arthur, this Roger Marske is a bad man,'
she panted in her agitation. “He is down here to
pursue Lady Muriel Crawshay with attentions which
she loathes, yet has to tolerate owing to her father's
foolish infatuation for the son of a member of his
Cabinet. And Mr. Marske thinks it consistent with
his honor to annoy me with his equally odious but
less definite attentions at the same time.”
“The brute !" I muttered, impressed by this con-
firmation of Herzog's insight.
I asked Janet how she came to know such big-wigs
as the daughter of the Prime Minister and the son
of the Chancellor of the Exchequer; for the Chil-
marks, though well born, had not been in the habit
of mixing in such exalted circles. But it was all very
simple when it came to be told. The acquaintance
was one which would never have been struck up in
London, but which germinated and grew quite nat-
urally in a small seaside resort free from the usual
"attractions," and priding itself on its exclusiveness.
Lady Muriel, having got “run down” half way
through the London season, had been packed off to
Ardmore, and the influx of visitors not having then set
in, the girls had met in their walks about the cliffs,


JANET READS THE RIDDLE
65
had fore-gathered, and finally became devoted friends.
"She is the sweetest soul, and so sympathetic, that
she soon saw that I was in trouble,' added Janet
rather diffidently. “One day, when we were sitting
in the heather at the back of Alum Bay, Arthur, I
broke down and told her of my dreadful grief. She
is as staunch a believer in your innocence as I am
myself."
And this was the daughter of the man whom I had
been released to kill,
“Can we not confide everything to her, and beg her
to enlist her father's sympathy?” I clutched at an-
other straw.
But Janet, wiser than I was, pointed out the danger
of such a course. However well disposed Lord
Alphington might be, he would be powerless to save
me unless my innocence had been clearly established;
though, as a cold and haughty statesman, hidebound
in officialism, he would probably pooh-pooh the whole
story as an invention, and hand me over to the hang-
man. The risk was too great to be run.
"I am only a girl, Arthur, but I must fight your
battle alone," my brave sweetheart went on firmly.
“No one must share our secret, at any rate, till I
have achieved partial success. Who
Who is in charge of
your mother's cottage in the New Forest ?"
"Sarah Leven, an old servant, who was to remain
till- till the things had been sold by auction,” I
answered.
“What would be her feeling about you?”
“She was devoted to all of us, poor soul-has known
me from a boy, but like most other people she probably


66
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
thinks me guilty," I replied with unjustifiable bitter-
ness.
“Let us hope not,” returned Janet gravely. “In
any case I shall run over by the first boat to-morrow
and explore “The Glen,' is it not called ? Ah, stand
perfectly still! Look there!”
With the warning exclamation her voice sank so
as to be scarcely audible, and, without moving, I
followed the direction of her frightened gaze. There,
standing in the middle of the roadway, the moonlight
shining on his broad, fleshy face, was Herzog staring
straight at the window. In our preoccupation of
quick question and answer we must have relaxed our
vigilance long enough for him to make a stealthy
approach on his return to the house.
Had he seen us-or, rather, me? For there would
be nothing to arouse his suspicions in a sight of Janet
alone. At any rate he gave no sign, but stood there
motionless, exercising on me a snakelike fascination
till, with a visible shrug of his portly shoulders, he
abandoned his position and came swiftly and silently
toward the garden gate.
“Get back to your room," Janet implored in a
whisper.
I needed no second bidding, but at the door I
paused for one breathless second to ask:
“How shall we communicate again!"
“Go at once," she urged. “I will find a way."
So I quickly crossed the landing and had scarcely
closed my door when the stairs creaked again. A
minute later I heard Herzog moving softly about in
the next room.


CHAPTER VIII
IN THE BRANKSOME PINES
T
HERE was nothing in Herzog's demeanor at
breakfast next morning to show any diminu-
tion of his confidence in me. The undertone
of sarcasm in which he sometimes indulged
at my expense was entirely absent. The corporeal side
of him seemed to be uppermost, and he appeared to be
in the lazily sensuous mood natural to a man of full
habit with nothing to do but eat, drink, and enjoy him-
self. I could not think that he had seen me at Janet's
window the night before.
“The joy of life, my dear friend, is bubbling all
over me this delightful morning," he remarked, as
he sat down to a dish of bacon and eggs and helped
himself plentifully.
To some extent I found his good-humor infectious,
for before breakfast was over I saw Janet trip down
the garden path and turn toward the pier. She had
evidently not swerved from her intention to search
for clues at "The Glen," and was on her way to
catch the first boat for Lymington. I did not expect
great things from her expedition, but a forlorn hope
was better than no hope at all.
“This is our last real holiday, for the Premier
67


68
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
arrives to-morrow," said Herzog presently, as he lit
a cigar. “I propose to spend it in testing a certain
theory that is causing me some uneasiness. There is
an excursion steamer, due to call here at eleven
o'clock, for Bournemouth, returning in the afternoon.
We will take the trip in her to that gay watering-
place, and be as frivolous as we can, unless"
“Unless what?" I tried to abbreviate his some-
what theatrical pause.
“Unless there is stern work to do, my friend," he
concluded quietly. “But that will only happen if
my very doubtful theory proves correct."
It was all one to me how we spent the day. It
was bound to be one of suspense anyhow, till Janet
returned from the New Forest and found a way of
apprising me of the success or failure of her journey.
All that I was immediately concerned with was im-
munity from recapture, and for that I was relying
entirely on Herzog. With his interest in the tragedy
which he believed himself to be saving me for, he was
not likely to subject me to undue risks.
And when the London papers came in, just before
we started, I learned that my risk was already greatly
minimized--or, at least, postponed. A Central News
telegram from Queenstown, dated the night before,
was given prominence under the sensational double
head-lines :
THÈ ESCAPED MURDERER.
OFF TO AMERICA.
It has been ascertained by the police that Rivington went on
board the Carpathia here just before she sailed this evening.
The detectives arrived a few minutes too late to effect his
-


IN THE BRANKSOME PINES
69
arrest, but the New York authorities have been informed by
cable, and he will be met and detained on the arrival of the
liner on the other side. In the case of a condemned criminal
it is not thought that extradition formalities will be necessary.
Herzog, who had read the paragraph before hand-
ing it to me, chuckled at the visible astonishment
with which I perused it.
“How was it worked ?” he said in response to my
mute inquiry. “You are scarcely old enough to
remember the refrain of a song popular in the seven-
ties, my young friend. It ran something like this:
'Bizzimark here, Bizzimark there—Bizzimark, Bizzi-
mark everywhere.' Well, if you substitute Herzog
for Bismarck you have it in a nutshell. I have my
ramifications and resources distributed over a wide
area, you see.
“This means, then, that I have a free run till the
Carpathia reaches New York and the report is found
to be false-say six days,” said I.
“Except under a certain contingency which we
go to prove, and which may require strenuous treat-
ment,” replied Herzog, taking up his soft felt hat.
“Come, we will show ourselves on the cliff-walk
before we go down to the pier. I have a reason
for it."
At that comparatively early hour the popular
promenade had few occupants besides nursemaids
and their charges making their way to the beach.
But conspicuous among the exceptions was Mr.
Roger Marske, lounging on a seat and apparently
wrapped in moody reflection. He affected not to
see us, and after passing him two or three times, as


70
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
the excursion steamer was approaching, we descended
to the pier. I wondered, without asking to be en-
lightened, whether Marske was Herzog's “reason'
for that preliminary stroll.
I was further exercised on that point when, just
as we had taken our seats on the upper deck of the
steamer, Marske came hurriedly down the pier and
also boarded her. He disappeared from sight among
the crowd of trippers on the lower deck, and as he
did not mount to the upper deck, I saw no more of
him during the hour's run. Herzog showed no sign
of having seen him at all, and as the last thing I
wanted was to disclose my interest in Marske to my
lynx-eyed companion, I kept my own counsel.
When the steamer ran alongside the pier at Bourne-
mouth, Herzog lost no time in landing, and, still
wearing the air of a schoolboy out for a holiday,
proposed refreshments at the hotel opposite the pier
gates. As we stood at the bar I noticed Roger
Marske studying the photographs in the window of
the library opposite. Herzog's eyes were on my face
as I made the discovery, and he must have followed
my gaze, but again he made no sign.
"Now for a tramp and a whiff of the pine woods,"
he said when he had finished his last sandwich and
emptied his glass. “You are scarcely looking as fit
as a man ought with—what shall we call it?-an
ordeal of the nerves ahead. A little physical exercise
will do you good.”
As we left the hotel I saw nothing of Marske, who
might, or might not, have gone into the library to
purchase one of the views he had been admiring. We


IN THE BRANKSOME PINES
71
climbed on to the West Cliff, and so struck out at
a brisk pace which, after a two-mile walk, took us
out of the residential quarter into the seclusion of the
Branksome Woods. Herzog was in his most dis-
cursive vein, telling humorous anecdotes about his
former experiences as a Surveyor of Taxes-an oc-
cupation which he seemed to have thoroughly en-
joyed.
"Bleeding 'em, my friend-bleeding 'em to the
white-was good fun, I can tell you, and so was fer-
reting out their affairs and tripping up their
evasions," he wheezed. “I loved it, but I should
have loved it better if I could have diverted more
of the plunder into my own pocket.”
Yet, though his reminiscences of prying into the
incomes of needy old maids and struggling profes-
sional men were vigorously told, I was conscious all the
time that he was trying, for purposes of his own, to
keep me amused and distracted from surroundings.
We were sitting on a fallen pine trunk at the edge
of an oily, silent pool, when he suddenly broke off in
the middle of one of his narratives, and pointed down
the glade to where a glimpse of the sea was visible-
turquoise blue behind the gloomy foreground.
“By George, my friend, but this spot has gripped
me," he said, still apparently in his irresponsible
mood. "Wait here a little while I go and gloat over
that blend of colors. I can trust you," here he laid
his big forefinger alongside his bulbous nose, “not
to run away.
He left me and sauntered down the glade, standing
for a moment at the end of the vista, and then, some-


72
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
what to my surprise, disappearing among the trees
to the right. I sat still, and for over a minute had
been listlessly wondering how Janet was faring at
my mother's cottage, when a hand fell on my shoulder
from behind.
Shaking myself free, I glanced quickly up and met
the mocking gaze of Roger Marske.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, and there was a note of
triumph in the harsh tones of his voice. “Ah, I
thought so."
“What did you think, and what do you mean by
laying your hand on me?" I asked angrily, forget-
ting in my indignation that, in the eyes of the law,
I had forfeited all right to resent anything, or even to
speak as man to man.
I was to be quickly reminded, however. Marske
broke into an unpleasant cackling laugh. “The same
answer fits both your questions," he sneered. “I
laid hands on you because I thought that you were
disguised, and I wanted to have a look at you at
close quarters. I perceive that I was right in my
conjecture, and I have little doubt that I am right in
another which I will venture to put forward."
"And that is?" I faltered. It is a degrading con-
fession, but it had come to this, that I was actually
longing for Herzog's presence.
“It is that you are Arthur Rivington-the escaped
convict from Winchester,” Roger Marske replied in
sharp, staccato accents. And as he spoke he drew
a little away from me and leveled a pistol at my
head.


CHAPTER IX
HERZOG'S CLAWS
IS
TRANGE to say, with that shining tube
pointed at me I thought less of my obviously
imminent peril than of the inference I drew
from Roger Marske's apparent intention to
shoot me. It would be the natural course for him to
take if he were indeed guilty of the crime for which I
had been condemned. Utterly unsuspected of it as he
was, he would be able to say that he had met the
escaped convict in a lonely place, and, being attacked
by him, had shot him in self-defense. So with the
greatest plausibility would he rid himself once for all
of the danger which, presuming his guilt, he would
know to be threatening him so long as I was at large,
and probably using my liberty to clear my character at
the expense of the real murderer.
It flashed through my mind that I must be the vic-
tim of some utterly inexplicable plot, at which Herzog
had connived, and that the Alphington conspiracy
was all moonshine, designed to draw me into the focus
of Marske's revolver. Though why so much trouble
should have been taken to confront me with that
73


74
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
weapon when Mr. Billington was to have hanged me
on the morrow, I was at a loss to conjecture.
Suddenly, without relaxing his aim, Marske spoke.
“Why did you select 'Springthorpe,' at Totland,
to stay at?” he asked.
I remembered that in words, at any rate, I had
not admitted my identity, so I rode the high horse.
“What the devil has that to do with you ?" I tried
to bluster, making a signal failure of it, I fear.
Marske scowled savagely at me. "My pretty fel-
low," he snarled, “I can answer the question for you,
being equal to the simple addition sum of putting
two and two together. You know Janet Chilmark,
eh! She went off unexpectedly this morning on your
business, eh?”
I made no reply, but my face must have told the
tale, for I saw him steady his revolver to a surer aim,
and I had given myself up for lost, when a well-
known voice close by rang in my ears :
"Lower your pistol, Mr. Marske, and drop it on the
ground, or take the consequences. I have got you
covered, you see.”
Yes, the pistol wavered, and finally drooped from
the level of my head, but the command was not wholly
obeyed at once.
Marske still clutched the weapon,
holding it muzzle downward, and glared unutterable
things.
“Come, sir. I am not to be trifled with. I give
you ten seconds to disarm yourself, or I will shoot
you dead," came Herzog's smooth but peremptory
threat.
This time the injunction was obeyed. Dropping


HERZOG'S CLAWS
75
the pistol on the carpet of pine needles, Marske broke
into a tirade of abuse and self-justification:
"The man is the escaped murderer--a fact of which
you must have full cognizance," he exclaimed furi-
ously. “I suppose you are prepared to pay the pen-
alty for aiding and abetting him, and for preventing
an honest citizen from recapturing him."
Relieved from the menace of Marske's weapon, I
turned my head and saw Herzog, revolver in hand,
advancing toward him from the trees at my right.
My custodian's broad features were graver than I had
seen them since the memorable interview when he
had impressed his personality on me at the "Pilot's
Rest" at Southampton.
“What is this nonsense about an escaped mur-
derer ?” he asked quietly.
“The fellow is the notorious Rivington. I taxed
him with it and he did not deny it," returned Marske
sullenly.
“Then I must deny it for him; and, further, as
you bring a very serious charge against myself I shall
convince you that it is false," Herzog said, picking
up the dropped pistol and putting it in his pocket.
“If you will take a few steps with me in this direc-
tion I have no doubt that I shall be able to disabuse
your mind of the error which has so nearly got you
into trouble."
I saw Roger Marske gnaw his mustache in impo-
tent rage, but there was something in Herzog's suave
urbanity that was not to be denied, and the two moved
off together down the glade. So long as they were
within earshot of me nothing was said between them,


76
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
though Herzog busied himself with producing and
unfolding a small document, which he seemed to
peruse attentively. When they were some fifty yards
away he began to talk in low tones, and at last he
showed Marske the paper, without relaxing his grasp
on it. Marske read it and then flung up his arms in
a gesture that seemed to denote a combination of dis-
gust and surrender. Then they turned and slowly
retraced their steps to where I had resumed my seat
on the pine trunk.
“My dear Martin,'
" said Herzog as they ap-
proached, "the little misunderstanding is at an end.
Mr. Marske recognizes his mistake and apologizes to
both of us for making it. We must make allowances
for an honest citizen-that I think was the phrase-
desirious of doing his duty by the community. Trop
de zèle has led many people into equally untenable
positions."
That Marske was really convinced it was impossible
to believe. The muttered apology, in which the only
audible words were the important ones “Doctor Bar-
rables” and “Mr. Martin,” was accompanied by the
fierce grin of a man beaten at a game in which he had
believed himself a winner. Then, slightly raising his
hat, he turned on his heel and vanished among the
pines.
Herzog seated himself on the trunk at my side,
and inflated his broad chest with a long breath of the
aromatic air.
“So much," he said, “for the theory that I had
conceived. It was unfortunately correct, but I have
been able to combat it with weapons which our enter-


HERZOG'S CLAWS
77
prising friend could not suspect me of holding. Let
me congratulate you, my noble captain, on a very
soldierly attitude in front of a leveled weapon, which,
by the way, I must not forget to return to that ag-
gressive gentleman at the first opportunity."
I could not tell him that if my theory, or rather
Janet's, about Roger Marske were correct, there would
never be a safe opportunity for returning him his
pistol, so far as I was concerned. That he had meant
to kill me in cold blood I had no doubt, and I won-
dered that my astute companion made no reference
to his obvious intention. He could hardly have failed
to observe it, even if he had not overheard the con-
versation that preceded his dramatic interference.
That point caused me a good deal of uneasiness.
If Herzog had heard Roger Marske taxing me with
an acquaintance with Janet my chances of future
communication with her would be reduced to a mini-
mum. And, apart from his having overheard any-
thing, what connecting link could there have been in
Herzog's mind between Marske and myself? That
he had deliberately brought me into the Branksome
pine woods, and there left me alone, knowing that
Marske was following, I could not doubt. I had his
own word for it that our expedition was intended to
test a theory.
That theory unquestionably was that Marske sus-
pected my identity, but how had Herzog detected the
suspicion? By observing it, or by having ascertained
that there was a reason why Marske should fear me?
Whichever was the true source of his action, it be-


78
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
2
came at once apparent that Herzog meant me to
attribute it to the former.
"That unpleasant person must have spotted your
disguise, and to avoid a repetition of such discoveries
you had better discard those whiskers," he said, deftly
detaching them. “Thanks to the newspaper reports
of your flight to America you will not be searched
for at present, and the absence of your mustache
really makes all the necessary alteration."
“Unless I meet some one with whom I was
acquainted,” said I.
Herzog's eyes took on their harder expression.
“Are you quite sure that you have not done so
already?” he jerked out sharply.
I was sore troubled lest he alluded to my meeting
with Janet the previous night. But no; as I re-
mained silent he relieved my anxiety by thus explain-
ing the question-
“You knew this fellow Marske before your convic-
tion, eh?”
“Not at all. I never set eyes on him-never heard
of him—till yesterday,” I was able to answer truth-
fully.
Herzog relapsed into silence, gazing alternately at
the distant peep of the sea and at the black tarn at
our feet. Suddenly he picked up a stone and tossed
it into the pool, frowning as he watched the circles
widening from the central splash.
“Deep waters," I heard him mutter ruminatively.
Then, jumping up, he changed his manner to frank
friendliness again.
“Come, my noble captain," he said.
"I am a


HERZOG'S CLAWS
79
selfish creature to keep you on a spot that must have
such disagreeable associations. Besides, we shall
have to hurry if we are to be in time to join our fel-
low-trippers on the boat back to the Wight.”


CHAPTER X
WHAT JANET DISCOVERED
W
E caught the excursion steamer at Bourne-
mouth and made the return journey with-
out further incident or seeing anything of
Roger Marske. As a result of the afternoon's
adventure, he had either decided to get back to Tot-
land by the Lymington route rather than travel with
us, or he had altered his plans entirely-possibly to
the extent of taking train for London.
Colonel Chilmark was in his accustomed place in
his window at “Springthorpe" as we entered the
garden gate, and the scrutiny which he bent on us
from under his shaggy brows was an unexpected
ordeal. He had not entered into my calculations
when I had consented to the removal of the false
whiskers, and now I stood before him in my old
semblance, save for the lack of my mustache. His
critical stare gave me a bad twenty seconds as we
walked up the path, but before we reached the door
he had carelessly resumed his everlasting newspaper.
The two occasions on which I had met him had
evidently not stamped me on his memory to the ex-
80


WHAT JANET DISCOVERED
81
queer birdlike
..
tent of recognition in my altered guise. Fortunately,
like all valetudinarians, the Colonel was self-centered,
and moreover, thanks to my engagement to Janet hav-
ing been kept secret, he had no particular interest
in me-except, of course, as a notorious malefactor
with whom he would not be likely to go out of his way
to claim acquaintance.
We had hardly entered our sitting-room when Mrs.
Krance appeared. She gave me
glance, which Herzog seemed to think demanded the
explanation that I had been clean-shaved because of
the heat. She sniffed, without comment.
“I have got a message for you gentlemen from the
young lady,” she said.
“From Miss Chilmark?” Herzog purred softly.
The landlady nodded, and continued : "Leastways
she didn't send it as a message direct, but she told
me she hoped you wouldn't make a noise, shutting
your doors or anything. She's been over to the New
Forest to-day, and went to bed with a bad headache
directly she got back."
“Oh, we are very quiet folk and shall not disturb
the lady,” replied Herzog with a genuine carelessness
that reassured me. He evidently did not suspect
what I guessed—that the message' was a real one
with a hidden meaning in it intended for me alone.
My dear girl, I felt sure, had taken this means of
conveying to me that she had fulfilled her self-set
task and had returned-a fact about which I should
have been anxious if not informed. I could not be
certain as to her motive in keeping to her room, but
I did not believe in the “headache.”
I had never


82
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
known her suffer that way, and it was more likely
that it was part of some plan for communicating
with me.
Some five hours later, when, after another strained
evening, spent for the sake of appearance in the
hotel billiard-room, Herzog and I retired to our
respective bedrooms, I proved the truth of the sur-
mise. I had not begun to undress, and was listening
to Herzog moving about in the next room, when a
folded sheet of foolscap was gently slid under my
door. Needless to say how I pounced upon the
missive, and yet how carefully I handled it lest the
crackling of the paper should reach the ears of my
sleepless neighbor.
“I had to deceive father with a fictitious ailment
in order to be by myself to write this,” the document
began abruptly in Janet's well-known hand. "I had
better say at once, to prevent raising unfounded
hopes, that I have discovered nothing to corroborate
my suggested reading of your sister's last words. I
have not heard the name of Marske all day. At the
same time I did discover something which, I think,
calls for further investigation.
“On presenting myself at "The Glen,' I failed for
some time to make any impression on the discreet
elderly female who answered my ring. Sarah Leven
is a woman of rare discrimination. I am very sure she
is a treasure not often found nowadays in domestic
service. She struck me as being in a very highly-
strung condition-probably, though I did not at first
refer to it, on account of your escape, of which she
had doubtless heard. I rather think that she took me


WHAT JANET DISCOVERED
83
for a police agent endeavoring to ascertain if you had
sought refuge there.
"I began by describing myself as a stranger con-
vinced of your innocence and desirous of seeing the
house where such a miscarriage of justice had origi-
nated. But Sarah Leven, standing in the doorway,
with her iron-grey locks framing her stern face, was
not going to pander to idle curiosity. She com-
menced to shut the door upon me slowly.
"This house of death and sorrow is no place for
sightseers,' she said, continuing to close the door till
it touched the foot which I had thrust over the
threshold. Still she did not desist, but pushed the
door till my poor foot was squeezed almost to a jelly.
I would not give way, and at last she cried angrily:
“ 'If you do not go I will send the first passer-by
for a policeman.'
‘And rob Captain Rivington of his last chance
of saving his honor and his life,' I answered, swiftly
deciding that the only way to gain this faithful crea-
ture's confidence was to give her some of my own.
And in pursuance of this idea I told her that I was
your promised wife, and that I was set upon using
the reprieve you had gained to find a clue to the
wretch who should stand in your place. In fact, I
told her everything-except that I had seen you and
knew where you were. I even asked her if she knew
the name of Marske in connection with your sister.
She made no immediate reply, but I was gratified
with the instant success of the course I had adopted.
She opened the door and admitted me.
“Sarah Leven is evidently not a woman to do


84
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
things by halves. Having made up her mind that I
was to be trusted, she was ready to trust me alto-
gether. Leading the way into the dismantled draw-
ing-room, she turned to me with all the grimness gone
from her motherly face, and made amends in the
quaintest old-fashioned way for her previous rude-
ness. I told her that I liked her the better for being
rude to me before she was sure, and that clinched the
matter. Sarah and I are sworn allies.
“She now answered in the negative the question I
had put to her about the name of Marske. No such
person had ever been at “The Glen,' and she had
never heard the name. Indeed, from what she says,
your mother and sister must have led a most retiring
life, seeing no one but the clergyman and a few neigh-
bors, and never having visitors staying in the house
- unless you yourself could be so considered.
“But you will be eager to learn the point which,
rightly or wrongly, I regard as a discovery. It was
this. Asked if your sister had a large postal corre-
spondence, Sarah looked sharply at me, hesitated,
and finally admitted such was the case.
‘Ever since she went to stay in London for six
months three years ago for the art classes, Miss Clara
has written a lot of letters-received a good many,
too, though not so many as she wrote,' Sarah Lieven
replied, and hesitated again, as if there was more
behind.
“Come!' I persisted. 'I can see that Miss Riv-
ington not only had many letters and wrote many,
but that you know the name of her correspondent.
Remember that whatever duty of silence and secrecy


WHAT JANET DISCOVERED
85
you owed to her is cancelled by what you owe to her
brother now. What you know may save him from a
disgraceful death.'
“'It isn't much that I know, but I will tell it to
you,' Sarah yielded after a pause. ‘Miss Clara usu-
ally met the postman and got the letters from him,
and she went to the post herself with those she wrote.
But once, about a year ago, she had the influenza
badly and could not leave the house. She asked me
to post her letters for her and to say nothing about
them to Mrs. Rivington. I didn't like it, having been
with the mistress since a girl, but then, again, I loved
Miss Clara as if she had been my own. I consented
to post the letters, and I couldn't help seeing that
they were to a gentleman.'
"'His name and address?' I asked, trying to con-
ceal the importance I attached to the question.
. Danvers Crane, care of Mrs. Webley, 450 High
Street, Notting Hill,' Sarah replied, snapping her
jaws as though she said it under compulsion, and, I
hope, salving her dear honest conscience thereby.
That woman is sterling gold, Arthur, and if ever
these clouds break we must not forget her.
“Well, that is the sum total of my discovery, and
now for my plans. I shall tell my father in the
morning that I must go to London for two days,
possibly three. Luckily I have an excuse in having
to view a house which he thinks of taking near Har-
row. But the house will not claim much of my time,
which shall be devoted, to the last minute if neces-
sary, to learning all there is to learn about Mr.
Danvers Crane. I hope to get away by mid-day to-


86
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
morrow, and half-an-hour after I arrive in town I
shall be making inquiries of Mrs. Webley at Notting
Hill.
“I hate having to leave you, my own dearest,
especially as you will be in the society of that hateful
Herzog, and he may begin to urge on the unspeakable
deed before I return. But I have no other clue to
follow, and I am impelled by some undefined force to
drag aside the veil from the man who had a part in
your sister's life without the knowledge of her
friends. Hope on, Arthur darling, as I shall, while
there is room for hoping, but if you are driven into
a corner during my absence you might, as the very
last resort, tell your story to Lady Muriel-provided
you can see her alone. But only if threatened with
detection and recapture, for Muriel is devoted to her
father, and might feel it her duty to warn him that
there is a plot against his life.”
So ended the missive, which by its clear brave
words told me at least that I should be craven to
despair while their staunch writer bade me hope. It
was indeed news to me that my sister Clara, the de-
mure and self-contained, had carried on a clandestine
correspondence with a mysterious "Danvers Crane."


88
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
the steamboats, and"—this with a clenching of the
thin lips that were in such strange contrast to his
fleshy countenance-"prepare the outline of our cam-
paign. Your quarry arrives to-day. Any moment I
may unleash you."
“By what boat is Lord Alphington expected?” I
asked.
"By the one reaching here at noon-the same that
brought us," was the reply.
It would be the boat which on its return journey
would take Janet on the first stage of her quest for
Danvers Crane. A sentimental longing to see her off
seized me, and to that end I hazarded the dissimu-
lating suggestion:
“I have never seen the Prime Minister. I might
recognize him from his pictures or I might not, and
it would be well to make sure of him in the flesh as
soon as possible. I want to get my job over and be
off, for this suspense is killing me. Let us go down
and meet the boat."
“A good notion. I can understand your eager-
ness,' said Herzog drily.
So it was that when the steamer rounded the point
at Cliff End we were on the pier to watch her ap-
proach. While she was still a long way off Herzog
nudged my elbow and drew my attention to a tall
figure in a light grey suit standing by the wheel,
talking to the captain.
"That is Lord Alphington,” he said, far too clever
to drop his voice amid a crowd where a whisper would
have been more noticeable than his perfectly natural
indication of such a celebrity.


ENTER LORD ALPHINGTON
89
“Yes, that is Lord Alphington, and you can pre-
pare to face what the newspapers call his eagle gaze,
for in five minutes I shall introduce my rescuer to
him, ” said a merry voice behind us. And, turning,
we had to make our bows to Lady Muriel, who, with
Roger Marske in attendance, had come to meet her
father.
It was Herzog who constituted himself spokesman,
and as he was a man who weighed every word, he
puzzled me by his answer.
"If you will allow me the privilege of a responsible
medical man, Lady Muriel,” he said, “I should pre-
fer to have that introduction postponed a little. My
patient, Mr. Martin, is not feeling quite the thing
this morning, and the excitement of such an honor
might be too much for him."
As the soi-disant Doctor Barrables enunciated this
fiction I caught Marske's eyes bent on me in a malig-
nant gaze, in which, however, I thought I detected a
trace of fear. But Lady Muriel's sympathetic con-
cern for my health caused me to turn to her and mur-
mur a few words of thanks while Herzog gently
plucked at my sleeve and led me away.
“We must steer clear of them while that fellow is
about,” he whispered. “I thought I had drawn his
sting yesterday, but mischief is writ large all over
him. I confess myself puzzled.”
If my neck had not been in jeopardy I really think
that at this point I should have begun to enjoy the
game. That my cunning bear-leader should be puz-
zled by anything that to my. duller wits seemed fairly
patent was amusing, and under happier circum-


90
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
“It seems that we are to lose our
stances I could have laughed aloud at his mystifica-
tion. For Herzog, I thought, attributed Marske's
uneasiness to a desire to thwart the Alphington plot,
whereas I had good reason to believe that Marske's
hostility was due to a very present sense of danger to
himself.
With much churning of her paddle-wheels the
steamer sidled up to the pier, and as soon as she was
made fast, Lord Alphington stepped across the gang-
way. His advent had been noised abroad, and quite
a little crowd of butterfly idlers had come down to
witness his arrival, forming a semi-circle, into which
Lady Muriel impulsively pushed her way to greet
her father. When the Premier bent his imposing
figure to kiss his daughter, some one raised a cheer,
which was taken up with well-bred moderation as the
distinguished party moved off.
I was watching them as they walked up the pier,
Lady Muriel hanging on to her father's arm, and
Roger Marske, whom Lord Alphington had warmly
shaken by the hand, following a few paces behind,
when I saw Janet pass the toll-gate and come quickly
towards them. She was carrying a small handbag,
and was evidently in haste to catch the steamer, for
she merely waved her hand to Lady Muriel and
bowed to Lord Alphington as she passed. Her way
to the gangway brought her quite close to where
Herzog and I were lounging, but she affected not to
see us, and vanished on to the boat.
charming fellow-
lodger,” said Herzog, removing his cigar to stare
after her. That inscrutable stare of his. How I


ENTER LORD ALPHINGTON
91
>>
wished that I could read that stony mask and learn
whether there was more in his mildly interested tone
than met the ear.
“I suppose they have changed their minds again,
and Mrs. Krance will be tearing her hair," said I,
growing, I flattered myself, an adept in subtlety.
"Colonel Chilmark is probably looking after the lug-
gage and will be along directly."
"No," replied Herzog shortly, and I fancied that
there was a curious undertone in his voice. "The
Colonel stays behind.”
I was wondering what this meant-what sources of
information he had tapped—when my attention was
distracted by the sight of Roger Marske returning
alone along the pier. The arrival of Janet had caused
me to transfer my gaze to her from the Alphington
party, and the Earl and his daughter had now disap-
peared through the barrier-presumably to walk up
to “Ardmore.” Why was Marske coming back, with
scowling face and determined tread?
The question troubled Herzog, too, I was sure. It
was denied to a man of his plethoric build to repress
one outward and audible sign of agitation, and the
deep breath he drew told me that he was interested,
if not annoyed. We neither of us had long to wait
for an answer, and the ugly significance of it pierced
me like a poisoned arrow.
Keeping his eyes averted, Marske crossed the gang-
way and went on board the steamer. He was going
to London, too, by the same train as Janet, and his
decision to do so could only have been come to on
learning her intention. On the spur of the moment


92
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
he must have excused himself to Lord Alphington and
Lady Muriel and returned to catch the boat.
Though his action was another confirmation of my
suspicions, it filled me with the gravest apprehen-
sions on Janet's behalf. It had seemed like an out-
rage before to allow a young and inexperienced girl
to go to London alone to do the work of a skilled
detective. Only my desperate position and my in-
ability to trust any one else had eased my conscience
as to her mission. But that the man to whom, if our
theory was correct, her quest would be a menace,
should be in London while she was engaged upon it
was intolerable. What could his object he but to
thwart her by any means in his power? If indeed
he was the slayer of my mother and sister, he was a
human fiend who would not hesitate to cover crime
with crime.
Heaven knows what an agony of doubt and fear I
suffered as I realized the situation, I felt that I
could not, must not, let Janet go alone. I would at
least start with her, and on the boat trust to luck
either to dissuade her from the journey, or devise
some scheme for continuing it with her. I turned
fiercely to Herzog, noting as I did so that his face
wore its most saturnine aspect.
“I am going to be ill," I blurted out. "My nerves
will stand the strain no longer. A trip on the sea
might revive me. I will chuck the whole thing and
give myself up if I may not go to Lymington and
back on the steamer. It is your only chance of get-
ting me to do what you want.
His eyes burned and scorched into mine, but sud-


ENTER LORD ALPHINGTON
93
denly their expression changed to a sardonic smile.
An ominous sound fell upon our ears--the plashing
of the steamer's paddles.
“With all the will in the world I could not grant
your request. It comes too late," he said.
It was too true; the boat was in motion, and by the
time I could have jumped for her would have been
her own length away. Some idea of my half-formed
intention may have entered my companion's mind,
for his gently restraining hand fell on my arm.
“Come, my friend,” he said. “A walk to the
Needles and back will give you all the sea air you
want, and you will be a good deal safer with me than
with Mr. Roger Marske."
And he led me away along the pier, steering me
through the chattering throng of summer visitors,
and so up the chine to the green walk, whence we had
a parting view of the steamer that bore all my hopes
and fears. As she rounded Cliff End Point and dis-
appeared I could have wept with rage.
"See here," said Herzog, as he pushed me roughly
down on to a seat; "you wish to save your neck,
don't you? Well, your behavior led me to think that
you had forgotten that part of your anatomy.”
“Why?" I asked sullenly.
“You wanted to go on the boat with Marske to
pick a quarrel with him because he suspects your
identity-perhaps, in your inborn ferocity, to stran-
gle him or throw him overboard, eh?”
That motive would serve as well as another, I
was about to say, but checked the words in good time I
thought, seeing that I could not tell him the real one.


94
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
more
“You must draw your own inferences," I replied
in the same sullen tone.
"Have no fear but that I shall do that, Herzog
retorted drily, leaving me in doubt once
whether all my wrigglings and subterfuges were not
thrown away upon this keen peruser of human docu-
ments. That he had not yet directly alluded to Janet
was no proof that he had not divined my secret. On
the contrary, it would be part and parcel of his du-
plicity to allow me to think that I had preserved that
secret till he could pounce on it, tear it from me, and
turn it to his own ends.
But during the walk which we took out and back
across the heather-clad hills his mood was again that
of the genial companion, and no word of his dread
scheme passed his lips till we were back in our sitting
room at “Springthorpe.' A coroneted envelope,
addressed to me as “Martin, Esq.,” lay on the table.
Herzog took it up, opened it as coolly as though it
had borne his own name, and, after reading the con-
tents, said quietly:
“An invitation for both of us to dine at 'Ardmore'
to-morrow night. On behalf of her father, Lady
Muriel is very pressing, you see. As you are getting
restive you shall have your way, my friend. Before
the entertainment is over you shall have your oppor-
tunity to lay his lordship’s proud head in the dust."


JANET'S NARRATIVE
CHAPTER XII
IN THE LONDON EXPRESS
HAVE been asked to set down here the ex-
I periences which I went through in those dark
days after Arthur's almost miraculous ap-
pearance at Totland, when I was already
mourning him as lost to me forever. I need not dwell
on the shock it was to meet him suddenly, in the com-
pany of that terrible Herzog, on the green walk over-
looking the sea amid a crowd of holiday-makers, or on
what happened subsequently down to my departure in
search of the mysterious Danvers Crane. Nor do I ask
your pity for a girl trying to stand between a brave,
true lover and a shameful death. That I know I shall
have in any case. But what I do implore is your for-
giveness for the stupid blunders that I made, and for
the nearly fatal mistake of underrating my oppo-
nent's dangerous cunning.
When this crisis swooped upon me I had seen very
little of what the world calls "life,” most of my time
95


IN THE LONDON EXPRESS
97
of Lord Alphington and Lady Muriel, walking away
from the steamer in which I had crossed the very
man to whom my vague suspicions pointed. He must
have come on board at the last moment, and have
kept out of my way during the passage and on the
landing-stage at Lymington. Why should he have
acted on such sudden impulse? To pit his cunning
against my feeble wits, and thwart the enterprise on
which I had embarked! That was the only construc-
tion that my brain could put upon it, and it appalled
while in some degree it cheered me. The correctness
of my surmise would be presumptive evidence of his
guilt.
‘Escaped murderer!" I exclaimed, pretending not
to take him seriously. “What should make you think
I had such morbid interests, Mr. Marske?”
He laughed harshly. “The subtle art of deduc-
tion," he said. “Your friend, Lady Muriel, was keen
on getting hold of the newspaper on the day I escort-
ed her down from London to the Isle of Wight-the
day after Rivington's escape-and she explained it
by telling me that it was a vicarious interest, don't
you know. A friend of hers was worrying about the
fellow, and as you have been so much with her lately,
I concluded it was you."
Thank God, not treachery, but only indiscretion, on
dear Muriel's part. I could never have forgiven her
if she had repeated the secret I had confided to her-
in this quarter of all others.
"It is certainly not in the direction of an escaped
murderer that my interest lies,” I said, accepting his
challenge in the emphasis I put on the important


98
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
adjective as I looked him full in the eyes. The mo-
ment the words had passed my lips I was conscious
of their rashness, inasmuch as they would confirm his
suspicion of my latent hostility. If this man was
really at the other end of the thin skein I held I had
most effectually put him on his guard.
But if that was the case, he at least showed no trace
of it. There was no alarm in the smile with which he
received my foolishly significant disclaimer, or in the
slight shrug of his well-knit shoulders. Dismissing
the subject with an airy wave of his hand, he asked if
I was going to London, and, if so, for how long. The
politeness of his words was belied by the insolence
of his eyes, but feeling that I had gone too far al-
ready, I answered carelessly:
“Yes, I am going to London-to look at a house
which my father is thinking of taking. But I hope to
be back at Totland Bay in a day or two."
He caressed his black mustache thoughtfully, and,
murmuring a few commonplaces about his pleasure
at my speedy return, he raised his hat and moved
away. A few minutes passed, and then the express
from Bournemouth to London rolled in, its two great
gilded Pullman coaches in the center.
I had a second-class ticket, and in an intuitive fear
that Mr. Marske might annoy me on the journey if I
gave him the chance, I entered a compartment in
which there was but one vacant seat. Turning to
close the door, I had reason to rejoice at my precau-
tion. Roger Marske had been close at my heels, and
the scowl on his fac was eloquent of his disappoint-
ment that the carriage was full.


IN THE LONDON EXPRESS
99
When the train started I surveyed my fellow pas-
sengers in a vain attempt to divine whether I was to
enjoy the security of their company for the whole
of the journey. The majority of them belonged to
the same party-father, mother, three daughters, and
a schoolboy. But though it was easy to gather from
their chatter that they were returning from a holiday
at Bournemouth, they made no mention of their desti-
nation. If they should get out at Southampton or
Basingstoke-the only two stoppages—there would
be plenty of room for Mr. Marske. If the remaining
three passengers got out too I should be alone with
him, were he to assail the compartment again.
The train sped through the bosky glades of the New
Forest, and, sure enough, at Southampton West the
paterfamilias and his brood filed out, leaving me in
fear that I was to be deserted except by two feeble
old ladies. The one remaining passenger, wearing,
as he did, a mercantile marine uniform, must cer-
tainly be booked for the great seaport. But, no;
when Roger Marske leaped into the compartment
just as the train began to glide from the station, the
sailor was still sitting motionless in his corner, his
head hidden by his newspaper. He would be avail-
able for protection, if protection should become nec-
essary.
Roger Marske, after a brief glance at the old ladies
and a longer scrutiny of the uniformed figure in the
corner, carried off his invasion of the compartment
with an impudent assumption of having been sepa-
rated from me at Brockenhurst as much to my cha-
grin as his own,


100
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
>>
“So sorry, Miss Chilmark, but you saw that my
defection was unavoidable-one of the mischances
of railway traveling in this benighted country," he
laughed as he took the seat opposite mine. "It is
better than I had hoped, however. I was afraid that
that happily-departed family battalion would deprive
me of your society all the way to town."
Now there were two things I was for the moment
dreading above all others-being left alone with this
man in a train that only stopped at long intervals,
and being followed by him when I left the terminus
at Waterloo. Unless the two old ladies and the sailor
all got out at Basingstoke, I was secure from the
former source of uneasiness, and I therefore thought
it wise to begin to prepare the ground for avoiding
the second and greater evil. On arriving in London I
wanted to go at once to the address in High Street,
Notting Hill, where, according to Sarah Leven, the
mysterious Danvers Crane had received Clara Riv-
ington's letters, but it was vitally imperative that I
should pursue that investigation without Roger
Marske's knowledge. If the detestable persistence
with which he had thrust his presence on me gave me
the opportunity of throwing dust in his eyes I should
not altogether regret his intrusion.
“As you are here I may as well make use of you,'
I said. “I came away in such a hurry that I had
no time to look out my route. How does one get from
Waterloo to the Harrow district?”
He appeared to weigh the question deeply, knitting
his brows at the landscape fleeting past the windows.
“It depends to some extent on where you are going


IN THE LONDON EXPRESS
101
to stay while you are in town,” he replied after a
pause. “You would wish to go there first, I presume,
to leave your luggage!"
This was turning the tables on me at the start, for
he asked the one piece of information which of all
the vital points in my armor of defense, this one of all
others I must conceal. I had intended to stay the
night at the house of an old servant who had set up
a lodging-house in Bloomsbury, but I would not tell
him that. My refuge must be kept sacred at the cost
of prevarication, if not of a downright lie. Surely
my cause-the cause of Arthur's safety- justified de-
ceit.
Inspired with a sudden idea, which would enable
me to blend truth with the requisite amount of men-
dacity, I replied: “I thought of going to the Great
Western Hotel at Paddington Station, but I have not
finally decided. That would be handy for Harrow,
would it not?'
He showed his white teeth in an enigmatic smile.
"Most convenient,” he said, eyeing me in the same
strange manner. “In that case all you have to do
is to drive from Waterloo to your hotel, and then go
on to your destination by the District Railway from
Praed Street,"
I thanked him as artlessly as I could, and changed
the subject to harmless topics, not at all confident
that I had deceived him as to the motive for my jour-
ney, and all the while oppressed with a sense that he
was waiting. Waiting for what? To murder me if I
was left alone with him at Basingstoke! If he was in
truth the subject of poor Clara Rivington's cabalistic


102
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
words, there would be nothing preposterous in my
apprehensions.
The clacking wheels formed a fitting accompani-
ment to the aimless chatter with which I tried to
cover my suspense, and then, all too soon, there was
a break in the rhythmical clang, and I knew that
steam was being shut off for the stop at Basingstoke.
Almost at the same moment, after the manner of
their kind, the two old ladies showed signs of agita-
tion. They jumped up and began to collect their
possessions from the rack, leaving no doubt that they
were about to quit the train. But the mercantile
marine officer sat motionless in his corner, and the
paper which had obscured his features, having
dropped to his knees, he was revealed as fast asleep.
As soon as the train drew up at the platform the
old ladies descended, but the sailor sat still, breathing
with the regularity of sound slumber. Five minutes
were allowed for refreshments, and I hoped against
hope that Mr. Marske would go to the buffet, and so
enable me, without need for excuse, to fly to another
carriage. But he retained his seat, staring blankly at
the bustle on the platform till four out of the five
minutes were gone and carriage doors began to slam.
Then he leaned over and tapped the sleeping man on
the knee.
"Pardon me, sir," he said as the sailor awoke with
a start. "It struck me that the attractions of the
drowsy god might be causing you to pass your desti-
nation. This is Basingstoke.”
The sleeper sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Basing-
stoke!” he cried with a stifled oath. “My ship sails


IN THE LONDON EXPRESS
103
at five this afternoon, and I ought to have got out at
Southampton."
"Your uniform half led me to fear that that might
be the case,” said Roger Marske politely, as the other
bundled out of the compartment, leaving me face to
face with the prospect of traveling a hundred miles
alone in the company of the man I already hated,
and was now beginning to fear.
A queer kind of magnetism compelled my gaze to
meet his, and something I saw there intensified that
vague fear into a sickly sensation of positive dread.
The feeling overmastered me and would not be de-
nied. I was slightly nearer to the door than he was,
and using that advantage I took him by surprise and
sprang out without a word of explanation. A moment
later I was paying the excess fare to the conductor
of the Pullman drawing-room car, and, as the train
started, I took my seat amid the populous security of
that luxurious vehicle.


CHAPTER XIII
MRS. WEBLEY'S FICKLENESS
W I kept my
HEN I left the train at Waterloo, though
I kept my eyes sharply about me, I saw
nothing of Roger Marske, and I proceeded
to put into practise the plan which I bad
conceived for obliterating my tracks, if, as was prob-
able, he should follow me.
Selecting a hansom with a speedy-looking horse and
a keen-faced driver, I bade the man take me to the
Great Western Hotel at Paddington. When we were
clear of the string of other cabs descending the station
incline into the Waterloo Road, I raised the flap and
asked the driver to take particular notice whether
we were being followed.
“Who'll be following you-a gentleman or a lady?"
asked the man, looking me over curiously, and a little
suspiciously, I thought, as he peered down from his
perch.
“A gentleman-in a light gray frock coat and a
Panama straw hat," I replied. "If he is following
me at all he will probably be in another hansom.”
“Right you are, miss. I'll give you the office if I
see him," and down came the flap.
-
104


MRS. WEBLEY'S FICKLENESS
107
and so down the stairs giving access to Paddington
Station. Going round to the arrival platform, I was
quickly ensconced in another cab, having, I fondly
believed, given my possible pursuer the slip.
At the corner of High Street, Notting Hill, I dis-
missed this second cab and set out on foot to find
Number 420. I had to walk a considerable distance
before I came to it, and then, just as I had expected,
it proved to be a small newsvendor's shop, with the
legend displayed in the window :
Letters can be called for or Forwarded.
Fee One Penny.
First ascertaining that the name of Webley was
still over the door, I crossed the dingy threshold into
an atmosphere charged with the pungent smell of
printers' ink. A stout woman, who had been knitting
behind the diminutive counter, rose at my entrance-
rose greedily, I thought, as though eager for custom.
To ingrátiate myself with her I bought a sixpenny
magazine and half-a-dozen penny periodicals, and
while completing the transaction I took stock of the
vendor.
It is not too much to say that I was unfavorably
impressed by Mrs. Webley's appearance, and still
more so by her manner. Casually glanced at she
might have been set down as a rather stupid, good-
natured mountain of female flesh, but when she was
analyzed more closely the impression faded, and you
became aware that it was solely due to her liberal
contour of face and form. The eyes, set very near


108
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
together, as if resenting the intervention of the bulky
nose, were small and red-rimmed, and though expres-
sionless by reason of never looking at you, on close
inspection shifted hither and thither like those of a
weasel. All the time Mrs. Webley's fat fingers were
pouncing on the papers I indicated, her eyes were
doing double duty, darting from about the level of my
chin to the necessary piles of literature, but never
rising to meet my gaze.
Not an engaging personality from whom to seek as-
sistance in a matter of life and death, nor a particu-
larly trustworthy one. Yet I had to take the plunge.
“You receive letters here," I said, counting out
some small change in payment for my purchases. "Do
you keep a register of those that are called for or for-
warded ?"
The woman raked in my money and dropped it coin
by coin into the till before answering.
“I suppose that's why you spent a shilling," she
said slowly; "to find that out. No, I don't keep a
register; and there's something else I don't do. I
don't give my customers away.
Her eyes managed to get to the level of my nose this
time, and then sank swiftly in an evident attempt to
appraise the well-worn but servicable coat and skirt I
was wearing. I saw her meaning. She thought I
meant to have letters addressed there, and she was
gauging my probable value to her from the black-
mailer's point of view, I should have been sorry for
any correspondence of mine to pass through that
harpy's hands.
Ignoring her profession of probity, I put another


MRS. WEBLEY'S FICKLENESS
109
question: "Can you give me the present address of a
Mr. Danvers Crane, who used to have his letters sent
here about two years ago ?”
The response was a blank shake of the head, accom-
panied by the resumption of her seat and her knitting.
“Come," I persisted. “I am willing to give you a
sovereign for the information, and I will promise not
to tell the gentleman where I obtained it."
I remembered within the next few days that when
I made the offer she looked up quickly, but that her
eyes, missing mine as usual, wandered past me to the
shop window. When she withdrew them after the
lapse of a minute and focused them as nearly as was
possible to her on my face, her manner had undergone
a complete change.
“Now you are talking business," she said briskly.
“If you will come back in half an hour I dare say I
shall have discovered what you want."
Having had nothing to eat since my early lunch at
Totland before joining the boat, I spent the interval
partaking of some tea and toast well made and served
at a confectioner's, and on presenting myself at Mrs.
Webley's again I found her still in a complacent
mood.
"Here is the address, though I don't know whether
the gentleman lives there still,” she said, handing me
a slip of paper in exchange for the sovereign which I
tendered so eagerly.
“Can you describe him?" I asked, pausing in the
doorway.
But without looking up, Mrs. Webley muttered to
her knitting that she could not do that, as she had


112
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
his real name, there should have been need for con-
cealment in his dealings with Mrs. Webley was beyond
my fathoming, and for the present I would not at-
tempt a solution. I would go on, along the only road
that had opened to me, on the chance of finding Roger
Marske at the end of it. I had lost count of time in
the whirl that had encircled me since my arrival at
Waterloo, but now I glanced at my watch and saw that
it was nearly seven o'clock. It was too late, with all
the will in the world, to think of going down to Essex
that day to an unknown destination, which might be
miles from the nearest station, and loth as I was to
lose any time in the furtherance of my task, I sought
an asylum for the night with our old cook in her
Bloomsbury lodging-house. That I received a warm
welcome, and lay awake till the small hours thinking
of Arthur in his terrible predicament in the company
of that hateful Herzog, are mere details which I have
no space to dwell upon.
I was up betimes in the morning, and, having
looked out my route on the previous evening, caught
an early train at Liverpool Street for Brentwood.
There I ascertained by inquiry at the station that
Chipping Wyvern was a mere hamlet three miles away
in the heart of the country. As it was a lovely sum-
mer day, and I wished to be free to make inquiries
before going to the Mill House, I obtained directions
from a friendly porter, and set off to walk the distance
at my best pace.
For a mile beyond the outskirts of the town I fol-
lowed the high road, but then I crossed a stile to avail
myself of a short cut that had been described to me.


IN PERIL BY DAY
113
Thence onward the path led through waving cornfields
and lush-green meadows till I found myself looking
down into a valley through which wound a tree-girt
stream.
Immediately below me lay a cluster of cottages,
which I recognized from the description as Chipping
Wyvern, but they were some little way from the
stream, nor was there any house among them where
a gentleman would be likely to reside or even to lodge.
Shifting my gaze to the left, however, I discerned the
peaked gables of a roof rising over the poplars half a
mile from the hamlet. A glint of silver among the
trees showed that the building stood on the bank, and
was probably the Mill House.
Descending the hillside, I struck a lane which
brought me to the cottages, and an inquiry at the first
one I came to proved the truth of my conjecture.
“I do hope you're going to take the Mill House,
miss," said the honest countrywoman who gave me
the information. “We want some gentlefolks in it
again to buy our eggs and poultry. There's been no
one living in it since four years come Christmas."
"Four years !” I exclaimed in astonishment. That
put the clock back to two years before Clara Rivington
had been posting letters to Mrs. Webley's to be for-
warded to Danvers Crane. It was inconceivable that
they should have been sent to an empty house.
“Yes, there's been no tenant in the Mill House all
that while,” the woman proceeded as if it were a
personal grievance. “The last was Sir Charles Dar-
lington, who took it while he had the Abbey Farm
shooting one season."


114
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
“Then it isn't furnished ?" I asked.
No, there was nothing in the house, my informant
said, and had not been since the few things Sir Charles
had hired in Brentwood had been removed at the end
of his tenancy, and she did not believe that it was
so much as locked up. If I wanted to look over it
I should probably be able to walk right in.
Thanking the woman, I continued my way along
the lane, determined, having come so far, to explore
the address given me by Mrs. Webley. I could not be-
lieve that that eminently business-like female, used as
she was to the forwarding of letters, could have made
a mistake, though why she should have purposely
sent me on a wild-goose chase was another shaft from
the quiver of mystery-tipped arrows which Fate
seemed to be aiming at me. And how, I asked myself,
supposing that Mrs. Webley desired to mislead me,
came she to have the name of a long unoccupied house
so pat to her requirements ?
No sense of personal danger to myself occurred
as I tried to solve the question while walking along
the lonely lane. All my indignation, if I had been
sent on a fool's errand, would be for the hindrance
it would be to Arthur's cause, but I do not think I
should have turned back could I have foreseen what
awaited me in the desolate building that now loomed
through the trees ahead. For then I should have
known that the errand might be that of a fool, but
that it led me far in the direction I wanted to go.
When I reached the palings separating the premises
from the road I saw that they consisted of two por-
tions-an ancient mill with granaries and store-rooms


IN PERIL BY DAY
115
attached, and a dwelling-house that had formerly been
the residence of the miller. The latter part of the
rambling pile was externally in a fair state of repair,
but the mill had been allowed to fall into the last
stages of decay. Of the motionless, weed-grown wheel
but a few rotting blades remained, the others having
dropped one by one, during half a century of disuse,
into the turbulent mill-race, whose waters sagged
and gurgled amid the slimy masonry.
Making my way along the neglected path through
the wilderness of a garden, I tried the front door, and,
as I had been led to expect, found it unfastened.
The sudden change from the sunlight of the June
day to the gloom of the dark passage blinded me for
the moment, but, wishing to be undisturbed, and
knowing that I should soon get accustomed to the
chastened light, I closed the door behind me and
walked at haphazard into a room on the left. Save
for the mouldy blind that veiled the window there
was nothing to be seen but the bare walls.
Returning to the passage, I went on to the room
behind on the same side, and I had no sooner opened
the door and stepped in than I experienced two sur-
prises in quick succession. The window in this apart-
ment was not only uncovered by a blind, but it was
wide open, and, leading to it in a straight track across
the dusty floor, there were the prints of a man's boots.
I had hardly begun to ask myself what this meant,
when, without any preliminary sound to warn me,
the room door was shut on me and the key was turned
in the lock.
Rushing to the window, I only needed a glance to


116
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
tell me that I was a prisoner. Swift and silent, flow-
ing with the strength of great depth toward the race,
the mill-stream actually washed the walls of the house,
cutting off all retreat.
I ran back to make a frantic but vain attack on the
locked door, and as my puny blows fell on the age-
blackened panels I distinctly heard a receding foot-
fall, soft and cat-like, in the passage outside.
Was my unseen captor going away without a word,
leaving me with the alternatives whether to starve
or drown?


CHAPTER XV
IN PERIL BY NIGHT
T
O say that I was alarmed by the sudden swoop
upon me of an unseen enemy at the Mill
House at Chipping Wyvern would fall very
short of describing my first sensations. I am
no heroine, and I have no desire to pose as one, but I
was really more angry than frightened for myself in
the minutes that succeeded my entrapment.
The mere fact of my having been entrapped showed
that I had been recognized by some one as a dangerous
adversary, and that some one could be no other than
Roger Marske. I had already reason to believe that
he suspected me of espousing Arthur's cause, and
though I had thought that I had shaken off his pur-
suit, the state of his conscience, if guilty, would ac-
count for his appearance on the scene to which my
in-
vestigations would lead me. Yet if this was so,
the
woman at the cottage must have been wrong in saying
that the Mill House had been so long unoccupied, and
Marske must have resided there, or had his letters
sent there, at a much later date than she had men-
tioned.
The logical conclusion that I had successfully estab-
lished a connection between Roger Marske and Clara
117


118
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
Rivington filled me with an elation which only wore
off when I saw how impotent I was to make use of it.
I should be just as dangerous to my captor a year
hence as to-day. My temporary detention would
yield him no security, and, lonely as was the situation
of the old house, he could not hope to keep me pris-
oner there forever. He must have followed or pre-
ceded me thither with the fell design of silencing me
once for all, and I was not intended to leave the place
alive.
I went back to the window in the hope that a closer
examination of my surroundings would reveal some
means of escape overlooked in my first alarm. But
no; the strong current of the mill-stream surged be-
neath me, the walls of the house seeming to rise from
the very brink of the natural bank. There was not
foothold for a mouse between the damp brick-work
and the fast-flowing flood, which would have carried
any but the strongest swimmer into the mill-race long
before the opposite bank, forty feet away, could be
reached. For me even the attempt was hopeless, for
I could not swim at all.
I turned my attention next to the more distant
prospect from the window, without meeting any en-
couragement there. From the opposite bank the
ground rose quickly, limiting my horizon to a hedge
which formed the sky-line two hundreds yards up the
hillside, and as the field was covered with growing
corn, scarcely yellowed as yet, no one to whom I
could appeal for assistance was likely to come within
hearing. A month later the harvesters would be busy
there, but where then should I be!


IN PERIL BY NIGHT
119
On the chance that there might be another window
parallel with that at which I stood, and to which at
the risk of drowning I could swing myself, and so
reach an unlocked room, I leaned out and scanned
the wall to the right of me. Yes, there was a window
-I could see its projecting sill—but it was so far
away as to preclude all idea of reaching it in safety.
I turned to the other side, and here, though there
was no window at all between me and the tumble-
down annex that had contained the machinery over
the water-wheel, my despairing scrutiny was arrested
by an object within touch of my hand. It was a
metal rain pipe, running down from the eaves into
the stream, and, as a forlorn hope, might be used as
a means for climbing to an upper window or to the
roof.
I was just twisting my body, so as to gaze upwards
along the course of the pipe, when a rushing wind
seemed to pass close to my face, and simultaneously
two sounds, the lesser almost drowned by the greater,
caused me to jump back into the room.
The one was
the splash of a bullet as it plunged into the mill-stream
below, the other was the report of a pistol fired from
the window immediately over me.
Some one, with murderous intent, had shot at me
from the room above. The rustic hamlet of Chipping
Wyvern did not seem such a harmless place as when
I had first looked down into the picturesque valley
an hour ago, I told myself hysterically, as I leaned
against the wall trying to save myself from fainting
with fear of that invisible foe upstairs.
The shock lasted longer than I liked, and when it


120
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
passed I knew for the first time in my life the meaning
of the word “nerves." I am ashamed to say that for
a little while the dread of present circumstances over-
mastered the greater tragedy of my lover's dire peril,
and the tremendous issues of which, apart from his
own danger, he was the focus. That I was only a
girl, shut up in a solitary house, uninhabited except
by myself and a ruthless assassin bent on taking my
life, must be counted to me as an excuse. For five
minutes I had no ears but for possible sounds in the
room overhead, no eyes but for the smiling cornfield
opposite the window.
But as I slowly recovered my scattered senses, and
with them my scanty stock of courage, I remembered
the trifling importance of my own danger compared
with the results dependent on my safety. If that
stealthy, lurking adversary succeeded in taking my
life, not only would Arthur be a doomed man, but on
his final repudiation of it some less scrupulous tool
would be found for carrying out the murderous plot
against the Prime Minister. The thought appalled
me—that my slender chance of escape was all that
stood to avert a great national calamity.
Not that I needed any such incitement to make me
strain every sense to ensure self-preservation. My
Arthur's liberty and good name demanded it, the
more so that my assailant's desperate endeavor to
silence me pointed to the guilt of the man with whom
Arthur's sister had corresponded through the medium
of the Notting Hill newsvendor. Actual proof, in-
deed, I had not yet obtained, even as to the identity
of “Danvers Crane," but that would be furnished by


IN PERIL BY NIGHT
121
the first glance I got of the man who had shot at me
from the upper window.
But how was I to free myself, and in such manner
that in gaining freedom I gained also a sight of my
enemy?
The thing seemed impossible. The room
door was of massive oak, but had it been the flimsiest
jerry-builder's article there was not a single piece of
furniture to use as a battering-ram. On the other
hand, the mill-stream presented an impassable bar-
rier, to say nothing of the certainty that I should be
fired upon again if I so much as put my head out of
the window. For one wild moment I thought of the
chimney, but inspection showed it to be impracticable.
On one point only could I congratulate myself-
that if I could not get away, neither, unless he had a
boat, of which there was no sign, could my would-be
slayer get at me, The stream, while it was my
obstacle, was also my safeguard on one side, and on
the other a pair of stout bolts kept him out. Per-
ceiving them when the door had first been shut on me,
I had promptly shot them home in their sockets.
On my remembering that first thrill of discovery
that I was not alone in the house, the question
occurred: why had not the wretch killed me when he
stole to the door to close and lock it? I had been
within a few feet of him then, with my back to the
door. The answer, to my mind, seemed a simple one,
and confirmatory of my suspicions. He had not used
his pistol on me then because, with all the chances in
his favor, there was yet the one chance of his missing
me-a risk he dared not run, because if I saw him I
should recognize him. If he had missed me and I had


122
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
name.
leaped through the window into the river there would
have been the remote possibility of my survival, and
my survival under those circumstances would have
meant his ruin.
I was convinced that his present intention was to
kill me without giving me the opportunity of seeing
him, and unless he grew reckless after his initial
failure, I might die in ignorance of my murderer's
That he had passed under that of “Danvers
Crane" was morally certain, that his real name was
Roger Marske was more than likely, but I could not
know these things as knowledge is counted in a court
of law. A hostile barrister would have called such
knowledge as I possessed mere guess work and surmise.
The minutes passed slowly, and still not a sound
came from overhead or from the interior of the house.
Outside in the sunshine, over the waving corn, the
larks were singing merrily, insects hummed in the
lazy air, and the cool gurgle of water came from the
piles of the old mill. But inside that grim abode all
was silence- the kind of silence that is too quiet for
peace of mind when you know that under the same
roof there is some one who wishes you dead.
The minutes grew into hours, and the lengthening
shadows of evening found me still standing in the
bare, unfurnished room, listening for sounds that
never came. I began to wonder whether Mr. “Dan-
vers Crane" had fallen back on slow starvation as a
better weapon than his pistol, and I was glad that
for a little while I could thwart that amiable inten-
tion, thanks to a packet of sandwiches that I had
brought. It is true that I was very thirsty, and I


IN PERIL BY NIGHT
123
would have given every coin in my purse for a cup
of tea, but there was relief in the thought that he
might have gone away and left his murderous work to
“natural causes.” Mother Nature in her sternest
mood was like to be kinder than such as he.
And then, when the birds had ceased to sing and
the shadows had deepened into twilight, I was made
suddenly aware that I was not alone in the Mill
House after all that the invisible one had not gone
away, but was horribly, cruelly active. The first sign
I had of his presence was a sort of "swishing" noise
in the passage close to the door, ceasing as suddenly
as it began. I was wondering if my ears had de-
ceived me, when it came again after a few minutes'
interval, and so keenly were my nerves attuned now
to danger that I could as good as see what was going
on at the other side of the door. Some one was piling
up straw and brushwood, with a view to setting fire
to the house.
This conjured-up horror became terrible reality
almost as soon as I pictured the invisible fiend at his
ruthless work. A faint crackle reached my straining
ears-a crackle that with every fleeting second grew
in volume, till smoke, pouring through the crevices
of the door, left no doubt of the fate awaiting me
if I remained five minutes longer in the doomed
chamber.
But even at that awful moment a triumph compen-
sated me in some measure for the ordeal I was under-
going—the triumph so dear to a woman's heart, which,
in happier circumstances, she phrases in the well-worn
commonplace: "I told you so."


124
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
Above the hiss and roar of the now raging flames
a man shouted from further down the passage:
“Good-bye, Miss Chilmark! The choice is with you
- fire or water. So much for uncalled-for interfer-
ence."
That vindictive speech was my justification, for the
voice was the voice of Roger Marske, and I knew that
I had rightly solved the meaning of Clara Rivington's
last utterance.
I made no answer, and the sound of his steps re-
ceding quickly, followed by the slamming of the front
door, told me that he had fled from the scene of his
crime.


CHAPTER XVI
A PEACE MAGISTRATE
UT my triumph would be a barren one in-
B deed if I stood there till the devouring flames
broke in upon me, and in my extremity I
ot
turned to my last resource, the waste-water
pipe running down past the window. If I could gain
the room above there would be no risk of meeting
Roger Marske there now, and I might be able to escape
through the house before it was fully alight.
With my penknife I cut the cord from the window
blind, and, reaching from the window, made a loose
slip-knot round the pipe. The other end I fastened
to my wrist to give me confidence in my climb. Then,
with an unspoken prayer, I clambered out on to the
sill, and, not daring to look down at the dark waters
below, I swung from my foothold to the frail support
of the metal tube. It rattled and swayed ominously
under the grasp of my fingers and the clutch of my
knees, and every instant I feared that it would drag
the holdfasts from the decayed mortar, carrying me
with it into the oily flood beneath. But I kept on
and upward, thankful that girls have muscles now-
adays, and at last I flung myself through the luckily
125


126
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
open window of the room from which Marske had
tried to shoot me.
The room was full of smoke, warning me, as did
the roar of flames in the lower part of the house, not
to try to recover my breath till I was clear of the
burning building. Rushing through on to the land-
ing, I found the front stairs burning fiercely, but I
discovered a second staircase, little better than a lad-
der, which brought me to a kitchen, whence an un-
locked door gave on to a yard. Hardly knowing how
I got there, I eventually staggered out into the lane,
just as the flames licked through the front windows,
and the Mill House from foundation to roof was
illumined in a lurid glow.
I had no apprehension that Roger Marske would
be lurking near the scene of his villainy, but the glare
in the sky would assuredly bring some of the nearest
dwellers upon the spot before long, and I had no de-
sire to be detained and questioned then. The burning
of the Mill House and the attempt on my life were
minor details of the far graver accusation which I be-
lieved myself to be now in a position to bring against
Roger Marske, and I wished to lose not a moment in
doing so. Arthur's salvation, I was convinced, de-
pended on my striking at the real criminal before the
latter learned of my escape, and to achieve that end I
must make myself scarce before the arrival of spec-
tators.
These would come from the hamlet of Chipping
Wyvern, through which I had passed in the morning,
and as I should probably be recognized as the person
who had inquired for the Mill House, I set off in the
1


A PEACE MAGISTRATE
127
opposite direction. It was nearly dark, my watch
telling me that it was just nine o'clock.
Stumbling along the stony lane, I tried to formu-
late my plans, and here my inexperience, fortified by
impatience for my lover's safety, led me into a grave
error of judgment. I had reached a point in my in-
vestigation where I should have obtained trustworthy
counsel from some barrister who could give practical
advice. The wisest course would have been to take
train for London and confide all that happened to the
solicitor who had defended Arthur at the trial. In-
stead of that, I hesitated between going straight to
the police and laying an information with a magis-
trate.
After walking for over a mile, the lane brought me
into a broad high road, and here, after another quar-
ter of an hour's tramp, chance took a hand in settling
the vexed question for me. I came to the lodge gates
of what was evidently a large mansion, and as a light
streamed from the open door of the lodge I stopped to
ask my way to Brentwood.
“A matter of four miles yonder,” replied an old
man from the chimney corner, indicating the direction
from which I had come.
So I had got to trudge four weary miles before I
could disclose to official ears the tremendous secret
I was carrying. I had worked myself up to think that
when the authorities heard my story, a mere stroke
of the pen, or some equally facile method, would rein-
state Arthur and put Roger Marske in his place. It
was galling to have to wait an hour before utilizing my
experiences, and, the second alternative occurring to


128
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
me, I asked: “Can you tell me where the nearest
magistrate lives ?”
The old lodgekeeper blinked at me queerly as he
replied: “You'll be a stranger, then, I reckon. Ivery
one knows as the master be Cheerman. Not a com-
mon five shillings the week beak, but Cheerman o'
Quarter Sessions,” he added proudly. And he
pointed a palsied finger to the lights of the great house
among the trees.
Thanking him for his information, I set off along
the carriage drive, and it was not till I had traversed
three parts of it and was leaving the park for the
pleasure gardens that I remembered that I ought to
have inquired his master's name. Not of real impor-
tance, perhaps, but useful in gaining admission.
However, the latter necessity was not to arise. As I
approached the portico I caught the scent of a cigar,
and, glancing at the lawn in front of the mansion,
saw the stooping figure of a tall man in evening dress
shown
up in the light that came from an open French
window.
He must have been watching my arrival, for he
came quickly forward with, I could not help thinking,
an undue eagerness for such a magnate as his retainer
had described him. But the next moment, in a high-
pitched, authoritative voice, he gave a simple explana-
tion for his curiosity.
“You are the young woman from the post-office,
and have a telegram for me, eh?” he inquired as he
stepped from the grass onto the gravel. And he held
out his hand for the non-existent message.
“No," I answered; “I do not come from the post-


A PEACE MAGISTRATE
129
office. I was given to understand at the lodge that
you are a magistrate, and I want to speak to you on
most important business-swear an information, I
think it is called."
An exclamation that sounded like annoyance
escaped him, but he atoned for it by a polite gesture
toward the open French window. I could only see
him indistinctly in the blend of dying daylight and
a rising moon, yet I gathered an impression of capa-
bility, and the custom of command, tempered by age.
"If you will be so good as to step in here,” he said,
leading the way, "we shall save the servants the
trouble of answering the door. This is my justice-
room, but I also use it for smoking purposes after
dinner."
In the gloom of the garden I had taken him for a
country gentleman, disappointed that I was not the
bearer of a telegram announcing the result of some
race in which he was interested. Here, in the shaded
lamplight of the luxurious apartment, I at once recog-
nized my mistake. He to whom I was about to im-
part my accusation against Roger Marske was no
sportsman in the usual acceptance of the term. He
was an old man with a sallow, unwholesome complex-
ion, suggestive of late hours and life in cities, his
burning eyes under the cavernous brows alone having
defied physical decay.
These he fixed upon me in a searching gaze as he
seated himself at a great pedestal table, and I at once
remembered what till now in my excitement I had
forgotten-that my appearance after the climb up the
stack-pipe could be none of the tidiest.


130
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
“You look as if you had met with ill-treatment.
You wish to prefer a charge of assault?” he inquired
sharply, taking up a pen and drawing paper toward
him.
“I wish to prefer a charge of murder, and also of
attempted murder, against one Roger Marske," I
answered him eagerly.
Slowly, very slowly, he replaced the pen in the tray,
and, joining the tips of his fingers, bent his chin to
them as he surveyed me with a perfectly sphinx-like
countenance. The scrutiny lasted a full minute.
“Of murdering, and of attempting to murder whom,
do you accuse- this person?” he inquired presently,
in a tone that sounded unpromising. It was not alto-
gether incredulous, but there was a hostile ring in it
that jarred, I knew not why. In putting the ques-
tion he worked his face in a curious contortion that
was hardly a smile, and I saw that his few remaining
teeth were sharp and yellow, like an aged dog's fangs.
“I accuse him of murdering a young lady named
Clara Rivington and her mother," I replied, ignoring
the second and less material half of his question for
the present. "The matter is urgent, because a per-
fectly innocent man has been convicted of the crime,
and will be-will be hanged if he is recaptured," I
added, nearly breaking down.
“Recaptured ! The convict's name?" demanded
the magistrate in his high-pitched treble, shooting a
glance at me that boded ill for my cause.
“Arthur Rivington—the prisoner who escaped from
Winchester Jail. You must have heard of it," said
I; and then a great fear seized me that he would


A PEACE MAGISTRATE
131
ask me if I had met or communicated with Arthur
since his escape. I should have to lie if he did, for
I could not confess to this strange-mannered, un-
sympathetic old man that I had seen my lover. For
the same reason my lips were sealed about the plot
against Lord Alphington, which alone I could have
learned from Arthur. Doubtless my name and address
would be taken; it would be known that I had come
from Totland Bay, and if I told of my interview with
Arthur he would be traced thither before his safety
was assured. But I was not called upon to lie.
“Yes," replied my interrogator drily, “I have
heard of the case. Now be so good as to lay your
information against this other one, who, according
to this extraordinary story of yours, ought to be in
the convict's shoes.”
So I took a step nearer to the table and poured out
my story-how I had formed the theory that Clara
Rivington's last words indicated the name of her
murderer, how I had started out to trace the myste-
rious "Danvers Crane," and how the person whose
name of Marske had inspired the idea had followed
and lain in wait for me at the address which I had
connected with "Danvers Crane."
The old man ran his delicate fingers through the
scanty hairs on his forehead and regarded me with
keen comprehension. “Then Roger Marske was at
your point of departure on
departure on this extraordinary
errand ?” he asked.
“Yes," I answered, seeing no harm in the admis-
sion. This country justice of the peace could not
possibly be aware that Arthur was in the Isle of


132
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
Wight, I told myself, any more than he could have
known of Roger Marske's presence there.
“And where did the chase end?” he went on.
“Where did this strenuous villain, as you describe
him, lie in wait for you?"
“At the Mill House at Chipping Wyvern, which
is even now on fire through his attempt to burn me in
it," I replied.
I had made an impression at last. The old man
half rose from his chair, his lips twitching and his
blue-veined fist clenched in a gesture of menace which
it was impossible to account for. Could it be that
he resented my having brought such an unsavory
business so close to his own domain?
"The Mill House at Chipping Wyvern. Then
where is "he was beginning to shrill at me, when
a tap at the door checked him. A footman in a plain
but handsome livery entered, but paused irresolute on
seeing me. His action was unusual for one of his
class, yet when illumined by the message he bore
seemed fully explained to me. With a gesture of im-
patience, such as he had shown when meeting me on
the lawn, the magistrate spoke.
“Well, Sanders, what is it?" his master asked
sharply.
“I beg pardon, Sir Gideon, but Mr. Roger has ar-
rived from London and sent me to see if you were in
your room,” was the reply that set my knees trembling
as they had never trembled before throughout that
fateful day. In ignorance I had made an official con-
fidant of the father of the man I came to charge. This
was Sir Gideon Marske, the well-known Cabinet Min-


THE TUBE OF ATROPINE
135
tated departure of Roger Marske by the same boat as
Janet, had kept me tossing in anxiety for my brave
girl till dawn, and now as the slow day wore on I
could hardly contain myself.
I wondered if Colonel Chilmark, whose querulous
tones in conversation with the landlady often reached
me from the opposite sitting-room, had heard from his
daughter. There would have been plenty of time for
her to notify her safe arrival in London so as to reach
her father by first post.
“This is deadly dull,” I said, affecting a yawn
toward luncheon time, when Herzog was hard at it
translating one of his cipher telegrams. “Would
there be any objection to my going and having a yarn
with that old Colonel over the way! You can keep
your eye on the front door, to see that I don't bolt."
My companion looked round from his occupation
at the table in the window, squaring his broad
shoulders to get a better view of me as I lounged
against the mantelpiece. His eyes pierced like gim-
lets, but something of the sternness passed from them
before he spoke.
“My friend,” he said, “you are not in social mood;
neither, I expect, is Colonel Chilmark, after being de-
serted by his charming daughter. It will be better
for both of you if you remain where you are. Take
comfort by the fact that I shall relieve your boredom
by occupying your attention very fully after lunch."
I dared not press the matter, never knowing how far
this human enigma had penetrated into my inmost
soul. He turned to his work again, and having
handed his reply-telegram to the waiting messenger,


136
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
smoked in silence till Mrs. Krance appeared with the
luncheon tray.
The meal over, Herzog surprised me with the pro-
posal that we should go out in a boat, my astonishment
being greater when, after descending to the beach, he
declined the services of the owner of the craft he
hired.
"My friend will row me about, and as we shall not
go far from the shore you need be under no appre-
hension for us or for your boat,” he said to the boat-
man. “I am his doctor, and I prescribe the exercise
for him.'
Motioning me to take the oars, he sat in the stern,
and when we had pushed off his explanation was forth-
coming. “Walls and hedges have ears, and I have
instructions to give which must not be overheard,”
he said in a low voice. “Keep away from the pier
and avoid other boats while I school you to win your
freedom."
Pulling clear of the youths and maidens in canoes,
and threading a course through the yacht anchorage,
I swung to the left and bore away to shelter under
the shadow of the cliffs, where we were in comparative
seclusion. Herzog, whose eyes and ears had been
for surroundings, now concentrated his attention on
me, and it must have occurred to him that it is diffi-
cult to study the physiognomy of a man rowing a
broad-beamed wherry with a stout passenger in the
stern.
"Let her drift a little, and look at this,” he said.
He referred to a pill-box which he took from his
waistcoat pocket, removing the lid and holding it


THE TUBE OF ATROPINE
137
toward me. It was nearly full of cotton wool, on
which lay a tiny tube of india-rubber. “Take it care-
fully, it is a very delicate contrivance," he added.
Holding the box in the palm of my hand, I saw
that the tube was bulbed at one end, after the fashion
of the “release" of the pneumatic shutter of a snap-
shot camera. The whole thing was very small, not
more than half an inch long.
“Looks like a sort of squirt. What am I to do
with it?" I asked, more than half guessing its deadly
purpose.
“That tube contains, in solution, a grain of
atropine, as you are probably aware, a most potent
and instantaneous poison," Herzog replied, watching
me intently. “When we are sitting over our wine
with Lord Alphington to-night you will find or make
an opportunity for squeezing it into his wine-glass.
He will be a dead man in two minutes, and unless you
bungle the operation no suspicion will rest on you
till after the autopsy. You will be there, remember,
as an honored guest, who three days ago saved Lady
Muriel's life at the risk of your own.”
"It sounds easy,” I said, stifling my nausea with
an effort, and pretending deep interest in the tube.
“It is easy; I have made it so intentionally, Riving-
ton, because you must forgive me for saying that I
miss something in you which your reputation had led
me to expect-the power of initiation."
I forced a laugh, trying to make it cynical. “You
are quite fatherly in your solicitude, but I do not
think that you will find that I shall bungle the ad-
ministration of his lordship's dose," I replied. And


138
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
then, well knowing that there would be no need for
the information, but to deceive him, I added : “And
where do I come in? What arrangements have you
made for me to get away, which, after all, is the
essence of our contract?”
“The safest and surest arrangements," he said.
“We shall return to our lodgings, after the proper
condolences; you will take the first train from Fresh-
water to Cowes in the morning, cross to Southampton,
and be on board the Royal Mail steamer that sails for
South American ports in the afternoon, with two
hundred pounds in your pocket."
For answer I shut down the lid of the pill-box and
placed it in my vest pocket. Then, resuming the oars
on which I had rested, I pulled slowly toward the
shore, hoping that the significance of my action had
been misunderstood in the way I wished. I gained
the impression that it had, for Herzog nodded his
satisfaction and allowed me to retain the box.
It was still in my pocket when, some hours later,
we quitted our lodgings and walked round to "Ard-
more” in the gathering dusk to keep our dinner en-
gagement. Under the lamp opposite the entrance
gates Herzog plucked the sleeve of my dress coat and
came to an abrupt halt.
“One moment, I want to look at that thing," he
said.
Cold beads of perspiration broke out on my fore-
head, but I produced the box and stood with quaking
knees while he examined the little syringe. The
grunt with which he returned it told me nothing. It
was one of the mystifying oddities of my guardian


THE TUBE OF ATROPINE
139
sphinx. Most men give vent to a muttered ejacula-
tion, an intonation betraying the hidden thought
within, be it of approbation or disgust. But Herzog's
real sentiments were beyond fathoming.
“Is it all right-in good working order?” I asked,
feeling constrained to say something.
“Quite right,” he answered, glancing at me curi-
ously in the lamplight. “Come along, or we shall
keep our noble host and hostess waiting."


CHAPTER XVIII
SLEIGHT OF HAND
W
HEN Lord Alphington's butler announced
us as “Mr. Martin and Doctor Barrables”
at the drawing-room door, and Lady Muriel
and the greatest servant of the King came
forward to welcome the escaped convict, I had no
thought for the grim humor of the situation. For the
moment even I had no thought for myself, or of the
cataclysm I was supposed by my companion to be
there to bring about. I was more concerned to see
if Roger Marske had returned from his dangerous
proximity to Janet in London. A swift glance round
showed that he was not in the apartment.
The sonorous tones of the Premier recalled me to
a sense of present surroundings and to the vital neces-
sity for all-round deception. I almost felt Herzog's
eyes burning on the nape of my neck.
“In such a debt as you have laid on me, Mr. Martin,
words count for little,” said Lord Alphington, warmly
gripping my hand. “I should like to do something.
But there, you are a rich man, I am told, with no pre-
occupations beyond your health, and I must content
myself with conventional thanks."
140


SLEIGHT OF HAND
141
Gracious Heaven! Do something for me? If he
would only take the noose from round my neck and
restore my honor, was my unspoken thought, as I
murmured a feeble reply.
With ready tact he passed on to Herzog after a
minute's chat, which his quick intuition must have
told him was for some reason painful to me, and I
was taken in charge by Lady Muriel, who made much
of me, and was much concerned lest I should have
taken harm by my immersion. Sympathetic as she
was, I was conscious that she was a little distrait.
Her eyes kept wandering to the door, and I guessed
that our dinner party was not complete. Some one
else was expected, and my mind again reverted to
Roger Marske. Somehow I could think of nothing
that night but that Janet and he had gone away in
the same steamer with, if my sweetheart's theory was
right, diametrically opposite interests at stake. I
have often speculated since whether animal mag-
netism, or some such influence, was at work upon me,
inspiring the instinct that these two were under the
same roof and she in dire peril.
It was not Roger Marske whom the butler presently
ushered in, but, had it been, the name as it left his
lips could hardly have caused me a greater shock.
“Mr. Ralph Carden,' was the announcement which
drew my gaze to the door in consternation, and told
me that I stood on the verge of discovery. Yes, there
was no shadow of doubt about it. The well-knit,
sunburnt young fellow who entered was the same
Ralph Carden who had joined the Royal Military
Academy at Woolwich in my last term there. That


SLEIGHT OF HAND
143
actually recognized me, he had been struck by my
likeness to the now notorious “murderer."
Dinner was announced at that moment, and, as the
honor of escorting Lady Muriel was allotted to me
as the guest of the evening, the immediate tension
was relieved. Only, however, to be diverted into
another channel, for we were scarcely seated at table
when Lady Muriel confided to me that she had had
two dull days because her dear friend Miss Chilmark
had been compelled to go to London unexpectedly.
"And Roger-you must have missed Roger," Lord
Alphington chimed in rather anxiously, I thought.
“Can't imagine what possessed the fellow to run off
like that. He had no notion of it, I am sure, when
he came down to the pier to meet me. His excuse
of a telegram calling him away won't wash. No
telegram was brought to him in the interval between
my landing and his bolting off so unceremoniously
as we were walking up."
“Mr. Marske's goings and comings are beyond me.
I cannot say that I have missed him," was the re-
joinder of Lady Muriel, which brought a frown to her
father' brow, and such a pleased flush to Ralph
Carden's cheek that even then, in my sore distress,
I began to guess how matters were between these
two young people.
From the general conversation that ensued I gath-
ered that Carden was serving as a lieutenant in one
of the batteries of Garrison Artillery stationed at
Golden Hill Fort-the headquarters of the coast de-
fense in that part of the island. His presence at the
Premier's table was accounted for by the fact that he


144
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
was a distant connection, his mother residing in the
"dower-house" on one of Lord Alphington's country
estates. From the mutual reminiscences they ex-
changed, Lady Muriel and he had evidently known
each other from childhood,
Herzog was very silent during dinner, playing the
part of medical attendant to a wealthy invalid to
perfection. What little he said was to the point, but
not calculated to attract attention. It struck me
that he was aiming at effacing himself, so that in the
tragedy which he believed my waistcoat pocket to
hold he might be forgotten.
“And pray, Mr. Martin,” said Lord Alphington,
turning to me presently with stately politeness, "what
is your county when you are at home! I understand
that you are not a permanent resident in this charm-
ing spot."
Herzog's foresight had provided for this emergency,
and I was fairly ready with the reply that I lived in
London the greater part of the year--a wide gener-
ality which my host's indifference, or politeness, de-
terred him from pressing to a conclusion. It was
reserved for Ralph Carden to try to tempt me into
particulars, and he did it with a clumsy eagerness,
suggesting that he had been waiting his chance.
"If you will be there in October, and will give me
your address, I should much like to call upon you,
he said, fixing those honest eyes of his on me from
across the circular table.
Once again Herzog's previous prompting met the
emergency and prevented any inconvenient research
in the London Directory. “It is very doubtful if I


SLEIGHT OF HAND
145
shall be in town in October," I replied, shuddering
at the painful truth of the remark.
"But if you are?” demanded my inquisitor, with
a rude persistence that caused Lady Muriel to turn
and look at him, and Lord Alphington to elevate his
patrician brows.
"In that case I shall probably be found at the
Savoy Hotel; I have no permanent residence at pres-
ent,” was my answer, uttered in the full knowledge
that it must have sounded odd, and that had I been
there otherwise than as the preserver of my beautiful
young hostess I should have been regarded as an
undesirable acquaintance. As it was, my privilege
saved me from any overt unpleasantness of the kind,
except that Carden, who had leaned forward to ques-
tion me, sat back now, bolt upright, and looked hard
at me before going on with his dinner.
It mattered not one jot to me, but socially I must
have seemed a dismal failure to Lord Alphington
and his daughter, and I have no doubt that they were
making notes to that effect, while, minute by minute,
the time drew near for me to face the crisis of the
evening. That crisis came all too quickly with the
rising of Lady Muriel, who, as she left the dining-
room, flung back to us the laughing command not to
leave her alone too long.
When we drew together over the decanters, the
butler and footman having departed, our disposition
at the table was thus: I sat on Lord Alphington's
right, Carden on his left, and Herzog on Carden's
left, with a long gap between him and me. The
result was that my actions could not be closely


146
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
watched by Carden, but that Herzog, who was nearly
opposite to me at the small round table, had me en-
tirely under his observation.
The arrangement suited me admirably, for it miti-
gated a danger which had been entirely unforeseen
when I entered the house. I had not expected to
meet there a man who suspected my identity as Car-
den evidently did, and whose suspicions would almost
certainly become open denunciation if he saw what I
was about to do. It was a relief, therefore, to have
Carden so placed that, with the Premier between us,
I was comparatively hidden from him. As for Her-
zog, I asked for nothing better than that he should
note my every action.
Lord Alphington passed the wine and pushed a
couple of cigar boxes about, making conversation the
while with the cheerful air of one who is performing
a duty that will soon be over. He was glad, no
doubt, that I had saved his daughter from drowning,
and was honestly anxious to be civil to me, but he
would have found the process more congenial if I
had been-well, not preoccupied with the necessity
of prolonging my life by squirting something into
his glass.
The opportunity arrived when, having helped him-
self, he turned slightly to Carden to pass the decanter,
at the same time asking his young relative's opinion
of the wine. I had already removed the lid of the
pill-box in my pocket, and now, quickly withdrawing
the rubber tube, I stretched out the hand in which I
held it concealed, as though to take a pear from a
dish in the center of the table. In doing so my hand



“ It Will Be Safer in My Possession.”
(Page 147)
-


SLEIGHT OF HAND
147
traveled directly over my host's glass, and during its
passage I squeezed the bulb, meeting Herzog's inscru-
table gaze as I did so.
The next moment Herzog's face went ashy gray.
By some nervous mischance I dropped the murderous
contrivance into the dish of fruit. I made a frantic
effort to recover it, but Carden forestalled me. His
hand shot out and his sinewy fingers closed on the
syringe while I was still fumbling. He began to ex-
amine it keenly, but Herzog had managed to pull
himself together.
“I will trouble you to hand me that little instru-
ment, Mr. Carden, please, ” he said, with cool delibera-
tion. “It will be safer in my possession than in Mr.
Martin's. He will be the first to thank me for re-
lieving him of it, for it is my duty, undertaken at his
own request, to see that he does not indulge in a
certain small failing of his."
Looking puzzled, Carden reluctantly complied with
the demand. Lord Alphington, hospitably sorry that
a guest should be so branded as a narco-maniac, cov-
ered my confusion with a series of grunts, and then
sought consolation for the contretemps by draining
his glass to the dregs.


AN UNWITTING CHAMPION
149
afterward, but I was fighting for my life hour by
hour till Janet's return, and every minute gained
was of untold value.
I argued that my terrible custodian could not, for
considerations of his own safety, reveal my identity
there, if he ever did it directly at all. He would have
to do it in such a way as not to implicate himself,
and that could not be so long as he was avowedly my
companion. If he was accused of nothing more
heinous, he would at least be held guilty of aiding
my escape from prison.
I wondered further at his marvelous concealment
of emotion when a quarter of an hour had elapsed
and the Premier chatted on, in no way the worse for
my bungling effort of jugglery. Well, Herzog would
take it out of me later, no doubt, when we had retired
from this august but farcical entertainment. In the
meanwhile, my pretended compliance might have
gained time for Janet's success.
As I sat taking an idiotic part in the perfunctory
conversation necessary for the consumption of Lord
Alphington's usual modicum of port, I was more
seriously concerned with Ralph Carden's attitude.
There lay my most imminent danger. He sat for the
most part silent, and when he spoke at all it was to
his noble relative on some subject of private interest.
The great man himself was probably too bored to
notice the electrical tension among his guests, but so
marked was Carden's refusal to hold converse with
Herzog or myself that I fully expected to spend that
night in jail and to be delivered to the hangman on
the morrow.


150
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
Not even Herzog's ingenuity could keep up the
masquerade much longer, I was assured.
For all my preparedness I could not repress a start
when the crisis came, as it did shortly after we entered
the drawing-room. Lord Alphington had said good-
night and had retired to the library on the plea of
important business to attend to with a private secre-
tary, who had just arrived. Lady Muriel was chatting
to Herzog, who, to my surprise, had put himself in
her way on entering the room; I was standing at an
open French window, looking out over the moonlit
sea;
and before I turned my back on the room Carden
had been examining some photographs at the table.
Suddenly a light tap on the shoulder caused me
to wheel round and face him. He had quitted his
purposeless occupation and had come forward to set
at rest the question that had vexed him. The way
in which he looked at me was in itself an accusation.
It was difficult to believe that a face so boyishly
good-humored could have grown so grave and stern.
“I want a word with you, ” he said peremptorily.
“Shall it be here, or shall we step into the garden ?”
“Here, by all means. There is too heavy a dew
to make it pleasant on the grass in thin shoes," I
answered carelessly, affecting to ignore the offensive
intention of his tone.
“Well, then, to put it straight, I don't believe your
name is Martin,” he blurted out. “I once knew some
one exactly like you, who ought to be in a very differ-
ent place from this. Carry your memory back to
Woolwich ten years ago. You are Arthur"
And then, before he could utter my name and set


152
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
Carden, maintaining his vigilant attitude toward me.
"From the published accounts of the trial I should
not think there was a shadow of a doubt about his
guilt.”
“I have never seen Captain Rivington, but I know
the girl he was engaged to, and from what she tells
me there must have been a grievous miscarriage of
justice," was the reply, for which I could have kissed
the hem of Lady Muriel's pretty dinner dress. It
was like balm to an open wound-that first word of
human sympathy, except Janet's, that had come to
me since my arrest.
"They don't make such mistakes in courts of jus-
tice nowadays,” said Ralph Carden, a little doubt-
fully. He was moved, I really began to hope, by the
vigorous advocacy of the woman he loved.
“I shouldn't like to think, Ralph, that you were as
uncharitable as Mr. Marske; he won't listen to a word
on Captain Rivington's behalf," my fair young cham-
pion went on hotly. “For myself, I cannot and will
not believe that a bad man could have inspired such
tender trust and unshaken love as Ja-I mean, my
friend, has for that unfortunate. But you have not
told me what sort of a fellow Rivington was at Wool-
wich?"
Carden had, perhaps unconsciously, relaxed his
close watch on me at the mention of Roger Marske.
His rival's view of the case seemed to demand op-
position, even at the sacrifice of common sense and
preconceived opinions, and the admission he now
made showed that he might range himself in my camp
after all.


AN UNWITTING CHAMPION
153
“I shouldn't like to be unfair to the chap," he
said more gently. "He was a goodish bit older than
me, and left the Academy shortly after I joined, but
I remember that he was kind toward the youngsters,
and an all-round sportsman at football and cricket.'
“There! that bears out what my friend says,'
cried Lady Muriel triumphantly. “Does your de-
scription tally with that of a man who would kill his
mother and sister for gain? A hundred times no,
and I shall be ashamed of you, Ralph, if you don't
take my side about him when Mr. Marske returns."
Carden colored slightly and shot a glance at me,
which he instantly averted when he saw how I was
hanging upon his answer. “We will see about that,"
he laughed constrainedly. “Not that either your
championship or mine is likely to do Rivington any
good, especially as he has got away to America, but
I'll go so far as this-I hope they won't catch him.
Now sing us something, Muriel, and forget all these
horrors."
As though to give effect to his dismissal of the sub-
ject he started to saunter to the piano, but I followed,
and, touching him on the arm, said in a low tone:
“When Lady Muriel interrupted us the discussion
which you had invited was reaching rather an inter-
esting point. Hadn't you better continue it?"
He swung round and faced me fairly. I detected
no apology, but a trace of pity in the frank eyes.
“Would it serve any useful purpose?” he said.
“You are the best judge of that. You sought and
raised a question as to the name I bear," I persisted.
His hand went to his fair mustache, he looked


154
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
down at the carpet, raised his face to mine again,
and said diffidently: “A question can be waived, I
suppose, Mr. Martin. Let us leave it at that."
With which he strode off to the piano, and while
he arranged Lady Muriel's music, I was free to draw
a long breath over yet another reprieve. But a
movement near the table turned my attention to
Herzog, who had remained stooping over the prints
during-could I hope it was so?—Ralph Carden's
conversion.
Herzog was straightening himself from his stoop-
ing posture, at the same time rubbing his large hands
softly together, while every feature of his broad coun-
tenance expressed satisfaction. The sight of him
plunged me back into the depths. I guessed that his
wonderful insight had detected my danger from
recognition by Carden, and that it was due to his in-
spiration that Lady Muriel had intervened at the
psychological moment. He was aware of her enthusi-
on the subject; a mere suggestion from him
would have sufficed to make her question Carden in
the nick of time.
But what depressed me was that his could have
been no kindly diplomacy. It could only have been
directed at saving his own skin, or to enable me to
make a fresh attempt on Lord Alphington's life-
probably at both.
asm


CHAPTER XX
THE COLONEL'S TIDINGS
С
ONTRARY to my expectations, Herzog made
no reference, on our leaving “Ardmore," to
the failure of the atropine tube to do its
deadly work. Nor, when he did mention the
matter as we were seated at breakfast next morning,
did he indulge in the outburst of threats and re-
proaches that I had anticipated.
"Rather a warm time last night-what with one
thing and another," he remarked, sipping his coffee
and eyeing me askance,
“I knew as soon as Carden saw me that I was
recognized; and so, I think, did you," I replied.
“Yes, and took steps, as you may have observed,
to stifle the explosion by exciting Lady Muriel's ar-
dor at the proper moment,” said Herzog. “Carden
was on the point of denouncing you, was he not?
Well, my timely, hint to that charming girl that he
must have been acquainted with the notorious fugi-
tive set her going with a vengeance, eh?”
“It was very adroit," I was fain to admit. Re-
bellious as I felt at being the catspaw of this scoun-
drel, it was impossible not to appreciate the clever-
155


156
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
ness of his shifts and expedients, and, after all, vile
though his motive was, they were the only bulwarks
between me and the scaffold-till Janet came back
victorious.
“Adroit!” he repeated, chuckling. “That is more
than you were, my friend. If by good fortune some-
thing hadn't gone wrong with the drug or the syringe,
your awkwardness in dropping it would have created
a serious situation for both of us. And I have never
intended that our risks in this partnership should be
equally balanced, you see."
I said nothing, but I was inwardly astonished that
he made no charge against me of having withdrawn
the poison from the tube. I could only attribute my
immunity to his genuine relief that my treachery to
him had been the means of saving him.
And then, after a pause, he spoke again, but his
mood had changed from almost genial banter to sav-
age cynicism. “See here, let us understand each
other," he said, tapping his saucer with the spoon to
punctuate his words. “With so many ardent female
champions you are beginning to believe that you are
really an innocent, ill-used individual, eh?”
"I pleaded 'Not Guilty' at my trial, and I have
never taken that back," I said, with appropriate
vagueness, for I dared not exasperate him with open
defiance. But, my Heaven! how I looked forward
to doing so when Janet had run “Danvers Crane” to
ground.
Herzog pushed his plate away, and, rising, lit a
cigar, frowning at me the while. Never yet since
our first meeting at the obscure hotel at Southampton


THE COLONEL'S TIDINGS
157
had he displayed such open hostility to me, and never,
strangely enough, had he shown greater indifference
to the deadly design which was the sole reason of our
being together. Not a word about any fresh attempt
on Lord Alphington; not a word about handing me
over to justice; only a gibe and a scowl. The man
had no nerves, but he was evidently irritated. He
seemed to have lost his grip somehow.
He walked to the window, puffing moodily at his
cigar, till his attention was attracted by a telegraph
messenger coming up the garden path. Muttering
an exclamation, he went out to meet the boy at the
front door, but almost immediately returned, looking
blacker than ever.
“The wire is for Colonel Chilmark," he said.
“Probably from his daughter to say that she is re-
turning."
As he made the apparently trivial announcement
that basilisk gaze of his tried to pierce my inmost
thoughts, causing a recurrence of the never-satisfied
fear that he had divined my connection with Janet.
“Was Colonel Chilmark expecting his daughter?”
I asked with what carelessness I could command.
Herzog laughed his harshest. “People who stay
at home are always expecting people who are away,'
was his enigmatic reply. And he added, with a sud-
den gust of impatience: “What do I know or care
about these Chilmarks?"
The contents of the to me all-absorbing telegram
were revealed sooner than I could have hoped by
Mrs. Krance, when she bustled in to remove the
breakfast things. She had just performed the same


158
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
office in the sitting-room across the passage, and, after
the manner of landladies, she proceeded to enlarge
upon the affairs of the other lodgers.
The Colonel, by her showing, had just received a
telegram from his daughter, informing him that as
the house she had been to look at near Harrow would
not suit their requirements, she proposed to remain
in London for a day or two longer in order to view
other houses within easy distance of town. As she
would be very busy moving from place to place, as
the house-agents might direct, her father was not to
look for letters, but she would wire each day before
starting on her search, so that he might know that
she was all right.
I had much ado to compose my face while Mrs.
Krance prattled out this expanded version of the
telegram. It was at once a relief and a disappoint-
ment. It showed that Janet had not come to any
harm at the hands of Roger Marske, but it also
pointed to her having so far failed in her effort to
prove that he was the Danvers Crane" of my sister's
acquaintance. Reading between the lines, I discarded
her prolonged house-hunt as a mere pretext for stay-
ing in London in the hope of meeting with better suc-
It might even be that she had struck a clue
which she was following up.
Feeling, or, as I half feared, affecting to feel, no
interest in Mrs. Krance's gossip, Herzog cut short
her dissertation on the Colonel's loneliness, and pro-
posed that we should go sight-seeing to Carisbrook
Castle, and on the return journey leave the train at
Yarmouth and come round to Totland Bay by the
cess.


THE COLONEL'S TIDINGS
159
afternoon boat, calling there on its way from Lyming-
ton. As he was not the man to take an academic
interest in historic ruins, I suspected that he had
some reason for being out of the place that day.
Probably he did not wish to meet Lady Muriel or
Ralph Carden. It was all one to me where I went,
now that Janet had been heard of, and I gave a per-
functory assent.
From the moment of our starting to walk across
the fields to Freshwater station, Herzog's mood
changed to the airy philosopher's vein, characteristic
of his lighter phase. He was the busy man out for a
holiday again, determined to forget all preoccupa-
tions in the joy of fine weather, beautiful scenery,
and nothing to do. Occasionally, during that brief
lull in our drama, while we were, so to speak, off the
stage, he almost degenerated into the cheapest of
cheap trippers in the exuberance of his spirits. I
was not deceived by all this. Five days in his com-
pany had taught me that when his sun appeared to
be in the zenith there were storm clouds lurking on
the horizon.
We "did" the ancient Castle in true tourist style,
and I could imagine the sensations of the other tour-
ists, who shared with us the voluble guide's descrip-
tion of the ill-fated monarch's attempt to squeeze
through the bars of his prison window, if they had
been told that the quiet listener rubbing shoulders
with them had himself broken jail within the week.
We inspected the donkey that works the treadmill over
the well, visited the bowling green, climbed the crum-
bling keep, and then jolted back over the cruel island


160
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
railway as far as Yarmouth, where, according to
Herzog's programme, we left the train and sought
the pier.
We had not much time to spare, for the steamer
was already alongside, discharging such of her pas-
sengers as were bound for Yarmouth and Freshwater.
Those remaining on board to proceed to Totland were
a comparatively small number, so that every one of
them was visible to us as we took our places on the
bridge deck. In those sad days the haunting dread
of recognition had grown to be such a habit with me
that I instinctively scanned our fellow passengers in
detail. The last to come under my nervous scrutiny
was Roger Marske, leaning with his back to us over
the stern railing.
Herzog must have perceived him at the same mo-
ment, for he nudged my elbow and whispered:
“Let us go down into the bar. I am not sure of
that fellow's attitude. He probably saw us come
aboard, but the further we are from him the better."
I had no doubt in my own mind that Marske's
attitude toward myself was a hostile one.
His con-
duct when he shadowed us to the Branksome pine
woods, and was so unaccountably quieted by Herzog,
had been an open declaration, but just now anything
he might do or say to my detriment was a minor con-
sideration with me. I was more glad to see him, there
on the steamer, than if he had been my dearest friend.
His presence on the boat was the second relief of my
anxiety about Janet that I had experienced that day.
He must have quitted London to return to the Isle
of Wight a few hours after the telegram to her father


THE COLONEL'S TIDINGS
161
had been dispatched, the deduction being that, if he
had tried, he had failed to molest her, and that she
was now pursuing her quest free from all danger of
interference from that quarter.
So struck was I by Herzog's change from the bold
front he had shown to Marske at our recent encoun-
ter, that when we were below I could not refrain from
mentioning it. Instead of resenting my remark, as I
had expected, he regarded me quite benevolently.
“This business, my friend, is teaching me what I
had never thought to own—that I am not infallible,
he said. “There is something going on that I do not
understand, and had not provided for, and Mr. Roger
Marske is at the bottom of it.'
He was lighting one of his never-failing cigars as
he concluded his sentence, and he paused, with the
match flickering out, to shoot an unspoken, and, it
seemed, beseeching question at me from his troubled
eyes. But I met it with blank indifference. It was
not for me to make a confidant and an ally of the
man who had me in the toils, for no better reason
than that he was at loggerheads with as great a
scoundrel as himself.
If his dumb appeal was a plea for enlightenment
on the intervention of Janet and for an explanation
of Roger Marske's enmity-well, he had come to the
wrong source for both. I was not going to place a
card in this ruthless player's hand simply to secure
his allegiance against Marske, who was not half such
a load on my back as he was himself. My faith of
winning through was pinned to Janet alone, so I an-
swered him with a shrug, and he answered it with


162
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
another. It was almost like a mutual understanding.
When the steamer bumped the landing-stage at
Totland we remained below till all the passengers had
cleared out, and ther, as we walked up the pier, we
had the satisfaction of seeing Roger Marske's tall
form well ahead of us. I was glad that Lady Muriel
had not come down to meet him, for even amidst my
misery I had found a warm corner in my heart for
young Ralph Carden's aspirations, and had I been
a free agent I would have done my level best to back
the boy's suit.
But the love affairs of Lady Muriel and young
Carden were soon to be driven out of my head by
matters more nearly concerning myself. We had
reached our lodgings and entered our sitting-room,
when Mrs. Krance, bristling with importance, fol-
lowed us in and shut the door.
“A rare to-do yonder,” she said, prodding her
finger toward Colonel Chilmark's apartment. "He's
had a wire this afternoon, from the party at whose
house Miss Janet was staying, to say as the young
lady hasn't been there since yesterday morning. She'd
ordered dinner to be ready when she should come
back from the country at night, but she never came
back at all.”


CHAPTER XXI
IN DEAD OF NIGHT
NY confirmation that I needed of my suspi-
Acion that Herzog had divined my interest in
Janet was furnished by his demeanor while
I received the staggering blow contained in
Mrs. Krance's news. I could feel that my consterna-
tion was an open book to him, which he was reading
without the slightest attempt at concealment.
Strangely enough, searching as was his scrutiny of
me, it had in it rather pity than menace.
Seeing that I was capable of nothing but an inco-
herent exclamation, he turned to the garrulous land-
lady. “I presume that the Colonel thinks that the
first telegram was a bogus one, sent by some miscreant
in Miss Chilmark's name?” he said.
“That's exactly what the poor old gentleman does
think, sir,” Mrs. Krance replied. “She may have
been made away with, up in that wicked town, and
then the person that did it sent the telegram to keep
the Colonel quiet and prevent inquiries for some
days."
“Humph, that's one way of looking at it, but there
163


164
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
is another," Herzog grunted, and then he added, after
a pause : “See here, Mrs. Krance, it is a privilege to
help people who cannot help themselves. Convey my
compliments to Colonel Chilmark, and say that I have
had some experience in this kind of case, and that I
shall be pleased to place it at his disposal if he would
like to see me.'
The landlady sped across the passage, and was back
immediately with Colonel Chilmark's grateful com-
pliments, and he would be glad to avail himself of
"Doctor Barrables'" kind offer.
Without a word to me, Herzog left the room, and
after a vain attempt to discuss the matter with me,
Mrs. Krance also departed. Left alone, I had to
bring all my manhood into play to keep from break-
ing down utterly. That Roger Marske was the author
of the telegram received by Colonel Chilmark in the
morning was to me self-evident. That, without hand-
ing myself over to the hangman, I could not make it
evident to anyone else was my dilemma. That
Marske had fallen foul of Janet on her quest, sent
the telegram to defer inquiry, and hurried back to
the Isle of Wight in order to prove an alibi if neces-
sary, seemed beyond question.
And that Marske alone could have sent the tele-
gram was only too obvious. The author of it was
aware of Janet's ostensible reason for going up to
London, and Marske had traveled up by the same
train, doubtless meeting her on the way and hearing
from her the only explanation of her journey which
to him of all people in the world she would be able
to furnish. If she had fallen into the clutches of any
-


IN DEAD OF NIGHT
165
chance bird of prey, bent on vulgar robbery, or worse,
there would have been no such intimate knowledge of
her affairs as was disclosed in the morning telegram.
To me it all seemed as clear as noonday-that she had
followed a hot scent after "Danvers Crane," which
had led her into the power of the man who had used
that alias during his relations, whatever they may
have been, with my unfortunate sister.
Yet, with this well-founded thesis to work from-
a clue which a village policeman could not have
missed-I was powerless to move a finger, unless I
gave myself up to justice. And if I did that, well,
I knew that the word of a convicted and escaped felon
would not weigh for a single instant against that of a
man in Marske's position-the son of the Chancellor
of the Exchequer and the guest of the Prime Minis-
ter. My story would be set down at once as an impu-
dent fabrication, without even the recommendation
of being plausible; besides which, as the day fixed
for my execution was already past, it was very doubt-
ful if I should get a chance to tell my story to any
one in authority. As a condemned prisoner I was
already dead in the eyes of the law, and I should go
straight to my doom without a hearing. No, the he-
roic course would be to wipe myself out of existence,
and to leave Janet at the mercy of her enemy-if she
was still alive.
An appeal to my kind sympathizer, Lady Muriel,
would fare no better, for with all the will in the world
she would be impotent to help me, unless she could
show grounds for suspecting Roger Marske, and that
she could not do unless I could be produced as her


166
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
authority. Thus again, in the absence of any light
Janet might have thrown on the matter, there would
be nothing but the unsupported accusation of a con-
demned convict against a highly-placed gentleman to
trust to-the same broken reed as if I gave myself up
directly.
I could see no way out of it. Despair, for myself
a little, for the girl who had gone forth to fight for
me, a whole ocean, hedged me in on every side. I was
wishing myself dead, when the now familiar face of
the telegraph boy appeared at the garden gate. A
minute later Mrs. Krance entered with a message for
Herzog, and she had hardly retired when the owner
hurried in and tore it open.
As he read he drew a long breath, and as he re-read
the telegram he expelled the draught of air from his
lungs as though he were ridding himself of a nausea.
From the brief time he took over the perusal I guessed
that the message, unlike the others which he had been
receiving, was not in cipher. In his treatment of it,
too, I noticed a difference. The cipher telegrams he
had instantly destroyed by tearing them into infini-
tesimal fragments or burning them in the grate. This
one he carefully folded and put away in his pocket-
book
Then, without any reference to it, he looked up at
me, his broad features breaking into a slow, almost
paternal smile. Heaven, how I hated him!
"I have been comforting the Colonel," he said, in
his most cynical tone. “Let me also comfort you, my
friend. I have been telling him that young ladies
who wish to prolong their-shall we call them-holi-


IN DEAD OF NIGHT
167
days, are sometimes driven to strange shifts and ex-
pedients. In short, I pointed out to him that, far
from having met with some disaster, his daughter
might very well have sent that first telegram herself,
having good reason for not returning to sleep last
night at the house of the old servant with whom she
was to stay. She might, for instance, though I did
not moot this to the Colonel, be engaged in trying to
pull chestnuts out of a very hot fire for a sweetheart
unable to perform the operation for himself.”
“You devil!" I snarled, guessing that his im-
promptu kindness had had for its object the pumping
of the Colonel.
Herzog continued to smile. “You are rude," he
said, "for a man who ought to have been hanged the
day before yesterday. Yes, I comforted that invalid
warrior, and I would have you also take comfort,
my gallant captain, for I know that your trouble is
the same. After a little discursive talk, the Colonel
cleared up a point that had been puzzling me by ad-
mitting that Miss Janet knew the notorious Riving-
ton slightly-is it not right to emphasize that word,
my friend?"
“You must make what use you choose of your
cunningly-gained discovery, but expect no informa-
tion from me, " I replied sullenly.
He looked as though intending to make an angry
retort, but checked whatever he had been about to
say, and remained silent for the rest of the evening,
smoking, and evidently thinking deeply. Even in
my sore distress about Janet, I derived some amuse-
ment from his knitted brows and impatient ejacula-


168
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
tions, which I attributed, quite erroneously as I was
to learn later, to his sudden discovery that I was an
innocent man, and therefore useless to him as an as-
sassin. The problem perplexing him touched me
more nearly, and if I had only known it I should have
done better by helping him to a solution.
It was only as we lit our candles to go upstairs that
he flung at me the remark: “You will have cause
to regret your reticence before many hours are over,
Rivington."
“You mean that because you have found out there
is an honest girl who believes in me, your plot against
the Premier stands revealed as hopeless, and that you
will therefore have me recaptured ?” I retorted.
But he shook his head almost sadly. "I cannot
tell you whence your danger will spring-for the
good reason that as yet I do not know,” he answered.
“Not from me, for in that case I should fall with
you. This case has been a surprise packet all along,
but I have not given up hope yet.”
Hope of what, in all conscience! I wondered, as I
undressed and prepared for a night of wakeful un-
rest. Hope that, guiltless though I was of previous
crime, I should fulfil the dreadful mission for which
I had been released rather than be hanged? If so he
would be grievously disappointed. Or could he mean
that he hoped to save himself from the consequences
of association with me during that fateful week! I
could not tell, but as I flung myself on the bed I
groaned in spirit at the thought that whatever hope
there might be for him there was not a single ray.
for me.


IN DEAD OF NIGHT
169
It had begun to rain heavily during the evening,
and now the wind rose, raising a swell on the beach
that broke with a rhythmical cadence which would
have lulled me to sleep at any other time. As it was,
the wild voice of nature, the drip from the sycamores
in the garden, the steadily increasing thunder of the
waves, and the sob of the westerly gale, braced my
senses to unusual alertness. I had left my window
open, and so gained the full effect of the storm.
Lying wide awake on the bed, I was watching the
ragged clouds chase each other across the angry 'sky,
when suddenly the lower half of the open window
was darkened by the shape of a human head. I re-
mained perfectly still, staring at the motionless head
and wondering grimly if after all this was the kind
of danger Herzog had prophesied for me. If so, it
was a welcome change from the anticipated knock at
the front door by a posse of policemen.
For upward of two minutes the head remained as
still as I did, and then it began to shift a little to the
right and left. I knew quite well what was going on.
The owner of the head, having satisfied himself that
I was asleep, was endeavoring to locate my person
on the bed. I could not discern his features, because
they were toward the darkness of the room, and such
faint light as came from the storm-wracked sky was
behind him. He kept his full face inwards, prevent-
ing me from getting so much as the effect of an old-
fashioned daguerreotype, which his profile would
have yielded.
This was not the arm of the law, but some one who
wanted to murder me, and whom I should be justified


CHAPTER XXII
A STRANGE ALLIANCE
T was but a fleeting vision that we had of
from Herzog's lantern fall upon him than
he ducked down and disappeared. It lasted
long enough, however, to explain the purpose of his
midnight visit, for in his mouth, carried there doubt-
less to free his hands for the climb, was a long dag-
ger or bowie knife.
I joined Herzog as he strode to the window, and
peered down into the gloom, but of the intruder there
was no sign. He had completely vanished, and was
presumably making his way through the shrubs back
to the grounds of “Ardmore."
"Humph! Clambered up by that Virginia creeper,'
said Herzog, shutting his window and proceeding to
light the candle on the dressing-table. “I think you
owe me thanks, my friend."
I hated to be beholden to him, so I answered sur-
lily enough that I should not have been taken by sur-
prise, as I had been wide awake and ready to give a
good account of myself.
Herzog chuckled, and I noticed now that he seemed
in high good-humor.
171


A STRANGE ALLIANCE
173
Herzog said. “Yes, if Roger Marske had not been
playing a lone hand, about which you will, perhaps,
enlighten me presently, I should have stood in a
very different relation toward you to what I do at
this minute."
And depositing his heavy frame in one of Mrs.
Krance's unreliable chairs, while I sat on the bed,
he told me the secret history of his mission to release
me in order to assassinate Lord Alphington. How,
with the connivance of the Home Secretary, he had
worked the business at the prison; how he had
doubted my fitness for the job, almost from the first
interview with me at Southampton; and how he had
begun to scent an entirely unforeseen combination
of private influences, the moment he perceived Lady
Muriel's interest in the case on the boat, the day
of our arrival at Totland. It had not taken him long
to specify Janet Chilmark as the "friend" mentioned
by Lady Muriel; thence onward his aim had been,
not, as I had believed, to turn me loose as a savage
murderer on Lord Alphington, but to trace out the
intricacies of Roger Marske's hostility to me, as evi-
denced by his pitiless talk on the boat.
He told me, with a fat wheeze of enjoyment, that
he had arranged the excursion to Bournemouth for
the express purpose of proving to himself his sus-
picion that Roger Marske had not only guessed my
identity, but had private reasons of his own for de-
siring either my death or recapture.
“I had hard work to keep him quiet, there in the
pine wood, and only did it by telling him the truth-
that your escape had been contrived at the instance


174
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
of his father, Sir Gideon,' ” said Herzog. “I did not
tell him that from that moment my allegiance to that
sinful old statesman was broken, and that such wit
as I possess was to be devoted to paying off an old
score against him."
“But what about the atropine business, at which
I checkmated you the other night?” I asked. “That
didn't look like sparing Lord Alphington."
"Checkmated me!” Herzog sneered quite amiably.
"That was all a harmless device for settling the ques-
tion, upon which even then I had no certainty, whether
you were really meaning to kill his lordship or not.
When I gave you the supposed fatal squirt there was
nothing in it but rose-water. I was compelled to use
a scent, so that when I examined it before going in
I could readily ascertain whether you had, as I ex-
pected you would, washed it out and refilled the thing
with pure water. So much for your checkmating,
my friend."
I positively began to admire his cunning on that
occasion, since it had no baser object than to give the
lie to the murderous protestations with which I had
sought to deceive him.
"To return to Roger Marske," he went on in more
serious tone. “My own position toward the Marskes,
father and son, is this. Years ago, when I was in the
Inland Revenue service, I fell into an error, of which
Sir Gideon took advantage to bind me to him body
and soul as the doer of any dirty work he required.
I had no option. I either had to become his bond-
slave or go to hard labor-an alternative for which
neither my habits nor my figure are adapted. Now


A STRANGE ALLIANCE
175
Roger Marske by his conduct toward you, by his fol-
lowing your friend, Miss Chilmark, to London, still
more by his intention to kill you to-night, has given
himself away as deeply implicated in your affair.
Am I right that you and your plucky little sweetheart
think that he ought to stand in your shoes?”
Could I trust this professor of chicanery and crime
with so much as we knew of the vital secret which
Janet had gone to try to probe! He read the doubt
in my eyes, for he hastened to add :
“I think I am your only chance, Rivington, and
probably Miss Chilmark's, too. If I knew why she
went to London I might be able to help you, and her,
too, poor girl, if Sir Gideon Marske has allowed her
to live so long."
“Sir Gideon! Roger, you mean," said I in my
blundering way. My dull wits could not grasp on
the spur of the moment where Sir Gideon came in.
But Herzog's could. “You forget the telegram I
had from Sir Gideon this evening, cancelling the plot
against the Prime Minister," he said. “That is evi-
dence to me that Sir Gideon has become suddenly
aware of these private complications. He can only
have learned of them from our friend of window-
scaling proclivities, and whatever his information may
be, it almost certainly includes the fact of your inno-
cence. Does it also include a knowledge of the guilty?”
He paused and looked at me, but I made no sign as
yet. Herzog went on, still more impressively: “Take
my word for it, Rivington, that whatever is wrong
with Miss Chilmark, that old man is in it-up to the
hilt. That attempt on you to-night shows that they


176
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
have been hard hit by the girl, and that they want to
silence you without recapture if possible, though,
having failed with the knife, they will probably fall
back on the hangman's rope if we don't look slippy.
And if they want to treat you like that, what sort of
mercy is the girl to hope for-the girl to whom I
figuratively take off my hat as a fat old terrier might
do to a smart little ferret that has bolted the rat for
him. Sir Gideon and Roger are my rats, Rivington,
and they are on the run, but they will get clear away
if you don't decide to trust me.
“You don't care a tinker's rap about me, or about
Miss Chilmark,” I said tentatively. “What's your
motive?'
Herzog waved the cigar, which he had taken care
to light, slowly to and fro, admiring the gyrations of
the smoke. “Not revenge, my friend-nothing so
crudely useless as that,” he smiled at me. “I am an
advocate for reciprocity in trade. In short, I want to
reverse the lever, and have a pull over Sir Gideon, that
is all; so that I may not be called upon to assist in
assassinating any more Premiers with blunt instru-
ments. But if, in the process of reversing the lever,
Roger Marske gets hanged instead of you, I shall not
complain."
At that I hesitated no longer, as I should have done
had he professed any but a selfish purpose in serving
me. The man was a monster of iniquity, but his in-
terests so clearly ran side by side with my own in
confounding the Marskes, that I judged it best to
clutch at the only straw held out to me. Moreover,
he had guessed and wormed out so much for himself


178
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
gram did not contain a summons for me to wait upon
him. The trouble is what to do with you.
"Do not let any considerations about me stand for
one single moment in the way of your finding Miss
Chilmark,' I urged.
“But, my friend, it is just that that I must do if
you are to be of any use to me," my new ally replied
with a candor so brutal that it was bound to be
genuine. “If you are caught and hanged before I
can bring your alleged crime home to Roger Marske I
shall never bring it home to him. I simply shouldn't
be listened to if I came with the fullest proof. Every
official nerve would be strained to cover up such an
enormous miscarriage of justice. I know, because it
has been done before, my friend. No, I must put
you away somewhere while I go Marske hunting;
and where to put you, God only knows."
“You think, that Roger Marske having failed to
finish me, they will, as you said, substitute the rope
for the knife ?”
“Undoubtedly; and they will take precious good
care to effect your recapture in such a way that you
will be quickly spirited off, in fact will see that you
don't have a chance to open your mouth. They will
not, however, attempt to take you till I have cleared
out. That was the arrangement if the scheme broke
down, and they don't know that I have rounded on
them yet. They won't squander me by arresting
you in my company, for they may want me again.
But if I left you here at Mrs. Krance's you would be
taken to-morrow and strung up the day after."
“Then,” I hazarded, with one of those gleams of


A STRANGE ALLIANCE
179
reason which stupid people sometimes get at a pinch,
"why shouldn't I lay up in one of the empty houses
here! I have noticed several, and it is too late in the
season for them to be let to summer visitors now.”
Herzog jumped up and barely restrained himself
from waking the household by slapping his fat thigh
in his excitement. “My friend,” he wheezed genially,
"that is the first lucid suggestion you have made since
our acquaintance began. Get into your clothes, while
I go and get into mine. You must be out of this and
safely ensconced before daylight breaks."


A RISKY HIDING-PLACE
181
you here, and I shall endeavor to prevent that by
drawing a herring across your trail. And even if
they do go in for a house-to-house visitation, you
would have a better chance of a run for it there than
at this end. Come along, and take cover if we meet
any one.'
But at two o'clock on such a tempestuous night
there was no one abroad in that community of
pleasure-seekers, and we passed unmolested along the
deserted walk, with only the great winking eye of the
revolving light at Hurst Castle on the mainland op-
posite to watch our progress. Arrived at the house-a
long, low, somewhat gloomy-looking structure, on its
landward side, since all the best rooms faced the sea-
we naturally found the doors locked against us, but
Herzog's penknife soon slipped a window fastening,
and we entered what from the feel of the furniture
we judged to be the drawing-room. It was as yet too
dark to see anything, and Herzog would not risk light-
ing so much as a match.
“Now I must return to 'Springthorpe' before dawn
breaks," said my companion. "It will not do for
that early bird, Mrs. Krance, to find me out, or the lies
I mean to tell her about your having left by the first
boat when she comes in with the breakfast things
will miss their mark. And, talking about breakfast,
reminds me that you mustn't starve in your lonely
citadel. As soon as the shops are open in the morn-
ing I shall buy a stock of provisions and bring it along
before I start for London by the mid-day boat.
So long.'
With an agility wonderful in one of his bulk he


182
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
swung himself through the window and was gone,
leaving me to grope about in the dark and put on
as best I could the dry clothes I had brought in a
small portmanteau. The wind howled and the rain
pattered outside; but, feeling that at any rate I
was secure for an hour or two, I felt about till I found
a sofa, and, flinging myself on it, lay down and slept
from sheer weariness. I was indeed temporarily ex-
hausted both mentally and physically.
When I woke it was broad daylight, and, glancing
at my watch in full recollection of the events of the
night, I saw that it was seven o'clock. My imme-
diate surroundings claimed my first attention. The
room in which I found myself was of moderate size,
furnished with the unhomelike gimcrackery prevalent
in houses which are let rather than lived in. Extend-
ing my explorations to the other rooms and floors, I
found the same note struck everywhere. This was
no man's home, but an investment, to be let with all
its appurtenances and make money out of. And,
judging by the musty smell of unoccupation, it had
not found favor with temporary tenants for a con-
siderable time.
So much the better for me. There was less like-
lihood that an enterprising house-agent would bring
clients to look at it, and, barring the systematic
search of which Herzog had spoken, that seemed the
only danger of my lair being disturbed.
The front of the house abutted on a leafy lane,
but from the back one got glorious view of sea and
sky, with an untended but luxurious garden in the
foreground. No fence was needed on this side, either


A RISKY HIDING-PLACE
183
as a boundary or as a protection against intruders,
for the cliff dropped straight from the grounds, run-
ning sheer for a score of feet only, and then contin-
uing in a gentler, verdure-clad slope to the beach
below. At that height above the sea-level the shore
was invisible from the ground-floor windows, but
from those above I could just see the line of high
water-mark, and, almost immediately below me, the
lifeboat-house and launching slip. Under normal
conditions I would have found much to admire in this
scene; one well calculated to inspire artist or poet,
and incite uplifting thoughts in anyone of a refined
nature. But now my mind was concentrated firmly
on the terrible position in which I was placed; there
was no time for a flight into the realms of estheticism.
In learning so much of my surroundings I was
careful not to disarrange the drawn blinds, my re-
search being restricted to peering from behind them.
A face at the windows of an unoccupied house would
have set tongues wagging if seen from one of the
yachts or pilot-cutters anchored in the bay, where,
the rain having ceased, the sailors were busily swab-
bing down the decks of the larger craft.
Before long a healthy hunger turned my thoughts
to Herzog's promised return with a supply of pro-
visions, and I stationed myself at the window where
we had effected our entrance, as it was at the back
of the house and he might be expected to make for
it. Sure enough at about half-past nine there came
a tap on one of the lower panes, and I drew aside
the blind a little-to start back in dismay.
He who stood without was a bearded, black-visaged


184
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
man, whose blue guernsey and seafarer's cap stamped
him either as a fisherman or one of the longshore
loafers who pose as such.
On perceiving that it was not Herzog, I had
dropped the blind like lightning, but the man must
have seen me, for he drummed lightly on the glass
again, and kept on drumming while I racked my
distraught brain for the best course to pursue.


JANET'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED
CHAPTER XXIV
SIR GIDEON'S BARGAIN
W
HEN the footman had departed with his mas-
ter's orders to fetch “Mr. Roger," the old
man turned to me with a suave courtesy
that somehow struck the first real note of fail-
ure in the task I had undertaken. If he had thrown
something at me, or abused me, for bringing an accu-
sation of murder against his son, I should have felt
more comfortable than under his polite:
“Do, pray, sit down. You must be fatigued after
the experience you have gone through."
There was no satire or incredulity in his tone now,
but there was an undefined something in it that
frightened me into obeying his behest. I was not,
however, so frightened that I was unable to perceive
the very careful preparations he was making to
receive “Mr. Roger. He rearranged a reading-
lamp on his table, so that the light was shaded from
his own hawk-like face, but fell full on the door, and
185


186
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
he slightly wheeled his chair in the same direction.
It was not long before a quick step sounded out-
side, and my fear of the old man was momentarily
effaced by an all-consuming curiosity as to how the
young one would behave in such trying circumstances.
To most people, I presume, it would be distinctly
embarrassing to be confronted with a woman whom
you thought that you had just succeeded in burning
to death; but these Marskes, from what I knew of the
son and seemed to dread in the father, were evidently
out of the common ruck.
The door opened, and surely enough it was Roger
Marske who entered. “How are you, sir?" he began,
without seeing me. “I have been in London all day
on business, so thought I would run down and sleep
here. Great God in Heaven! Who is that?"
The exclamation followed swift on his sudden
recognition of me, and the wild words, emphasized
by his backing toward the door, were tantamount
to a confession-to a confirmation of what I had
been impressing on Sir Gideon. How would Sir
Gideon take it? By choosing to ignore it, and by
accepting any excuse his son might give for his con-
sternation on seeing me!
On the contrary, and much to my surprise, Sir
Gideon accepted the tacit admission conveyed in that
outburst of alarm as fully as I could have hoped.
Just for a moment he bowed his head and held his
thin hand before his eyes, as though overcome by
emotion; then, with a quick gesture of self-mastery,
he pointed sternly to the door.
“Go into the dining-room. I shall follow you


SIR GIDEON'S BARGAIN
187
directly,” he said, adding, as Roger Marske turned
to go, the one whip-like word, “Stop."
My wretched persecutor halted and faced his
father. “Do not attempt to leave the house,” the
latter snarled. “If you do I shall turn the men out
to scour the countryside within five minutes."
The younger Marske shot a furious glance at the
elder, who returned it with a stony stare, as it seemed
to me watching his sideface. But Roger must have
read something in his father's countenance to expe-
dite his departure, and also to inspire a calmer mood.
For, as he swung round on his heel to the door, I
thought that I detected the gleam of another ex-
pression in his cruel eyes. What it was I could not
exactly define, but it semed to me that the fierce-
ness had been replaced by a blend of cunning and
curiosity.
As soon as the door had closed on him, Sir Gideon
rose from his chair and approached me, all the fire
and vehemence gone from his demeanor. Do what
he would he could not make himself a pleasant person-
ality, but at that moment I could find it in my heart
to pity him-such a picture of despair and grief did
he present.
“I need hardly say what a blow this is to me, Miss
Chilmark,” he faltered in a broken voice. “I fill a
high station in the service of the State; my ambition
for my son was boundless. Your news to-night has
shattered all that, and much more besides. I shall
never hold up my head again. For my son's be-
havior on entering the room leaves me no option but
to accept unreservedly your account of his treatment


188
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
of you to-day-whatever may be his guilt in that other
affair."
“I am sorry for you," was all the answer I could
muster.
"That is kind, and-er-encouraging, because we
are entirely in your hands, and I have a favor to ask.
I should wish to hear my son's version from his own
lips, alone and uninterrupted. Have I your per-
mission to join him for that purpose! I will give you
my word of honor that he shall not leave the house.
The pathos of the request, made to a helpless girl
by a great statesman amid the splendor of his own
mansion, was not to be denied. At any rate, I am
not so constituted as to have made a scene and in-
sisted on sending for the police without allowing an
interview. I bowed a silent assent.
“I thank you, and I will not keep you waiting
long," said Sir Gideon, and he quitted the room with
the air of a State prisoner going to execution on
Tower Hill. I found myself wondering how an old
man of such repulsive appearance could manage to
speak and walk with so much dignity in such trying
circumstances. I suppose I was getting a little hys-
terical over my successful chase of Roger Marske,
and perhaps after my physical trials that day, for
suddenly I began to laugh. Sir Gideon, I told myself,
had acquired his self-control while answering em-
barrassing questions in the House of Commons about
a graduated Income Tax. I have often heard my
father abusing him for his callous indifference to the
burdens of the poor.
And then I was recalled from my silliness to respect


SIR GIDEON'S BARGAIN
189
for the man to whom I had administered such a
shock by the entrance of a footman bearing a tray on
which were wine, biscuits, and fruit.
“With Sir Gideon's compliments, miss," said the
servant, placing the much-needed refreshment to my
hand, and retreating without the expected sniff at
my bedraggled attire.
My hunger overcame the natural repugnance I felt
to accept the hospitality of any one of the name of
Marske, and I fell to on the contents of the tray with
zest. I had hardly finished when Sir Gideon re-
turned, and though I thought nothing of it at the
time, I remembered afterward the furtively eager
glance he directed at the traces of my light repast-
as though to gauge my practicability by my willing-
ness to eat and drink under his roof.
Full of years as he was, he seemed to have aged
still more during his brief absence from the room.
Treading heavily, and with bowed head, he advanced
to his chair and sat down in it with a sigh, as though
grateful for the rest.
“I must think of you first; you must be in great
suspense, ” he began, struggling with a catch in his
voice. “It is all too true-this charge you bring.
My unhappy son did commit the crime of which Cap-
tain Rivington was convicted. Nay, hear me out,"
he broke off, as I leaped to my feet jubilant. “Riving-
ton can-I hope will be cleared, and Roger must
bear his load of shame and misery. But, oh, Miss
Chilmark, I come to you as a suppliant.'
"For what?" I asked with a tinge of suspicion.
It seemed to me that there was nothing more to be


SIR GIDEON'S BARGAIN
191
conversation with this astute old gentleman had been
entirely without witnesses, and that he intended to
repudiate everything that had passed if I did not ac-
cede to his demand. I had no reason but a woman's
reason for thinking that he would be so wicked, but,
to put it plainly, I did not like his looks."
That
dislike influenced the course I took—that and my
eagerness to obtain proofs of Arthur's innocence with-
out a day's delay.
“What do you propose ?” I asked.
“That I may tell Roger that he may make his
escape-with at least fifteen hours' start it will be,
if he goes at once," replied Sir Gideon, leaning to-
ward me. “Then, to-morrow, I will myself take you
to where you can verify the confession he made to me
just now. If you will do me the honor to be my
guest to-night, my housekeeper-I am a widower, and
there are no ladies in the family—shall attend to your
comfort, and in the morning I will drive you to the
place where the proofs are to be obtained."
“Very well,” was my answer. “It shall be as you
wish, but I would prefer not to spend the night here."
“You have made me a heavy debtor,” said Sir
Gideon rising. “Roger shall be gone in twenty min-
utes, and you will find me prompt in carrying out
my part of the compact. But will you not reconsider
your decision not to sleep here? Even if I sent you
to Brentwood in a carriage you would be too late to
catch the last train, and there are no hotels there
where you would
“Where they would take me in this condition
late at night and without luggage," I helped him out.


192
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
"In that case I must avail myself of your offer."
"It will enable us to start early to-morrow," said
Sir Gideon. “I will send the housekeeper to you at
once." And with bent head and feeble gait he went
from the room.


THE FACE AT THE GANGWAY
195
“I trust that my people have made you com-
fortable,” he said. 'Ah, that is well. Then, if you
are ready, we will start, for we have a long drive
before us.
Under the portico a barouche, having the hood
closed and drawn by a fine pair of bays, was waiting
with a powdered coachman on the box and a powdered
footman with his hand on the door-knob. I could
not help thinking gaily that my vindication of Arthur
bade fair to be a triumphal progress, but I was re-
called to more sober reflections when Sir Gideon
followed me in, taking the opposite seat, as far from
me as possible. He preserved a rigid silence till we
were clear of the lodge gates, then leaned suddenly
forward and said
“Beyond the immediate purpose in view, you and
I have nothing in common between us. You will not
expect me to do violence to my feelings by keeping
up the pretense of polite conversation. The subject
that is most in our minds I decline to discuss."
“I should prefer not to talk, but I think that you
owe it to me to tell me where we are going," I replied.
"I have not the least objection to that,” he made
answer, his lips twitching strangely. "It seems from
what my son told me last night that he was secretly
married to Captain Rivington's sister. They spent
some time together on a yacht, which is now lying in
the Victoria Docks. We are going there to see the cap-
tain of the vessel, who is in a position to prove the
connection- also, that my son parted from his wife
after a serious quarrel.”
I have been informed since that it is very doubtful,


196
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
if I had succeeded in obtaining Sir Gideon's glibly
promised "proof," whether it would have been strong
enough of itself to convict Roger Marske of the two
murders, or even to snatch Arthur from the execu-
tioner should he be discovered. But in my ignorant
vanity I thought that I had achieved so much that I
had as good as achieved all, and I sat back, content
with the explanation.
During the eighteen-mile drive we exchanged no
further words, but I had plenty of food for thought
in Sir Gideon's disclosure. Roger Marske's courtship
of Lady Muriel shed a lurid light on his reason for
killing Clara, and Mrs. Rivington too, if the latter
was aware of the secret marriage. I could see it all
so clearly, and so, no doubt, would the jury before
whom Roger Marske would be tried. It was the old
story of a clandestine marriage, of speedy repentance
on the part of the husband, and of lapse into crime
when more material advantage offered in a better
match.
It was past noon when the handsome equipage,
after astonishing the smoky East End streets, drew
up at the dock gates. I was conscious of a subtle
change in Sir Gideon's manner directly we alighted.
Once or twice during the silent drive I had caught
his eye fixed on me in stealthily malevolent, but
instantly removed, contemplation. Now, for the
benefit of coachman and footman and casual by-
standers, I believe, he was the chivalrous old
gentleman and the distinguished statesman being
paternally civil to a girl not socially his equal,
but whom it was his whim to befriend. But it was


198
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
skipper has applied for his papers. She clears this
evening, unexpected, I've heard.”
Sir Gideon did not appear to appreciate this com-
municativeness, for he growled something about
"meddlesome fellow," and directed my attention into
a new channel by requesting me to look out for the
name of the vessel. Like so many of the apparent
trifles that centered round me that day his assiduity
in glossing over the approaching and unexpected
departure of the Nightshade did not strike me till
later-when, in fact, it was too late.
My younger eyes were the first to discover the
name of the ship we were looking for, and it was hard
to reconcile her appearance with Sir Gideon's de-
scription of her as a yacht. Her low, black hull, with
here and there patches of rusty plates, her dingy
funnel and untidy deck, gave her more the semblance
of a trading coaster or of a small tramp steamer.
In pointing her out to Sir Gideon I nearly mentioned
the discrepancy, but I checked myself, deeming it
hardly worth while to split such a straw as that.
What did it matter to me how she was described,
so long as the proofs of Arthur's innocence were to be
obtained on her! What matter, when by interviewing
the captain, I could secure the needed evidence !
“We will go on board at once,
” said Sir Gideon
curtly, and, suiting the action to the word, he crossed
the plank connecting the dock with the gangway.
Following in his wake, I had just set foot on the deck
when a short, strongly-built man, wearing a cap with
a tarnished band, but no other sign of his calling,
came out of the chart-room under the bridge. His


THE FACE AT THE GANGWAY
199
face was the most terrible I have ever looked upon-
a whole history of drink and ungoverned passions.
“What the h- are you la-di-das doing aboard my
ship ?” he yelled. “Mistaken me for the P. and 0.
mailboat, I reckon. Well, be jolly quick in clearing
off the Nightshade. We don't want any blooming
toffs here."
My companion drew himself up with a great show
of dignity. "I am Sir Gideon Marske," he said.
“The bloke that taxes us! Come to think of it,
I've seen your ugly mug in the comics, or some-
where," retorted the captain of the Nightshade. “If
I had you out in the open sea I'd ropes-end you, and,
by G- I'll do it in dock if you don't skip from my
little hooker.'
“I am here at the instance of a Mr. Danvers
Crane, whom I think you know,” said Sir Gideon,
preserving his temper so completely that somehow
I gained the impression that a false note rang in
these exchanges. It was like the premature playing
of a badly-rehearsed comedy.
The man in the amphibious garments placed a
great fleshy forefinger to his sensual lips, and affected
to consider. "Ah,” he ejaculated. “Circumstances
alter cases.
I remember Mr. Danvers Crane--right
as Moses. A nice chap, free with the spondulics he
was. Why might Mr. Danvers Crane have sent you
to me? There ain't no mistake, is there? I'm Cap-
tain Belcher, I am-the skipper of this craft."
"Then you are the person we want," said Sir
Gideon, making a half-turn to me as though appealing
for courtesy by including a lady in the business.


200
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
“The matter is very urgent and very private, and
you will be an-er-gainer by rendering us every
assistance in your power. Is there-have you no
place where we can converse-
“On the strict q. t.? Of course there is. As there
seems to be profit in it, you'd better step down into
the cuddy,” replied Belcher roughly, but still with
that curious perfunctoriness of tone suggesting the
playing of a part allotted at short notice and im-
perfectly learned. I ought to have been warned by
it, and should have been, perhaps, if it had been
any one's else affair. As it was I was blind and deaf
to everything but the immediate prospect of pro-
curing from this brutal ruffian the details of Roger
Marske's guilt, and I descended the steps into the
evil-smelling den below, heedless of my danger.
If I had known then, as I do now, that Sir Gideon
Marske was quite as deeply implicated as his son
in the complex events depending on the vindication
of Arthur, how different it would all have been.
The cuddy, or main cabin, of the Nightshade was
an apartment some eighteen feet long by ten in
width, having a table running down the center and
the stem of a mast piercing it at the end furthest
from the stairs. It was lighted by a smoke-grimed
skylight. On each side were the doors of three
sleeping berths. The atmosphere reeked with the
odors of rank tobacco, fiery spirits, greasy meat, and
damp clothes.
So much I had been able to observe when Sir
Gideon, who had preceded me down the stairs, cleared
his throat and glanced a little nervously at Belcher.


THE FACE AT THE GANGWAY
201
“The-er-air is rather oppressive down here, cap-
tain," he said. “And the discussion upon which you
will enter with this lady would be painful to me.
I think I should prefer to return to the deck till- till
you have finished the-er-negotiations."
“Right you are, governor. The young miss and I
will soon come to terms, I'll warrant," replied Belcher.
And he followed Sir Gideon to the foot of the stairs,
as if, with a new-born politeness, to show him the
way out. I stood by the table, watching the gaunt
back and sloping shoulders of the old man as he
climbed to the deck, and I was just wondering whether
the pair had not exchanged a whispered confidence,
when chaos swooped upon me.
Several of the cabin doors on either side of the
cuddy were burst open, I was seized by violent hands,
something acrid was pressed to my face, and the rest
was blank.


CHAPTER XXVI
"SEALED ORDERS"
H
OW long I lay unconscious I know not, but,
when I began to recover, my first sensation
was that of motion. I was lying down, and
Misit the thing I lay on was swaying slightly to
and fro. In my ears there buzzed a muffled metallic
vibration.
Then, as my heavy eyes roamed wildly round the
cramped space, all that had happened came back to
me in a flash, and I knew that I was in one of the
sleeping-berths of the Nightshade, and that the Night-
shade was no longer in the dock. The vibration was
caused by the pulsing of her engines. She was steam-
ing slowly in open water. The voyage had begun,
and I was a prisoner on board her-bound whither!
The shock of my awakening was so horrible that
the full significance of my detention on the vessel
only came to me by degrees. But when I tried the
plan of carrying my mind back to the day before,
they were degrees that followed each other quickly,
and appalling enough I found them. That steady
throb of the steamer's screw sounded like a death
knell, for I guessed all too surely that I was the
victim of a deliberate plot to get me out of the way
of launching ruin on Roger Marske.
202


“SEALED ORDERS”
203
How I regretted not having trusted the instinct
which, the moment I crossed the threshold of the
library at Marske Hall, had bidden me beware of Sir
Gideon. Apart from the danger-signal in his somber
eyes and hawk-like features, I might have known that
no good man could have bred a Roger Marske. I saw
now too clearly how I had underestimated the enor-
mous catastrophe that I represented to one in Sir
Gideon's position. There was more than paternal
affection and family pride at stake here. There was
the loss of high office, there was the overthrow of
ambition, there was the downfall of a public career
entailed, as well as the stigma of having a son branded
as a murderer; and between all these consequences and
absolute immunity, was interposed only the frail bar-
rier of a girl's life. In my ignorance I was, perhaps
happily, unable then to throw into the enormous bal-
ance against me, the discovery of the Alphington plot,
which would become imminent directly Arthur was a
free agent. Yet with but partial retrospection I could
gauge their motives.
I could picture to myself now, so easy is it to be
wise after the event, the interview between father and
son while I nibbled those treacherous biscuits in the
library. Sir Gideon could have wasted very little
time in upbraiding. Having ascertained from Roger
the one paramount fact of his guilt, he must have
at once faced the problem of how to silence me. He
knew well that if he returned to me with an indignant
denial I should take my information elsewhere. To
admit the accusation, feign the deepest concern for
his son's impending fate, and keep me in his power,


204
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
with promises of assistance on the morrow, was the
only course open to him.
And with what subtlety had he adopted it. I re-
membered how the crafty old man had appealed to
my mercy, dressing up his prayer in the guise of a
bargain, and suggesting that if I did not perform
my part and allow Roger the chance of escape, the
promised proofs would be withheld and the admission
repudiated. It was plain to me now that the younger
Marske had utilized the start his wily father had
gained for him, not in flight, but in preparing the
trap into which I had fallen. It was plain enough
now, how desperately I had been imposed upon.
That the brutal captain of the Nightshade had any
knowledge of Arthur's unfortunate sister, or had ever
sailed with Roger Marske on a yacht, was extremely
improbable. Belcher did not look like a man who
would ever be entrusted with the command of a yacht.
However, by the light of what had befallen me at his
hands, that was immaterial. Doubtless Roger Marske,
or maybe Sir Gideon himself, had had previous deal-
ings with him, and knew that he would be an un-
scrupulous instrument for conveying me-where!
All these recollections and forebodings rushed at
lightning speed through my clearing brain, and with
an effort I staggered to my feet and looked about me.
The place I was in was a small cabin, with two sleep-
ing bunks, on the lower of which I had slept out my
drugged sleep. I saw with a thrill of apprehension
that the bedclothes were fairly clean, nor was this in-
consistent. On such a vessel as this cleanliness sug-
gested preparation and design, and there were infinite


“SEALED ORDERS205
92
”
possibilities in the designs of such people as had hold
of me.
One step brought me to the door, which, of course,
was locked, and I turned to the circular port-hole.
It was closed, but had I been able to open it, it would
have been useless for purposes of escape, for it was
too small to admit the passage of my head, to say
nothing of my body. It offered this advantage,
though, that it gave me a view of the outside world,
and enabled me to calculate the time that had elapsed
since I had come on board. My watch had already
told me that it was half-past five, but that might mean
anything.
The sun was rising from a bank of haze, between
which and the ship, at a considerable distance, a long
line of low-lying mud-flats was visible. I was able
to conclude, therefore, with tolerable accuracy that
it was early morning, and that the steamer was some-
where in the lower reaches of the Thames, heading
for the open sea. The discovery destroyed my last
hope of deliverance through the simple feminine ex-
pedient of using my lungs, and doubtless the anæs-
thetic had been timed for that. I might have
screamed with success while the Nightshade was in
dock; out here in the broad waterway my voice, lifted
to its fullest compass, would never reach a passing
vessel from the muffled seclusion of the closed-up
cabin.
And as I gazed with wistful longing at the far-off
shore through the plate-glass circle, the steamer bore
to the right, the land fell away quickly, and minute
by minute the waves ran higher. I knew that we


206
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
were out of the river, standing down Channel on a
southerly course for the Straits of Dover, and this
knowledge filled me with anguish.
Vessels passed us in plenty, from heavily-laden
barges to huge inward-bound ocean liners, but none
so near that even had I been on deck could I have
made my distress known on board them. For a few
minutes that seemed interminable, I was cruelly tanta-
lized by a small craft that suddenly swooped down
quite close, and set my heart beating by lowering a
boat. My excitement grew into positive pain when the
boat pulled straight toward my floating prison, and
at the same time the Nightshade slowed down and
nearly stopped. I guessed what was happening. The
pilot, my last link with freedom, was about to be put
off. In my semi-dazed condition I had forgotten all
about him, and now, in the frantic hope that he would
hear, I cried aloud when it was too late.
Too late, because I was either heard by Belcher,
or he had divined that I might make this last effort,
for my voice was immediately drowned by the rush of
escaping steam. The order had evidently been given
to relieve the pressure on the safety-valve, with the
result that my cries could not have been audible on
deck amid the hideous din. I drummed on the port-
hole to try and attract the attention of the two men
in the pilot-cutter's boat, but they were busy with
their oars in the choppy sea, and the boat shot under
our stern and was lost to view. Then came the sharp
"ting-ting" of the engine-room bell, and the Night-
shade forged ahead again. The pilot had descended
on the other side, and I was a prey to black despair as


"SEALED ORDERS"
207
I saw the cutter go curtseying toward the boat a hun-
dred yards in our wake.
I think that the tears would have come then, had I
not been distracted by a loud knock at the cabin door
-a superfluous attention that I appreciated vaguely,
seeing that the door was locked on the outside, and
that it was open to any one to enter.
"Ahoy there, missy. Now you've done singing
you'll be wanting some breakfast, eh?” came the
husky tones of Captain Belcher's voice.
I decided rapidly that, as I was at the man's mercy
and in complete ignorance of his intentions toward
me, there was nothing to be gained by open defiance
or a display of temper. Woman's wit had served me
as a poor weapon so far, but it remained my only one.
I would pin such little faith as was left in me to it
still.
“How soon will breakfast be ready?” I asked, striv-
ing to make the question sound as indifferent as if I
were addressing the steward of an Atlantic mailboat.
My apparent complacence must have astonished
him, for a blasphemous but not unfriendly oath pre-
faced the reply: "Now you're talking sense. The
coffee'll be hot as soon as you want it, and-your
door's unlocked."
The truth of the latter statement, evidenced by the
scrooping of the key, emboldened me to put the ques-
tion:
"I wish you would tell me where you are bound
for, Captain Belcher. I cannot pretend to feel very
comfortable till I know that."
The rasping laugh that met my request for en-


208
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
lightenment was not reassuring. “There you have
me, missy,” replied the captain. “You may believe
me or not, but I know no more than you do, and
shan't till we've passed the Straits. We're sailing
man-o'-war fashion this trip-under sealed orders.'
“Very well,” I said. “I shall be quite ready for
breakfast in ten minutes. Am I to have it in here?"
“Not you," thundered through the cabin door.
“You're to have it along of me-here in the cuddy.
And you'll find me a first-class ladies' man, I warn
you.'


CHAPTER XXVII
OPENING THE ENVELOPE
HE prospect of sitting down to breakfast with
the captain of the Nightshade gained nothing
in attractiveness from his self-description as
a ladies' man, but to undergo the ordeal
seemed the wisest policy. Rudeness and foul-mouthed
speech I might have to put up with, but it was possi-
ble that by feigning a stupid apathy I might avoid
the brutal violence of which he seemed capable.
And there would be more scope for seizing any
opportunity that might occur if I availed myself of
the run of the ship, than if I sulked in the stifling
cabin. At the same moment I impressed upon myself
the necessity of not overdoing the assumption of
studied carelessness, for I shrewdly suspected that in
Captain Belcher's crude animalism there was a large
proportion of native cunning. His reception of Sir
Gideon Marske as an unexpected stranger, in order
to lead up to my inveiglement down the companion,
had shown that he himself could play a part with
success.
When I emerged from the cabin into the cuddy, I
found the captain already seated at the end of the
209


210
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
table, and it was a relief to see that the meal was not
to be eaten tête-à-tête. The place on his left was occu-
pied by a sheepish-looking man with an enormous
shock of red hair, whom I afterward discovered to be
the mate. There was also a Portuguese steward in
attendance, to encourage me with the proverb that
there is safety in numbers, though I should have been
very loth to meet any one of the three men in a coun-
try lane on a dark night.
At my entrance Belcher looked me over with a bold
stare, and pointed to the seat on his right.
“Now then, Antonio, you black swab, bacon and
eggs for the passenger," he roared at the steward.
“O'Brien," turning to the mate, "just trot out your
company manners before a lady. If I catch you
shoving your knife into your ugly mouth again so long
as this blooming cuddy is a first-class saloon, I'll send
you to grub forrard, along of the crew. I hope you
slept well, miss?"
The leer with which he accompanied the impudent
question discounted its rough humor, and I had much
ado to keep from breaking down at the start.
“At any rate, I slept very soundly, but perhaps
the less we say about that the better,” I nerved my-
self to reply, trying to make a pretense of eating in
spite of the nausea with which the rank stuffiness of
the place nearly overcame me.
For some reason my answer, with its suggestion of
a modified playfulness, pleased the captain, and he
laughed boisterously.
“Funny thing, when you come to think of it,” he
said, “a Chancellor of the Exchequer going in for


212
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
patron let drop, I reckon he wouldn't blame me for
such an accident."
I could well understand that Sir Gideon Marske
would be delighted to hear that there was an end of
me, and I quite expected that the “sealed orders”
which Captain Belcher was to open later in the day
contained instructions which would change the ruf-
fian's bullying good-humor to a more dangerous mood.
That he was utterly unscrupulous, as well as under
the thumb of the Marskes, and well paid by them for
his present job, was painfully obvious.
And when a little later, taking advantage of his
permission, I went on deck, I had no doubt that the
crew had been selected with an eye to unquestioning
subservience to his orders, no matter what they might
be. A more hangdog set of cut-throats surely could
not have been collected in the purlieus of any seaport
in the world. For the credit of my country, I was
glad to find that the round dozen of them, with the
exception of a drunken Scotch engineer and the semi-
imbecile Irish mate, were all foreigners-Spaniards,
Greeks, and Lascars.
The haze that I had noticed earlier in the morning
had all rolled away, and the August sun beat fiercely
out of a brassy sky as the Nightshade ploughed her
way down Channel. Either her engines were not
capable of any great speed or Captain Belcher was in
no hurry, for it was noon before we passed Dunge-
ness, and I knew that it would be quite late in the
afternoon before we arrived off Brighton, and the
fateful missive in Belcher's possession was opened.
Dinner was served at one o'clock, under the same


OPENING THE ENVELOPE
213
conditions as breakfast, with the disquieting differ-
ence that the captain had evidently been drinking dur-
ing the morning. In fact, I had seen Antonio, the
steward, paying frequent visits to the bridge with a
black bottle and a glass. The effect of Belcher's
potations was in one way satisfactory, inasmuch as he
was morosely silent, devouring his food greedily and
scowling at the red-headed mate, to whom he seemed
to have taken a dislike.
He only addressed me once, and that was when he
was rising from the table. Tapping the breast-
pocket of his coat, he looked down at me as he spoke
in a bemused sort of way.
“You're wondering what's in the sealed orders,
eh?” he said. “Well, so am I. What d'you say to
opening it now! That giddy old Gideon 'll never
know. Take time by the forelock, eh?”
“You must, of course, do as you like," I replied.
“But from my experience of Sir Gideon Marske, I
should imagine that you would find it more advisable
to wait till the time he appointed. He has a knack
of finding out things.'
Captain Belcher's answer was a horrible frown at
being crossed, but he thought better of it and went
on deck without any further proposal to forestall his
orders, and my object, which was time, was gained.
I was in no haste to have that loathsome creature in
full possession of Sir Gideon's wishes as to my dis-
posal; and that moment, when Belcher was in a state
of drunken surliness, seemed the last one to choose.
Nevertheless, afraid though I was of him, I was
reluctant to abandon all hope of escape by remaining


214
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
I did so,
below, so after a while I ventured on deck again,
and all through the hot afternoon prayed that one
of the many white-winged yachts flitting hither and
thither might approach within hail. But I soon be-
came aware that Captain Belcher had no intention of
permitting any such chance to be accorded to me.
The vessel was steered from the bridge, and when-
ever she was in the vicinity of other craft the captain
would take the wheel from the helmsman and edge
further away. Once, when a smart yawl luffed so
rapidly as to bring her tearing at racing speed toward
us, he caught my eye and made a motion with his
hand as though I should look behind me.
and with difficulty choked down a scream. Crouch-
ing below the level of the bulwalks, so as to be invisi-
ble from the yacht, and within two feet of me, was
one of the swarthy Spaniards, with a long keen blade
poised straight at my back.
I understood the menacing dumb-show, and allowed
the yawl, with her deckload of laughing girls and
spruce young men, to shoot under our counter with-
out raising the cry for help that had been quivering
on my lips. The Spaniard sneaked away from me,
showing his teeth in a cruel snarl, while on the bridge
Belcher chuckled audibly. After that I gave up all
interest in passing vessels, and sadly watched the
green coast line of Sussex slipping by.
It was about six o'clock when Belcher came down
from the bridge and pointed to rows of windows and
roofs glistening in the sun two miles away across the
calm sea.
“That's Brighton," he said with grim significance.


OPENING THE ENVELOPE
215
“I know that. I can make out the Pavilion and
the pier," I answered, summoning all my fortitude.
“Well, then, here goes for the sealed orders,” he
continued, producing an envelope from the inside
pocket of the tweed coat that made him look more
like a country station-master than a sailor. "You'll
bear me out, next time you see Sir Gideon, that I
didn't start on it before he was ready. Now for the
surprise packet.'
He tore the envelope open and eagerly perused the
closely written sheet of notepaper it contained. As
he read his brows puckered, and once or twice he
looked up at me with such a sinister expression that I
felt inclined to take him at his word and end my
troubles by leaping into the sea. Only the thought
deterred me that on my slender chance of escape de-
pended Arthur's liberty and life. Having read
to the end, the captain emitted a low whistle and re-
placed the document in his pocket, again glancing
strangely at me.
“Now you can tell me where you are going to put
me ashore," I faltered, for at that moment I failed
to preserve a bold front before what I saw in the
man's eyes.
"Put you ashore ?” he repeated, with a diabolical
sneer. “You'd best get that out of your mind at
once, missy, for there's a long trip-a very long trip
-ahead of you. It rests with you, seemingly from
what's writ here, quite how long it's to be, but you're
to settle that with the other passenger that's coming
aboard to-morrow. He's to have a say in the business,
it appears, and after that I come in."


216
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
With which enigmatic utterance he returned to the
bridge, and I noticed that immediately afterward the
steamer's course was slightly altered.


218
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
for what was coming on the morrow. I was thank-
ful for that brief respite.
For the present, in spite of his potations, Captain
Belcher was very far from being incapable. He had
taken the wheel himself, and his dirty fingers clutched
the spokes and twirled it with no uncertain grasp.
Gradually the steamer edged nearer and nearer to the
Sussex shore, and, passing close to Selsea Bill, bore
round toward Hayling Island and the narrow en-
trance to the series of lonely creeks that is dignified
with the inappropriate name of Chichester Harbor.
I had once spent a summer holiday sketching at that
artists' paradise, Bosham, and knew the locality well.
In the gathering dusk the Nightshade slipped into
the opening, and, with a man taking soundings every
minute, threaded her way through several winding
creeks till the shores on either hand hemmed us in
without sign of an outlet. We seemed to be steaming
in the middle of a cornfield ripening for the sickle.
Occasionally we hugged the land so close that the
trees nearly brushed our masts, and then, suddenly,
we came to broader water and cast anchor in a sort of
lagoon opposite a ruined custom-house, long since dis-
used. I had a picture of it somewhere, painted in
happier days.
Save for the Nightshade, that bend of the creek
was devoid of craft of any kind. It is very seldom that
a steamer enters those land-locked labyrinthine waters,
and the few sailing coasters that pass through them
seek anchorage still further inland, at Bosham or
Chichester. A more secluded spot for a vessel bound
on a nefarious enterprise to await a mysterious pas-


DEATH-WARRANT-OR WORSE!
219
senger could not have been found in the British Isles.
Out of sight of all ocean traffic, and even invisible
from the beats of coastguards, the steamer would have
no prying eyes to observe her; for the fishermen of
Bosham and Chichester, passing to and from the open
sea, were not likely to indulge in more than idle spec-
ulation, if they troubled about the matter at all.
When the ship had swung to her anchor on the
fast ebbing tide, Captain Belcher came down from
the bridge, and his appearance on deck was the signal
for me to beat a hasty retreat below. His condition
by this time precluded all possibility of my sitting
down to another meal with him in the cuddy, and,
darting through it into my own cabin, I shut the door
and set my foot against it. In a few minutes my
heart was set thumping by Belcher's voice outside.
“Come out, missy, and have some grub,” he
shouted.
“Thank you, I do not need anything. I have a
bad headache and wish to lie down," I replied.
"That be d-d for a yarn. May as well be civil
first as last. Come on out, or I'll open the door and
fetch you," bellowed the captain.
Then I shot a bow at a venture, hating myself the
while for invoking the aid of that unknown expected
passenger, who might be bringing greater terror upon
me than this blatant ruffian wielded. “The person
mentioned in Sir Gideon Marske's instructions will
know how to deal with you if you attempt any such
outrage," I made answer, clenching my hands to keep
the tremolo from my voice.
Whether I succeeded in that or not, the hint was


DEATH-WARRANT-OR WORSE?
221
been engaged together formerly in the illicit coolie
traffic in the Pacific, and had murdered their cargo
to prevent detection by an English man-of-war. Such
were the men who, at the instance of Sir Gideon
Marske, were charged with the task of silencing a
weak girl. Truly my prospect of saving Arthur and,
incidentally, of exposing the plot against Lord
Alphington, was of the slightest. And my own case ?
I tried to put all thought of it from me, praying that
my own end might be no worse than that of the poor
coolies whom Belcher had killed in cold blood far
away in the southern seas.
The Irishman sang a couple of atrocious ditties that
sent my fingers to my tingling ears, and then the
tinkle of glass, the blasphemous orders to the steward,
and finally the swinish snores of the pair told me that
the orgie was complete.
For some time I heard the pid-pad of Antonio's
feet as he hurried about, collecting bottles and glasses
and tidying up the scene of the debauch. Then the
sound of his footsteps mounting the ladder reached
me, and I knew that there was a clear field for my
attempt to learn my fate if I could summon up
courage to venture forth.
Acting on the principle that suspense is often worse
than the reality, I only waited long enough to be sure
that the steward was not going to return, and then
I softly opened my cabin door. The swing lamp in
the cuddy shone on just such a scene as I had antici-
pated and hoped for. Belcher lay upon the floor
breathing heavily, his purple face upturned to the
ceiling, while the mate's head had fallen forward on


222
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
to the table and rested on his grimy hands. Both men
were sleeping the sound slumber of intoxication, and
I stole forward into the reeking air of the cuddy.
Mastering the loathing I felt at having to touch the
beast, I stooped over Belcher and quickly extracted
the envelope from his breast-pocket. On the half-
sheet of notepaper which it contained, written in a
crabbed hand, and almost undecipherable by the
murky light of the cuddy lamp, were the following
words:-
“Rendezvous, Chichester Harbor, off old Custom
House. Thursday night watch clump of trees left of
creek from ten o'clock. A lantern waved three times
will mean that you are to send a boat to that spot to
fetch some one who will come aboard and make terms
with the girl. You will be guided by his instructions,
whether he elects to remain on board and sail with
you or not. But if the lantern is waved six times, or
in the event of its not being waved at all before mid-
night, you will at once steam away and act as you
please with the girl, provided that she is not heard of
again.”
This was Wednesday night, I reflected, as I stole
back to my cabin after restoring the envelope and its
mystical contents to the drunken man's pocket. I
had a little over twenty-four hours before I should
be called on to face the alternative foreshadowed in
Sir Gideon Marske's “sealed orders."



"I Quickly Extracted the Envelope.”
(Page 222)





224
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
And now, as the dusk of evening fell on the silent,
land-locked creek, and the cormorants that had been
fishing in the shallows winged their flight homeward,
I leaned over the bulwarks and gazed at the clump
of trees indicated in the sealed orders." Whether
the latter were actually penned by Sir Gideon Marske
or by his son, they showed an intimacy of acquaint-
ance with the locality which suggested that Roger
Marske was their real author. I knew that he had
spent much of his idle life in yachting on the south
coast, and I had once heard him describing the
peculiarities of this series of tidal lagoons to Lady
Muriel.
The remembrance of that staunch friend and ally
sent my thoughts flying back to the pretty Isle of
Wight village, and set me wondering, as indeed I had
never ceased to wonder, what had happened and was
happening to my poor Arthur. Had he succeeded in
prolonging his deception of that mysterious Herzog
that he was a willing instrument against Lord
Alphington? And, if so, had he so far escaped the
still graver peril of being identified as the fugitive
from Winchester Jail ? Above all, had Roger
Marske, now that he was free from my pursuit, used
his knowledge to put the authorities on Arthur's track
and effect his recapture?
I hardly thought that he would dare to go that
length, greatly as it would be to the interest of his
own safety to have the sentence of the court carried
out. For he would guess that Arthur was aware of
the reason of my journey to London, and, if re-ar-
rested, would make an accusation against him which,


WAVING THE LANTERN
225
though probably ineffectual, would at least be
awkward.
If the worst had come to the worst, and Arthur
had been driven to his last defenses, I could only
pray that my dear hunted lover had confided in Lady
Muriel, in whose sweet sympathy I had alone found
comfort during the past sad weeks. And if she, in
turn, would call in the aid of that nice boy Ralph
Carden, the alliance might prove too strong for the
enemy. I knew that Muriel and Ralph had a secret
understanding, and that the honest young soldier
would have been my friend's accepted lover long ago
but for Lord Alphington's blind prejudice in favor
of the son of his colleague, Sir Gideon.
I was recalled from these hopes and fears by the
sudden approach of Captain Belcher, who had come
up from the cuddy after his evening meal. Though
his sobriety was ominous of trouble ahead, I was
thankful for the moment that he had not repeated the
indulgence of the previous night. There was still,
however, that disquieting stare in his evil eyes-a
stare to make a defenseless woman's blood run cold.
“Nice fine night, ain't it, missy! Hope you've
been enjoying it,” he said, comprehending the peace-
ful ripple of the creek and the darkening landscape
beyond with a sweep of the hand that had “bashed
the niggers" as they were driven overboard to drown.
“I have been enjoying the quiet," I replied shortly.
“Ah, you're getting at me over the racket last
night," he chuckled. "The ships that Bill Belcher
commands ain't exactly Sunday Schools, as you'll
find out when the trip is a little older. What I was


226
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
driving at was that you can't enjoy the night up
here any longer. Things will be humming on deck
presently, and I must trouble you to go below to your
cabin."
“Certainly, I have no desire to stay," I replied,
and moved away to the companion-ladder, pausing
there for a moment to take a last look round. The
captain was climbing to the bridge, doubtless to watch
for the signal from the shore; smoke was beginning
to issue from the funnel from the fires which had
been banked up all day, and the villainous crew were
clustering forward. The signs pointed to prepara-
tion for departure, and I descended to my cabin, glad
that its position would enable me to see the signal.
The port-hole faced the clump of trees whence pres-
ently would be spelt out the message that meant so
much to me. Belcher, in his ignorance that I had
perused his instructions, would not know that I was
on guard.
It was nearly ten o'clock, and any time after the
hour the lantern might be waved-three times to de-
note the advent of the person who was to make terms
with me, and six times if the Nightshade was to steam
away with Belcher as the arbiter of my fate. If the
waver of the lantern elected to come on board as a
passenger, who would he prove to be? Who else could
it be but Roger Marske! And what mischief had he
been wreaking since he had arranged with Belcher
for my reception after his pretended flight from
Marske Hall? My heart misgave me lest he should
have employed the interval in hounding Arthur down,
for if he had not had some villainous work to do he


WAVING THE LANTERN
227
could have sailed from the docks, without the neces-
sity for this out-of-the-way rendezvous.
The night was fine, with a three-quarter moon ris-
ing in a placid sky, so that the larger objects on shore
were plainly outlined. Stationing myself at the port-
hole, I kept my eyes fixed on the dark group of elms,
which, I had ascertained in the daytime, grew nearly
down to the water's edge, and which now, as the slow
minutes passed and the moon rose higher, stood out
in clear-cut relief. But the moon being behind the
trees, the narrow strip of land between them and the
creek was in darkness, and strain my eyes as I would
I could not penetrate the gloom sufficiently to have
distinguished a human figure there. I should have
to possess my soul in patience till the new arrival
reached the steamer before clearing up the all-im-
portant question of his identity.
Eleven o'clock passed without the signal being
made, and I began to fear that the third alternative
provided for in Belcher's instructions would become
operative. If the lantern were not waved at all by
midnight he was to take it as equivalent to the six
waves and steam away, thenceforward having sole
control of my fate. How that control would be exer-
cised did not bear thinking of.
And then suddenly, as my watch told me that it
was twenty minutes to twelve, I thought that I de-
tected a flicker of light, as of a match being struck
among the trees. I waited breathlessly, knowing that
the supreme crisis had come, yet undecided, in my
ignorance of who was lighting the lantern, whether
I wanted the three flashes or six. If it was Roger


WAVING THE LANTERN
229
He was
shimmering ripple of the tideway, and I saw at once,
when she was still a hundred yards off, that she con-
tained a man in addition to the two rowers.
sitting in the stern, but, with the light behind him,
it was impossible to recognize his features at that
distance. I could understand that Belcher overhead
was peering as eagerly as I, since he had not been
enlightened in his instructions as to the visitor's
identity.
And then, as the boat approached the steamer and
rounded-to to come alongside, my suspense was ended
and my bewilderment increased. The man in the
stern was not Roger Marske at all. A moonbeam fell
full on his face and showed him to be that terrible
Herzog, who, with such deadly intent, had contrived
Arthur's escape from prison.


CHAPTER XXX
HERZOG FACES BOTH WAYS
T
HE advent of Herzog was utterly inexplicable
to me. What could there be in common be-
tween the ruthless conspirator who desired
the death of the Prime Minister, and a mem-
ber of Lord Alphington's Cabinet? Yet I had seen it
written, if not by Sir Gideon Marske himself, at any
rate with his knowledge, that the person who would
join the ship in that lonely arm of the sea would do so
with his approval, charged with the business of making
terms with me. Which surely must point to collusion
between Sir Gideon and Herzog.
In such a tangled maze speculation was idle, and
I listened intently for the reception of Herzog by
Captain Belcher. It was of supreme interest to learn
whether the two men who held my fate in the balance
were previously acquainted with each other. Much
might depend on that.
The boat rasped along the steamer's side, and I
heard the “flop” of the rope accommodation ladder
as it was flung down for the newcomer to climb on
board. There followed the plethoric breathing of a
stout man exerting himself, and a moment later Cap-
230


HERZOG FACES BOTH WAYS
231
tain Belcher's husky tones reached me in the ex-
clamation-
“By golly, then you ain't the cove I took you for.
I expected the old boy's son-Mr. Roger Marske.”
“I come as Mr. Roger Marske's substitute. He
has been unfortunately detained, but I have full
powers to treat with the lady," came Herzog's reply,
plainly heard in the still night air. And then, as
they moved away from the side, the conversation
tailed off into unintelligible murmurs, to become al-
most immediately audible again as host and guest de-
scended the companion into the cuddy. I was sorry
to have missed the gap in their talk, for they seemed
to have struck a point of difference already.
"I can't do it," Belcher was saying. “You're so
jolly late that the tide has ebbed too far for me to
take her out till morning. Besides, I'm tired of wait-
ing, and want a drink. Here, Antonio, you black
swab, bring glasses."
“I shall be delighted to join you, captain, but if
you cannot get away to the open sea to-night, I must
insist on your weighing anchor and dropping down
into the next creek,” came the answer in the voice I
remembered hearing on the promenade at Totland on
the day when Arthur revealed himself to me in Her-
zog's company.
"Insist is a word I ain't in the habit of listening
to on my own ship," growled Belcher.
“My dear sir-my dear friend, if you will allow
me to call you so—we are both in the same swim, and
I can assure you that it is necessary to our mutual
interests that the ship should be moved, if only round


232
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
the next bend, for to-night," said Herzog suavely but
firmly. “I do not want to have to rub it in that I
am representing Mr. Roger Marske-with full powers,
mind you."
There was a pause, during which I could imagine
the disputants looking into each other's eyes for the
mastery, and then came the surly submission from
Belcher: “It's gospel true, what I'm telling you
about the tide, but I'll up anchor and try and work
her into the next creek. Like as not she'll ground
on the mud.”
I heard the captain ascend the ladder to the deck,
and I was listening to his orders to the crew, when
I became conscious of a faint drumming on the door
of my cabin. “Miss Chilmark," came a cautiously
muffled summons through the panel. For a moment I
hesitated to reply.
"What is it?" I demanded, puzzled by the ap-
parent desire for secrecy.
“Will you not open to me for a moment? There
is a vital question to be settled between us before the
captain returns. My name is Herzog-a friend of
Captain Rivington, and therefore your friend also.
I am here to extricate you from what I believe to be
very grave peril."
A friend of Captain Rivington indeed-the man
who held him in thrall for the commission of a crime
that would have staggered the world! Was it not
natural that I should regard his overtures as rank
treachery, designed to enmesh me further in the toils
of the Marskes? Why, only a minute ago I had
heard him claim to represent Roger Marske on board.


234
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
truth which I myself had learned—but where else
could I look for help? I opened the cabin door just
a little, and was confronted by the perspiring face
of the man who had held Arthur's destiny, and now,
it seemed, held mine, in his grasp. He looked as if
he had suffered physical discomfort and exertion un-
usual to him, but his eyes fastened on me like search-
lights. At that moment the engines throbbed and the
steamer began to move.
“Good !” he ejaculated, turning to listen, and fac-
ing me again. "There would be no chance for us
if the ship was in the creek and within hail when
that fox comes to. Now I know that you have no
cause to be prepossessed in my favor, but will you
give me a concise account of what has happened to
you since you left Totland to get evidence against
Roger Marske? I want to fit it in with what I have
discovered, so that I may know how to present the
case. We have five minutes, probably, before the
captain works the steamer into the next bend and re-
turns to the cuddy."
He spoke rapidly and with intense earnestness, but
how could I judge of the value to me of his excite-
ment? He had carried out to the letter the pro-
gramme laid down in the sealed orders'' handed by
Sir Gideon to Belcher, and the chances were more in
favor of his being in Sir Gideon's service than in
Arthur's and mine. I regarded his story as a ruse,
to obtain from me the measure of my discoveries be-
fore deciding how to deal with me.
“What is the nature of the evidence you procured
in Roger Marske's flat-merely circumstantial or


236
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
But the choice was no longer mine to make. I had
dallied too long, for the heavy tread of Captain
Belcher on the first step of the companion ladder
warned me to close the door softly. At the same time
Herzog stepped swiftly back into the cuddy with a
ready greeting for his host on his lips.
"You have managed it all right then, captain!”
he said. “If you could go one better and reach the
open sea to-night it would be another hundred in
your pocket over the job. I am authorized to act as
paymaster in any special emergency.
“Can't be done for any amount of spondulicks,'
replied Belcher, evidently, however, impressed if not
mollified by the monetary offer. “The tide has been
too quick for us, and you've been too slow. If those
lubbers don't drop anchor in ten seconds, we'll touch
bottom. I should have stayed to see the order carried
out, but for this raging thirst. Ah, there she goes.
The cable rattled, the engines reversed for half a
minute, and I knew that the Nightshade had taken
up her new quarters till the tide should serve again.
If only I could be sure that the move had been made
lest Roger Marske should see the steamer on recover-
ing from the blow which Herzog alleged that he had
dealt him, how happy I should have been. How I
would have exercised all my poor wits to make an-
other opportunity of speaking with Herzog again be-
fore he slept.
As it was, the conversation which ensued between
him and Belcher left me in doubt whether I had acted
for the best or worst. My fears for Arthur and the
self-distrust born of my many blunders inclined me


THE PROOFS OF GUILT
239
flanked on the windward side by a huge meadow of
late clover, the scent of which came over the creek,
and, blending with the salt air, formed a tonic per-
fume, exhilarating with new life.
New life did I say? I had hardly emerged from
the hood of the companion, when I was reminded
that I had more to do with death than life that day.
Physical enjoyment of God's free sky and sea was
not for me. The red-headed Irish mate, lounging on
the bridge, sprang to instant vigilance, eyeing me
with a furtive grin. Half-a-dozen fierce faces raised
themselves from the deck forward, where a contingent
of the foreign crew were lying in a picturesque group
that, in happier conditions, I should have loved to
paint.
Evidently the Nightshade was keeping strict
anchor-watch for a merchant vessel lying in the
peaceful seclusion of a land-locked estuary.
I went to the side and leaned over, gazing over the
gray foreground to the green and gold of the fields
beyond. If I had been a man, unhampered by cling-
ing garments, I would have at least attempted to
make a dash for the shore.
“Wondering whether you could swim the distance,
Miss Chilmark?” said a low voice at my ear.
Herzog, who, on hearing me astir, had come up from
below with cat-like tread. His whole attitude, rather
than his words, suggested that it was on the larger
issue that he required an answer. To that point I
addressed myself, ignoring his strange divination of
my thoughts.
"I have decided to accept your story as true," I
It was


240
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
said. “Which means that I am willing to tell you all
that passed between Sir Gideon Marske and myself."
"That is well,” he replied gravely. “Come to the
stern-behind the wheel-house. There is not a mo-
ment to be lost, and we must not be overheard.'
In less than five minutes he was acquainted with
all my adventures, from Roger Marske's tracking me
to Mrs. Webley's shop, down to my long drive from
Marske Hall to the docks in Sir Gideon's company,
and the ruse by which I was induced to go below into
the cuddy, Herzog's manner of receiving my narra-
tive was instructive. He heard of my danger in the
burning Mill House quite impassively, but he showed
keen interest in Mrs. Webley's behavior and in all
that passed at Marske Hall.
“You have had some narrow escapes, and have been
among some very unkind people, young lady,” was
his comment. “You are, I presume, under the im-
pression that the newsvendor woman gave you the
right address, where Clara Rivington wrote to Roger
Marske, when she sent you to the Mill House ?"
“At the time I thought so, though I was puzzled
when I learned at Chipping Wyvern that the Mill
House had been so long unoccupied," I replied.
Herzog laughed and fumbled for a cigar. “The
excellent Mrs. Webley,'' he proceeded as he struck a
match, "sent you to the Mill House because, during
your absence from her shop, Roger Marske slipped
in and paid her to do so. Being on his father's es-
tate, he knew of it as a solitary house, where he would
be able to bring you and your pursuit of him to an
untimely end. Roger Marske really received his un-


THE PROOFS OF GUILT
243
gator of, the plot against Lord Alphington, with
which Arthur's escape from Winchester was insepa-
rably bound up?
He must have read my thoughts. “I have no ob-
jection to be known in the business under my alias
of Doctor Barrables," he said. “Captain Rivington
has consented to repay my service by sinking all ref-
erence to Herzog, and it was to ascertain from you
if Sir Gideon had said or done anything which would
make it necessary to drag me into his son's case that
I was obliged to stipulate for your confidence before
handing you those proofs. What I propose is this.
As Roger Marske's supposed representative I shall
bid Captain Belcher put you ashore at Totland Bay.
You will go straight to Lord Alphington with the
proofs and tell him the whole story exactly as you
know it, merely substituting the name of Doctor Bar-
rables wherever you should say Herzog.'
“But Roger Marske is aware of your real identity,
and will disclose it when brought to bay,” I said.
“Not so; as it will not be material to his own de-
fense, there are the best of reasons why he should not
disclose it," replied Herzog, with such a meaning
smile that light broke in on me, as I believe he in-
tended it should.
“Sir Gideon was the instigator-" I began in an
awe-struck whisper, which he checked with a wave
of his hand.
“My dear young lady,” he purred, “let us draw
a veil over all that. I do not even admit that the
Prime Minister was ever in any real danger at all.
But this I do know that your lover is, and that


244
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
unless we can get round to Totland by the early after-
noon he will probably be recaptured, when even those
proofs which you hold will be too late to save him.
And I am afraid we may have difficulty with the
captain. He gives me the impression of having an
axe of his own to grind-of wishing to keep you on
board."
"I am terrified by him; the first night I spent on
the ship he got drunk, and I heard him talking to
the mate,” I said.
“Well, you heard me talking last night, so you
must not be too greatly alarmed,” replied Herzog,
with a solemn wink. “All the same I agree with you
that the man is a hog-
“Who are you calling a hog on my ship 9" came
the suspicious inquiry from behind. And, turning
quickly, I saw that Captain Belcher was casting bale-
ful glances at us round the corner of the wheel-house.


246
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
lady on behalf of my principals and yours. You
will therefore start immediately, and, shaping your
course inside the Isle of Wight at your best speed,
you will land Miss Chilmark in one of your own boats
at the pier at Totland Bay. I myself shall enjoy the
pleasure of your company considerably longer, cap-
tain, for I propose to go on with you to Barcelona.”
Belcher had been staring at him open-mouthed,
but now his jaw closed with an ugly snap, and he
seemed on the point of an angry outbreak. I had
been thinking of Arthur and Arthur's safety hitherto,
but now I was free to rejoice at the near prospect of
escape from this wild animal's domain. His visible
disappointment at that moment brought home to me
how doubly grateful I ought to be for Herzog's in-
tervention. Had I been the passenger to make the
voyage I could see that the waves would have been
my best friends before we were out of the Channel.
So I told myself in the exaltation of the moment,
without reflecting that as long as I was on board the
Nightshade such congratulations might be premature.
Belcher for the present restrained his wrath, and,
muttering that he would go and get the anchor up,
turned on his heel and went forward to the bridge.
Shortly the steamer began to move, and as she crept
slowly from creek to creek out to the open sea, Herzog
filled in the blanks of his narrative.
He told me how Roger Marske had attempted to
murder Arthur; how, fearing that, as he had failed
to silence my lover by that direct method, Marske
would take measures to have him recaptured, he,
Herzog, had hidden him in a vacant house and had


A FIGHT AGAINST TIME
249
vented his designs on you with a knock on the head.”
“But," I said, fired with instant alarm, “if he
was at the Home Office yesterday afternoon the
search for Arthur will commence this morning at
the latest."
“Not so," was the partially reassuring yet terrify-
ing reply. “The object of the Marskes, and certain
other interested persons, is to allow as little time as
possible to elapse between his capture and execution
-to minimize the remote chance of any one's paying
attention to what he would say. It was arranged,
80 Marske told me, that he would not be looked up
till the afternoon, so that he might be hustled off to
Winchester in the evening and hanged at dawn to-
morrow. You should take comfort from the fact
that they believe him to be still in the lodgings at
‘Springthorpe.' I took care to impress that fiction
upon Master Roger. They do not know that their
quarry is hidden away in an empty house, and that
a hunt is in store for them.”
I could only hope for the best, and pray that the
sleuth-hounds of the law would believe my dear one
to have fled further afield, when they learned that
he had not been seen at his lodgings for nearly two
days. But Herzog's concise story made me realize
how everything depended on the Nightshade for the
next few hours. A hundred things might happen to
cause a fatal delay. Her rattletrap engines might
break down; her captain might get drunk and re-
bellious; ominous clouds, heralded by a spiteful
breeze, were banking in the western sky. The


250
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
weather might upset all Herzog's calculations and
send Arthur to his doom.
Antonio came presently to announce that break-
fast awaited us in the cuddy, and before going below
I was rejoiced to see that we should soon be out of
those lonely stretches of stagnant water.
steamer was threading her way between the low shores
of the most seaward creek, with the sandy beach of
Hayling Island visible on the port bow. Once clear
of the shallows Captain Belcher could put on full
speed if he so willed it.
He did not appear at the breakfast table, the hon-
ors being done in surly fashion by the red-headed
mate, who eyed Herzog askance, and obstinately re-
fused all information as to how long it would take
to do the distance to Totland Bay. "You must ask
old man Belcher," was his oft-repeated answer. “He
don't permit the likes of me to do the talking on his
ship."
When we returned to the deck it became evident
that the captain's abstemiousness in the matter of
food did not extend to liquid refreshment. He had
been supplied on the bridge with a square flask of
Hollands, to which he frequently applied himself in
the intervals of giving instructions to the man at
the wheel. His face was already flushed, and his
speech, as he bellowed foul-mouthed orders to the
crew, was thick and inarticulate.
“We shall have trouble," I heard Herzog mutter,
"The fellow is fortifying himself for a purpose.
And turning to me, he added aloud, but in a low
voice, “It is asking a good deal of you in the way


A FIGHT AGAINST TIME
251
of swallowing noxious air, Miss Chilmark, but I really
think that you would be better in your cabin-for the
present, at any rate."
“Thank you, I shall remain on deck," I replied
in a tone intended to be final.
Herzog's shrug and grimace denoted that he ac-
cepted it as much. “Then,
“Then,” said he, "let us en-
trench ourselves to the best advantage. Ah, the very
place.
He led the way to a small deck-house, built at the
side of the vessel, flush with the bulwarks and about
ten paces aft of the bridge. There was a similar
structure opposite on the other side, and I was told
afterward that the signal flags were kept in one of
these houses and spare ropes in the other. Herzog's
use for the one he selected was soon to be made plain.
“Now, if you will kindly stand there, you ought
to be all right,” he said, indicating the angle which
the deck-house made with the bulwarks—a spot where
I was entirely screened from a view of the bridge,
and could see nothing of the ship but the afterpart
of the deck, with the house for the second wheel, be-
hind which we had conversed earlier in the morning,
in the background. Herzog came and leaned over
the rail beside me, taking advantage for the moment
of the same shelter. His keen gaze was directed at
the rough water of the open sea ahead, into which the
steamer was steadily ploughing. Already we were
beginning to pitch uncomfortably.
My strange companion pointed to a blue line that
rose at a great distance in front of us as the steamer
wore round to the left, clear of Hayling Island.


252
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
“It is a very little matter-simply the difference
between inside and outside--that is worrying me,
said he. "Those are the cliffs of Bembridge, in the
Isle of Wight. If Belcher steers for them we shall
know that he is for going outside the Wight, straight-
away down Channel for Spain, instead of shaping a
course inside it, down the Solent, according to orders.
Which will mean that he has kicked over the traces,
and that there are squalls ahead in two senses, for it
is going to blow a summer gale by all the signs. The
elements we cannot control, but we shall know all
about the Belcher part of the programme in less than
two minutes."
His words filled me with a new despair, just as I
had thought the battle won. Alarming as would be
the prospect for myself if Belcher elected to run out
to sea and commence his voyage without putting me
ashore at Totland, for my poor hunted Arthur the
result could only be the supreme disaster. I waited
with my heart in my mouth for the first indication
of the course to be steered, and it came quickly
enough. Disdaining the narrow waters between the
Isle of Wight and the Hampshire coast, the vessel's
head swerved further to the left, leaving no doubt
that Belcher was making for the English Channel,
south of the Island. We were not intended to pass
the flourishing little watering-place on the Solent at
all.
Gently but firmly Herzog pushed me further be-
hind the shelter of the deck-house, at the same time
drawing a formidable revolver.
"It is not likely that the captain will have fire-


A FIGHT AGAINST TIME
253
arms on him, but I want you to be out of harm's way
in case there is shooting,” he explained. Then he
stood boldly forth and leveled his pistol at the bridge.
“If you do not alter your course, and run for the
Solent inside thirty seconds, Belcher, I will drill a
hole through you,” he cried.


CHAPTER XXXIII
SHIPWRECK
HE thirty seconds allowed in Herzog's chal-
lenge
before there was any result. I could not but
admire the attitude of my unscrupulous ally
during that period of suspense. His aim never wa-
vered, nor did he show the slightest apprehension for
his personal safety, great as were the odds he had
taken upon himself to confront. I tried to read upon
his face signs of what was passing on the, to me, in-
visible bridge, but his expression remained sternly
impassive.
The answer of the enemy came at last, not in
a bullet, but in a string of oaths that the intervening
deck-house failed to keep from my ears. And with
the answer came relief, for almost simultaneously the
Nightshade's bows wore round for the other course
- that between the mainland and the Wight.
Herzog did not lower his revolver, but after a re-
assuring nod at me he addressed himself to Belcher.
“I give you credit for that act of wisdom, captain,'
he shouted. “You and your crew have nothing to
fear from me so long as you obey orders. But I shall
254


SHIPWRECK
255
shoot any man who attempts to come aft of the bridge,
and I shall shoot you and put the mate in charge if
you don't keep up a good speed- ten knots at least.'
Another volley of blasphemy flew back harmless,
but the vesssel plodded on to the westward in the
teeth of the fast rising gale, and Herzog took no
notice. But he did not relax his readiness with the
pistol.
“I am afraid that, for a stout man who loves his
ease, I have taken on rather a large order,” he half
turned his head to say to me. ‘At the mildest com-
putation we cannot be off Totland for another three
hours, and I must keep watch and ward all that time
on a deck that bids fair to become slippery. Luckily,
my legs are fairly seaworthy. Before I became a
Surveyor of Taxes I had the honor to care for her
late Majesty's revenue as an exciseman in Belfast
Harbor.'
So, for the next hour, as the vessel ploughed into
the narrowing waters of the Solent, past Southsea
and the Spithead forts on the right, and the green
slopes of the Wight, shadowed now by lowering
storm clouds on the left, my unexpected champion
chatted frivolously. But all the while his eye was
full of vigilance for the bridge, and once or twice a
sudden stiffening of the fingers on the stock of his
weapon told of movements among the crew beyond
my field of vision. Once he raised the pistol, but
lowered it again with a laugh.
“Belcher has finished his bottle and wants an.
other,” he explained for my benefit. “Unfortu-
nately for that unquenchable thirst of his it would


256
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
have entailed a visit by Antonio to the cuddy, which
is in our domain, and that I could not permit. What
a stroke of luck, Miss Chilmark, that our friend the
skipper believed himself such an autocrat that he
didn't think it necessary to carry his pistol on his
person. If he had done so my vigil might have been
more lively, and less of a sinecure."
As the steamer edged further into the Solent, our
chief foe for the moment, the weather, had its flank
turned by the island barrier, and we steamed past
East Cowes, with its anchorage full of sheltering
yachts, in less discomfort. Still the wind and the
waves were against us, and the old fruit tramp made
but poor time. It was past noon when we were off
the mouth of Southampton Water, and then some-
thing happened.
Herzog preserved his original position at the corner
of the deck-house, with his pistol in hand poised
ready for use, and with his gaze focused on the fore-
part of the ship, which I could not see. I myself was
impatiently watching the island shores, and thinking
how slowly they seemed to slip by, when a yacht,
anchored inshore off West Cowes, attracted my atten-
tion. She was a pretty schooner, with auxiliary
steam power, and I thought I recognized her as one
which had been lying at Totland a fortnight before.
In order to prolong my scrutiny of the yacht, when
we had passed, my eyes turned further astern, and
in doing so encountered a sight which drew from me
a warning cry.
Two of the Nightshade's foreign cut-throats were
peering round the corner of the aft wheel-house.


258
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
“That, my dear young lady, is the risk that I must
run," replied Herzog cheerfully. “I regard it as a
lesser one than traveling to Spain with the truculent
gentleman who is now binding up his leg on the
bridge, and who would certainly murder me unless
I could do without sleep for ten days. We should
be off Totland in an hour now, and I do not believe
that Captain Rivington will have been molested so
early. It is not as though he were at our old lodgings,
remember. He is a recluse where he will take a lot
of finding. No, I prefer the risk of going ashore,
and of dropping quietly off to more congenial haunts
till such time as there is less chance of Herzog, the
Government agent, being identified with the Doctor
Barrables of what will probably be a big line in mod-
ern history."
His words were cheering, not only on Arthur's ac-
count, but because I could not help feeling interested
in the strange man who had so unexpectedly dropped
from the skies to befriend me in the last stage of my
“forlorn hope." He was so secretive, with all his
air of frank geniality, that I could not divine whether
he had really entered into the plot against Lord Al-
phington with the intention of working it out to the
bitter end. When I am puzzled about this I always
remember that speech of his :
“I do not admit that the Prime Minister was ever
in any real danger at all."
And that is the view I prefer to take-that Herzog,
with the iron heel of Sir Gideon Marske on him, did
as he was bid in the matter of arranging Arthur's
escape from prison, but that he did it in the hope that,


SHIPWRECK
261
shelter of the deck-house and joined Herzog on the
sloping deck, clutching his arm to save myself from
falling. I had not seen Belcher for hours, but now,
as I looked up at the bridge he turned his evil face
aft at us and shouted maliciously:
“How about going ashore now? You'll have to
shoot the whole crowd, for I'll never get 'em to lower
a boat in this sea.
Herzog turned to me, his great broad face working
with an emotion that I like to think of as pity. “The
skipper speaks a true word for once," he said sadly.
“But, if you so decide, I am quite willing to give the
Nightshade's crew the choice between suicide by
drowning or bullet."
“What would happen if we do not attempt to
land?" I asked in despair.
Herzog shot a glance at the surges boiling on the
Shingles. “It will be a perilous operation," he re-
plied, “but I can make him turn back to Yarmouth
and land us there, where the roadstead is sheltered.
Of course there would be the loss of valuable time,
but it would be better than getting drowned or the
other alternative of being taken to Barcelona.”
“And doing no good at all. Yes, make him go
back to Yarmouth," I implored, realizing that to
reach Totland pier across that storm-tossed sea was
impossible.
Herzog lost no time in transmitting my wishes to
Belcher, who, after a moment's sullen hesitation, re-
peated the order to the steersman. The steamer's
bows wore slowly round in a long curve, shipping tons
of water as she turned broadside to the tempest, but


264
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
on the bridge, apparently engaged in a violent alter-
cation. For some minutes this lasted, and then the
mate came down and, staggering to the deck-house,
behind which I had stood all the morning, brought
out a flag, which he hoisted on the main-mast, climb-
ing into the rigging immediately afterward.
Seeing himself deserted by O'Brien, Belcher stood
at the bridge rail, apparently hurling unheard curses
after the retreating figure of his mate. Then he, too,
descended to the deck, trailing his wounded leg down
the bridge ladder, and clinging to the foot of it while
he gazed apprehensively at Herzog, who stood in the
door of the wheel-house at my side. My companion
made a sign to the wretched man, at which he showed
his teeth in a ghastly grin and literally hurled himself
through the clouds of flying foam into the hood over
the cuddy stairs. Herzog laughed grimly.
“The liquor!'' he shouted in explanation. "Belcher
was asking my leave to come aft of the bridge and
get it. Wanted the mate to bring it to him. That
was what the row was about.'
I shuddered, for it was evident that the captain of
the Nightshade, in his mad craving for drink, had
abandoned all chance for life and had gone to face a
master more awful even than Sir Gideon Marske-
the master whom Sir Gideon himself served so well.
The cuddy must have been two feet deep in water
when Belcher reached the bottom of the stairs, but
had he been able to stand up it would have been
equally all over with him a minute later. A giant
breaker surged over the side, sweeping the decks
from stem to stern, and hurling Herzog back on to


ROGER MARSKE ARRIVES
265
me, clutching wildly for foothold. By God's grace,
we both clung to the doorway till the flood sagged
out again, but down below the cuddy must have
been full of water. The captain had been drowned
like a rat in a trap in the foul den which two nights
ago, when he had forced me to sup with him, he had
called his first-class saloon.
Thence onward all our concern was for the shore,
whence alone could come our help. On each side
of the wheel-house was a round glazed port-hole,
and at the landward one, clinging for dear life to a
spoke of the wheel, I stationed myself. Herzog
stood in the doorway, and our eyes strained towards
the low cliffs of Totland, where we could make out
people running to and fro like little black ants. I
could understand how the summer visitors would be
taking full advantage of such a spectacle as a ship-
wreck, which made no demand on their pockets-a
gratuitous bit of excitement thrown in, as it were,
by kind Providence, for their amusement, without
charge.
Ah, if those hurrying sightseers could have known
the inner history of that ship-wreck—that bound up
with it were an attempt to assassinate the Prime
Minister! the escape, with which all England was
ringing, of a prisoner on the verge of the scaffold;
and the proofs of that prisoner's innocence-how
their tongues would have wagged as they battled
with the gale for points of vantage on cliff and beach.
It was at least a comfort to be certain that we were
seen, without undergoing the slow agony of those
who are wrecked at night, and know not whether


266
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
their signals have been observed on shore. Nor
would there be the delay, inseparable from the hours
of darkness, in getting the lifeboat crew together.
It was too far to distinguish individuals without the
aid of glasses, but already we could make out signs
of activity round the building where the brave blue
and white boat was housed. Little had I thought,
when I had watched her at a recent practise, how
soon my life and my love, and my lover's life and
honor, were to depend upon her prowess.
Herzog came close to me and made a speaking
trumpet of his hands. “If Roger Marske has got
over the clout I gave him last night, and has returned
to Totland, he must be having a bad time," he
shouted. “The flag the mate ran up will have told
the coastguard the name of the steamer.”
“If he is there he is praying for the ship to break
up," I replied. “Thank God that Arthur, who must
be watching us from that empty house, does not
know.'
Presently, after what seemed a year, but was in
reality about half an hour, a gleam of white shot
from the building on the beach, telling us the blessed
news that the lifeboat had been launched and was
on its way. It was only a fitful view we had of her
after the first rush down the slip, so enveloped were
we in showers of spindrift, while now and again a
huge wave, more hungry than the rest, would break
right over us, nearly washing us from our foothold,
and plunging the interior of the deck-house in dark-
ness as of night.
“Why, what is it? She is not making for us at


268
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
station at the wave-washed door of the wheel-house,
and sometimes joining me at the port-hole.
Our position was now doubly precarious, on ac-
count of the wreckage with which we were sur-
rounded, and which the sea used as a battering-ram
against our frail refuge. The masts, denuded of their
fruit of human lives, were tossed by each advancing
breaker on to the bank, to be drawn back again by the
suck of the backwash. More than once they struck
the stern, causing it to tremble like a frightened
horse, and though Herzog tried to comfort me by say-
ing that the blows jammed us more firmly, I knew
well that if the wheel-house itself were struck it
would splinter into matchwood over our heads.
But at last the lifeboat drew near, so buried in
blinding spray and in the troughs of the rollers that
when she was visible at all she was but a blurred
mass, indistinct as to all detail. She appeared first
on the windward side, rowing parallel with the bank,
in which her coxswain was evidently looking for an
open channel, so that he might approach the rem-
nant of the wreck in comparative shelter. And
even as the boat passed he seemed to have found
it, for she swerved suddenly, and vanished from
our sight behind the sternmost end of the wheel-
house, in which there was no port-hole to afford a
view of her.
“She must have shaved our rudder and propeller,"
cried Herzog in unwonted excitement. “Come, my
dear lady, your troubles will soon be over. She'll
round-to and hitch on to us on this side."
He made his way as fast as caution would permit





ROGER MARSKE ARRIVES
269
to the other window, and was peering for the re-
appearance of the lifeboat, when, at a scream from
me, he turned and faced the doorway. There, clutch-
ing the lintel to prevent himself from being swept
away, stood Roger Marske, bareheaded and wearing
the cork jacket of a lifeboatman.
The two men blinked at each other in the dim
light, as though to be very sure, and then, with one
accord and without a word on either side, sprang
upon one another like tigers.


272
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
“He doesn't mention the amount," I said, wishing
to draw him out and verify my suspicions.
“Drat him for that!" retorted the fisherman, with
a fine show of having been hardly treated.
"The
gentleman, he give me the money for the grub and
liquor, and 'arf a crown for myself. 'But, Croal,' he
says, 'that ain't anything like proper remuneration
for a kind of secret job like this. I only gives you
'arf-a-crown because it's all the change I've got. I'll
put it in this here note as t'other gent is to give you
a sovereign.'"
I tendered the sum demanded out of the little
store with which Herzog had supplied me in case a
wider flight should be necessary, but I did not believe
a word of the story. Herzog had, without doubt,
adequately paid him, and this was only a try-on to
make the most of the bit of luck that had come his
way-the thin edge of the wedge of blackmail. If
this was the spirit in which Mr. Peter Croal entered
upon his trust I could foresee a heavy addition to
my existing anxieties. He surely had the blood of a
blackmailer and a smuggler in his veins.
Having spat on and pocketed the coin, the fellow
showed no disposition to go, nor was I, in my im-
potent position, able to suggest departure. He leis-
urely scrutinized the few pictures on the walls, and
the furniture, and then his eye, too friendly for
safety, traveled slyly back to me again.
"Pretty little place—this you've got here all to
yourself, mister. How long might you be going to
bide in it?" he inquired.
"Till I choose to leave-or till you give me away,'


A DOUBTFUL FRIEND
273
I said, hoping to measure his capacity for treachery
by the extent of his disclaimer.
And full measure indeed he gave me. Such a
plausible, honey-tongued rascal as that Isle of Wight
lobster-catcher it has never been my lot to listen
to. The catastrophes which he called down from
Heaven on him and his if he betrayed me made
an appalling catalogue. He had taken a fancy to
me, he avowed, the moment I drew aside the blind.
He was “always one that stood by the unfortnit.”
And then, suddenly, with a sequence of ideas that
may or may not have been accidental, he added :
“If you was the bloke that broke jail at Winchester
I wouldn't peach, seeing what a liking I've took to
ye. Them newspapers say he's got away to America,
but you can't believe printed stuff nowadays. Like
as not he's laying up, snug and comfortable, in jest
such a crib as this.”
And Mr. Peter Croal's benevolent gaze roamed
round the room again, with one little corner of each
mild eye on me, it was made plain later. For the
unexpected personality of his remark sent a shiver
down my spine, of which I must have given some
visible demonstration, though there was nothing
to show that I had committed myself in the incon-
sequence of his next speech. When he had done ex-
amining the pictures and the furniture for the second
time, he had apparently dismissed all thought of "the
bloke who broke jail at Winchester.” His ideas
were all centered on the weather if his next remark
was acceptable proof.
“ 'Mazing fine morning, it be, after the storm last


A DOUBTFUL FRIEND
275
of the services of two of the oldest members. Had
not my liberty and life been in the fellow's keeping
I would have kicked him into the garden and over
the cliff.
To my relief, he at last showed signs of going,
though he was not to depart without administering
another shock to my sorely-tried nerves. Having
drawn up the blind, to make his exit by the window
through which he had entered, he looked back at me
and grinned.
“Might be a chap escaping from jail, eh, mister-
using a winder this way when there's doors to the
house," he said, watching me narrowly.
“Yes, it is inconvenient, but it will not be for
long," I replied, thinking how much safer I could
make myself if I were the truculent murderer I was
believed to be. For then Mr. Peter Croal would cer-
tainly not have left the house alive.
“No offense, mister, I hope?” he persisted, with
the same evil leer.
“Offense! No, why should there be?” I returned,
with what carelessness I could command.
Then only did he go, giving the gratuitous infor-
mation as he lurched out into the garden that the
wind was backing, and that there would be another
blow from the westward before long.
Though glad to be rid of him, I could not hide
from myself that my danger of discovery had been
increased tenfold by Herzog's employment of this
doubtful medium. I could only conclude that my
late companion had weighed the matter carefully,
and that he preferred this risk for me to letting Roger


CHAPTER XXXVI
DISCOVERY
N the gathering dusk, strangely enough, my
courage rose. The working hours of the day,
in which Mr. Peter Croal, if so minded,
might have set the sleuth-hounds of the law
on my track, were gone, and it was improbable that I
should be molested till the morrow. I assured myself
that the greedy fisherman had possessed less brains
than I had credited him with, and I was glad that I
had not yielded to impulse and sought some other
refuge.
For there had been minutes during the long day
when I should have relieved the strain by fleeing
to the woods, or even appropriating a boat on the
shore and putting out to sea, had it not been that I
should then have lost touch with Herzog and his
search for Janet. I cannot, in justice to myself, call
that restless longing to be gone cowardice, for, re-
member, please, I was not avoiding death from fear
of the thing itself, but because the death I should
have to die if I were taken would be that of a felon-
condemned, moreover, for a crime he did not commit.
Wearied with the gloom of living out the anxious
277


280
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
smoking would assuredly have been done through the
medium of a clay pipe.
It was best to be on the spot-to confront this new
development at close grips-so, making no noise in
case this prowler of the night had only been led by
curiosity into the grounds of the empty house, and
was unaware of my presence, I groped my way down-
stairs. As I was entering the drawing-room from the
hall, stumbling slightly in the dark on the door-mat,
there came a tap at the window, followed by another
and another. I stood still, scarcely breathing, and
the tapping ceased.
A gravel path ran close to the window, and, after
a pause that seemed interminable, I heard the
“crunch" of a light footstep. It did not sound like
the tread of that clumsy sea-dog Peter Croal. I
hoped that the unseen intruder was going away,
though why, if he had no knowledge that any one
was in the house, he should have come and tapped
at the window, I could not attempt to divine.
But there was no repetition of the sound betoken-
ing departure. It was merely the impatient shuffling
of a foot by some one balked of his purpose. My
visitor was still there, as was evidenced by a re-
currence of the drumming on the window pane.
And then, just as I was crossing the ink-black dark-
ness of the room to open the window and end the
suspense, I paused in consternation at the sound of
my own name, spoken in no hostile tone:
“Rivington! Are you there, Rivington!!!
“Who is it?" I asked, breathless.
“It is I–Ralph Carden. You may safely open to


DISCOVERY
281
me. I come as a friend, was the reply which caused
me to undo the catch and admit the speaker. He
stepped into the darkness of the room, but not before
I had caught a glimpse of his face and assured myself
that it was really the young officer who had recognized
me at Lord Alphington's.
"This will surprise you, after the way I treated
you the other night,” he said, when I had refastened
the window. “The fact is that you really have Lady
Muriel to thank for it.”
“God bless her!" I rejoined. “What most sur-
prises me is that you should have discovered that I
was here."
"It is that that brought me-at Muriel's instance,"
he replied, going on to explain briefly that Croal
was the source of his information.
It appeared that after my sentence, but before my
escape, Carden had been out sea-fishing in Croal's
boat. All England was then talking of me and of
my supposed crime, and, in discussing the trial Car-
den had mentioned that I had been at Woolwich with
him for a short time. That day Croal had come to
him and informed him that a man who might be the
escaped convict was concealed in the vacant house
on the cliff. As he was not sure, and had been paid to
supply the mysterious hermit with food, he would be
glad if Carden would contrive to get a look at him,
so that if he proved to be Rivington he, Croal, might
claim the reward. If not, there would be no harm
done, and he could go on making a smaller profit by
carrying provisions.
“Well," proceeded Carden, “this put me in a


DISCOVERY
283
merits of the case. Lady Muriel's kindly interest
was very sweet and touching, but I could not disguise
from myself that it sprang from girlish friendship,
and that if she had not known Janet I should never
have entered into her thoughts. I craved for some-
thing more than sentiment-for the honest belief of
an honest man.
"I should not wish you to act against your con-
victions on my behalf, but you will be better able
to judge when you know the secret of my escape from
Winchester," I said. “Then, if you choose to espouse
my cause, you will at least do so with your eyes
open."
And I told him everything, suppressing only, as
in honor bound to the man whom I believed to be
at the eleventh hour trying to serve me, the true
name of Sir Gideon Marske's emissary. In my dis-
closure Herzog was called "Doctor Barrables," and
so, without any slip on my part, he remained to the
end. From Ralph Carden's boyish point of view,
Herzog did not seem to matter at all. All his ideas
ran on Roger Marske, and the implication of him and
his father in my life-tragedy.
"By Jove, Rivington!” he exclaimed, as his hand
sought and gripped mine in the darkness, “you have
convinced me now. I'll be square with you. When
I came I was in Muriel's interests alone, but I'm in
yours, and in those of that plucky girl of yours, now.
What is best to be done? We seem to be in the thick
of a business that will set England ablaze. Those
blackguard Marskes!”
I am no diplomatist, but I saw that I could have


284
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
taken no surer road to Ralph Carden's favor than
by disclosing his rival's villainy. Had it not been for
the hearty ring in his voice I should have discounted
the value of his new-found trust, as being based solely
on that rivalry; but there was no mistaking that the
young soldier was an honest convert to my innocence
-no matter if his hopes for Roger Marske's downfall
had fathered the thought. The fact that here was a
new ally, gave me comfort.
“But nothing has been proved against either of the
Marskes," I pointed out. “Till Janet is found I
am the only witness, and I am worse than useless.
The moment I stepped out into the open to prefer a
charge I should be hanged out of hand. And I could
not even hope for post mortem rehabilitation, for I
cannot expect the man, whom I must continue to
call 'Doctor Barrables,' to come forward and impli-
cate himself.”
"I was struck by that fellow the other night,"
said Carden. “He seemed a strong man, but can
you be sure that he is running straight in your in-
terests? Is he really likely to produce Miss Chilmark,
and any proofs she may have discovered, if he is lucky
enough to discover her?"
“I would not trust him an inch unless our interests
were identical," I replied. “But as they happen to
be so, I could have no more powerful support. I am
convinced that the aim of his life is to get the Marskes
on the hip, and I have even thought lately that he
went into this business not only because he was com-
pelled to, but with that end in view."
There was silence between us in the darkness, and
-


286
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
My secret, too-the secret of my hiding-place, that
alone stood between me and the gallows-had passed
into the keeping of others. Well-affected they might
be, and probably were in a silly, romantic, senti-
mental way, for which I was grateful; but I and my
peril had not the first place in their efforts at aid.
In Janet's true heart alone was I myself the real
reason for a whole-souled sacrifice.
I repeat that I make no apology for this frame of
mind, but it was the one in which I flung myself
on the couch in the drawing-room of the empty house
and snatched a fitful sleep.


CHAPTER XXXVII
THE PREMIER TAKES SNUFF
I ing and listening. I was filled with a pre-
SPENT the morning of the next day in wait-
pre-
monition of impending disaster. I dreaded
the advent of Croal, lest I should be unable
to control my resentment at his treachery, and I was
already apprehensive of the outcome of Lady Mu-
riel's championship. I had hung my life on such a
very slender peg—the discretion of an impulsive and
affectionate girl. If she had made a slip in the advice
she gave to Carden I might be called upon to surren-
der at any moment.
And if anything were wanting to depress me fur-
ther the weather was enough to do it. By ten o'clock
it was evident that Mr. Peter Croal's meteorological
prediction was to be fulfilled. A sudden darkening
of the room caused me to go up to peep from the attic
window, and I saw that the western sky was heavily
banked with advancing clouds. Then a stiff breeze
sprang up, and before noon the storm king was
abroad in full majesty. A furious gale was tearing in
past the Needles, driving straight up the Solent, and
raising such a sea as is seldom seen on that protected
287


288
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
coast. A mile or more off shore on the Shingle Bank
the breakers were surging and leaping like savage
beasts hungry for prey. The thundering crash of
them reached me plainly between the gusts of wind,
I went downstairs again, fearful even of the sound
of my own footsteps, and I was wondering how soon
Carden would bring me news, when a sharp double
tap at the window caused me to hold my breath.
Carden had come in stealthier fashion last night,
and it was improbable that he would relax his pre-
cautions to-day. Mr. Peter Croal's tap had been more
humble and insinuating. A thrill shot through me
as I thought that it might be Herzog, returned with
Janet and the proofs of my innocence, and therefore
careless of being overheard. On the other hand, that
bold summons might mean the end of all things-the
arrival of the police or prison warders.
If the latter, resistance or attempted flight would
be futile; so, with a desperate heart-cry that it might
be the happy alternative, I wrenched aside the blind
-to meet the gaze of neither Herzog nor the officers
of the law.
He who demanded admission was Lord Alphington,
the man whom I had been released to slay. His
stately figure was drawn up to its full height, and
his fine face wore a sternly-expectant expression that
filled me with dismay. I knew what had happened.
Lady Muriel had thrown me on her father's mercy,
which, as Herzog had said, would be equivalent to
throwing me to a wolf chained with red tape. By
virtue of his office he would have to fall on me and
rend me.
-


THE PREMIER TAKES SNUFF
289
I drew up the blind, and, unfastening the window,
gave him admission. Now that the die was cast, and
there was to be no more hole-and-corner work, I felt
a man once more. I who had been compelled to skulk
would now come into the open.
“Am I to address you as Mr. Martin or Captain
Rivington ?" said the Premier, as he stepped over the
threshold, gazing curiously round him.
"You have been told that I am Rivington, the es-
caped convict?”
“By my daughter, who told me a lot of other in-
credible things."
“If I can convince your lordship of the truth of
the other incredible things by admitting Lady
Muriel's first statement I shall be fortunate," said
I. “Yes, I am Arthur Rivington, and I was practi-
cally released-escaped is not the word for it-to kill
you."
He produced a gold snuff-box, took a pinch, and
glanced out of the window. “Gad, how it blows,"
he said. “That steamer will be on the Shingles if
she doesn't take care. Well," he added, turning his
mocking gaze on me, “why don't you kill me now?
You will never get a better chance ?”
“I never intended to kill you, my lord," I began
hotly. “If you think that"
But he stopped me with a quick imperious gesture.
“Do not trouble to plead on that count of the in-
dictment,” he laughed harshly. “Whatever your
character, you have but a poor wit, Captain Rivington,
or you would have known that I should not have
come here alone and unarmed if I had credited that


THE PREMIER TAKES SNUFF
291
I labored the point advisedly, for I was aware that
Marske's abrupt and inadequately explained de-
parture had been noticed, if not resented, by Lord
Alphington.
“Humph!” he muttered, taking snuff again. “All
this sounds mighty like mere title-tattle. Still—"
He broke off suddenly and strode to the window,
where, after a minute's reflection, his attention was
diverted to what he saw.
“I knew it. There'll be a wreck,” he cried. “That
steamer is almost in the breakers. The clumsy beg-
gars are trying to put back to Yarmouth without
proper sea-room."
I could not work up any enthusiasm about a vessel
in distress just then, and I respectfully but firmly
brought him back to the subject.
“My lord, I should be greatly obliged if you would
ease my suspense by informing me how you propose
to deal with me,” I said.
He cast another glance on the struggling steamer,
and then turned upon me with such impetuosity that
I took it for anger. And so, in a sense, it was, though
not for me. It was the irritation of the official mind
brought into conflict with private influences.
"Look here," he blustered, taking snuff furiously,
"there is one thing in your favor which inclines
me toward you in spite of my better judgment. You
saved my daughter's life, and have not once referred
to it."
“I have been convicted of murder, my lord, but
that is no reason why, being innocent, I should not
endeavor to remain a gentleman," I replied.


292
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
It was a pompous speech, which I should have
laughed at myself in happier days, but it struck home.
It made his lordship swear.
“D-you,” he cried, his gray mustache bristling.
“You have put me in a fine hole, sir. Now listen
to me. I cannot be mixed up in shielding an escaped
convict, and I shall see to it that information of your
whereabouts is duly furnished to the authorities. But
in consideration of your having saved Lady Muriel
Crawshay's life, I shall stay my hand for twenty-four
hours-on the chance that Miss Chilmark may return
with news that may be of service to you."
It was a concession, and I was about to thank him
for it, when my eyes, facing the window, saw what
was for the moment hidden from him. The steamer
had grounded on the Shingles, and the great white
seas were engulfing her. An unconscious gesture on
my part caused Lord Alphington to turn seaward.
He caught my meaning at once, and hurried to the
window, I following.
The Prime Minister on his holiday was as smaller
men; he had provided himself with a pair of field-
glasses, and, having unslung them, he was proceeding
to focus the wreck, when round the corner of the
house, into his field of vision, walked Roger Marske.
My enemy's eyes glanced eagerly over Lord Alphing-
ton's shoulder at me.
“My lord, I have been inquiring everywhere,"
he panted. “I rejoice to have found you-to put
you on your guard. You do not know who that
fellow is, whom you have admitted to your table and
your intimacy."


THE PREMIER TAKES SNUFF
293
Before any reply could be made, a sharp report,
heard above the strife of the elements, assailed our
ears—the sound of the signal mortar at the coast-
guard station, fired to call the lifeboat crew together.
With exasperating interest in the coming event,
the Premier pulled out his watch. "Now I wonder
how long the rascals will take to man the boat?” he
reflected aloud. “What was that you were saying,
Marske? The wind and sea were making such a noise
I didn't quite catch it."
Heavens, how I exulted in that diplomatic fiction
-sign that the great statesman meant to abide by
his promise. For there was no doubt that he had heard
every word of the incipient accusation, and was
merely sparring for time. Marske repeated his words
with redoubled venom, every syllable accented with
desperate hate, Lord Alphington surely noted.
“Who is this gentleman? Why, Mr. Martin, of
course, who saved Muriel's life so gallantly last
week,” Lord Alphington replied calmly.
"It doesn't matter what he has done or what he
calls himself," Roger Marske vociferated loudly.
“That man is Arthur Rivington, who was condemned
at last Assizes and escaped from prison two days be-
fore. execution."
Lord Alphington's ripple of silvery laughter was a
revelation in the art of polite sneering. “My dear
Marske, what a hallucination," he said. “Ah,
perhaps that blow accounts for it. What's the matter
with your head !"
With difficulty my enemy choked down an oath,
and I noticed for the first time a discolored swelling


CHAPTER XXXVIII
TWO VOLUNTEERS
SI
T soon became apparent that something was
wrong with the work of rescue. Men in
cork jackets came to the great swing doors
of the lifeboat-house, and gazed anxiously
along the beach. A gentleman, whom I took to be the
local secretary, fussed and fumed in and out. Above
the howling of the tempest and the crash of waves
on shore the murmur of voices rose.
“They're generally the two first,” I heard a woman
say. “They've been talking ugly lately, and I
shouldn't be surprised if they don't turn up at all.”
My mind jumped back to Mr. Peter Croal and his
grievance, and I recognized the cause of the trouble.
His opportunity for avenging the fancied slight on
him had come, and with the malice of a mean nature
he was sulking in his cottage when his lean, lithe
arms were so sorely needed in the lifeboat. And
the comrade he had mentioned was probably following
suit.
In the interval of waiting for the missing members
those of the bystanders who had glasses turned them
on the wreck, and many were the speculations as to the
296


TWO VOLUNTEERS
297
??
name of the vessel and the number of her crew. About
a score of men could be seen clustered in the rigging,
and there was but little hope for any who had re-
mained on deck unless they were sheltering in the
deck-houses, so tremendous were the volumes of water
that broke over the ill-fated steamer. Like an ava-
lanche each wave fell upon her.
“I was on the cliff just after she struck, and I
thought I could make out a female figure and another
rush from amidships into the wheel-house at the stern.
My glasses are exceptionally good ones," remarked
an old gentleman of self-important demeanor.
Roger Marske turned sharply upon him. "You
must be mistaken,” he snapped with a warmth that
seemed quite uncalled-for. “That isn't a passenger
steamer. She's too small for that."
"Nevertheless, sir, I adhere to my original state-
ment,” the pursy gentleman retorted.
fifteen guineas for these glasses, and I have absolute
confidence in them. But here comes a coastguards-
man who will possibly corroborate me, for doubtless
they were watching the steamer from the station.”
I looked along the footpath that winds along the
base of the cliff, and sure enough a coastguardsman
was hurrying along it toward the lifeboat-house, as
though on an urgent errand. But in the same line
of vision, though some two hundred yards behind
him, was another figure which set my heart beating
fast-that of the local policeman, advancing with the
leisurely tread of his species to the center of excite-
ment. I involuntarily glanced at Roger Marske. His
eye met mine, and by the malignant triumph in his
“I gave


298
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
face I guessed that he too had seen the constable, and
meant to take advantage of the opportunity.
But no; my temporary protector saw the danger
signal, and took instant action. There was very little
that escaped the alert insight of Lord Alphington.
"Look here, Marske," he said sternly, but in a
lowered voice, "if you do anything to mar my enjoy-
ment of this picturesque scene, you and I will be
strangers in future; and you know what that en-
tails."
Biting his lip and scowling at me, my enemy was
equal to the occasion. “Consideration for your lord-
ship and my devotion to Lady Muriel will prevent
me from performing an obvious duty," he replied.
“I shall not denounce this person so long as he is in
your company."
“Mind you don't-by word or sign," said the
Premier, turning away to hear what was being said
by the coastguardsman, who had now arrived, and
before entering the lifeboat house was being button-
holed by the magnate with the expensive field-glasses.
“Yes, sir," the honest Jack was replying. “You
are perfectly right, sir, there is a woman on board.
We made her out quite clearly before the vessel took
the ground.'
“She is a passenger steamer then ?" pursued the
old gentleman, delighted with his first hit, and hoping
to score a second.
But he had to be content with a partial victory.
"No sir, the woman is probably the captain's wife or
sister; the wreck is the steamer Nightshade-port of
London, bound for Barcelona in ballast for fruit,”!


TWO VOLUNTEERS
299
the coastguard replied, and he elbowed his way
through the throng into the building, where the
absence of Croal and his adherent was now causing
dismay. The coxswain's voice was heard within, con-
demning the recalcitrant members of his crew to the
most terrible tortures, and the word “volunteers"
came frequently above the tumult of crashing wave
and angry talk.
But what was wrong with Roger Marske! That
spasmodic working of his jaw, that sudden pallor,
could not be due to his having been partially scored
off by the owner of the valuable glasses. My experi-
ence of the rending of human heartstrings had been
extensive during the recent months, and I knew that
he was face to face with a crisis that called for in-
mediate action.
This was the way he met the crisis.
"I can't stand this,' he cried, for the benefit of the
bystanders at large. “If the boat is short-handed
I'll go as a volunteer. I can pull a good oar.” And
amid cheers from the wind-riven, rain-soaked crowd
he pushed his way into the lifeboat-house.
Heaven knows what instinct prompted me, but the
inspiration came that if Roger Marske, the soft-living,
ease-loving sybarite, wanted to be out there on the
storm-swept Shingles I ought to be there too. My
sluggish brain was conscious of some new awakening,
though not till afterwards did I piece it all together
and understand that it was the woman on board the
wreck who had called me; the one woman in the world
I would willingly die to save.
"My lord, I am entirely in your hands," I whis-


TWO VOLUNTEERS
301
moment I was lifeboat-man, with no use for any-
one or anything but my own thews and sinews.
At first we pulled straight for the wreck, but at
some distance from the shore the coxswain gave the
boat a slant to windward, with the object of getting
the current to help us. About this time a roar from
him told us that the forepart of the steamer, with the
masts to which the crew were clinging, had gone. All
that remained was the stern, with the wheel-house.
The announcement drew a groan from the brave
fellows near me, but Roger Marske turned in his seat
and flung at me a glance so full of malicious triumph
that I could not understand it, so irrelevant did it
seem to me, all unaware of his fiendish plot against my
darling's life.
But enlightenment was soon to come. The COX-
swain had again turned the boat straight for the
Shingles, and the wreck, and I guessed that he was
searching for open water to take the boat through to
the sheltered side, when he loosed a bellow that no
storm-rage could drown.
"There's a woman at the wheel-house window and
a man at the door. Put your backs to it, lads."
We did put our backs to it, with such good purpose
that our cunning steersman found the opening he
wanted-found, too, that it was close to the battered
remnant of the wreck, showing that had she kept but
a hair's breadth to one side she would have made a
clear passage.' Leaning all his weight on the tiller,
our chief swung the lifeboat into the narrow channel
in the seething maelstrom, so that she almost scraped
the stones of the bank. The boat shot through the


306
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
listened to my love's halting tones, and I began to
fear that we had lost our powerful friend, so gray
and stern did he grow.
But his half-incoherent ex-
clamation revealed the real meaning of his anger.
“Herzog!” he muttered, under his breath. “He
was Gideon Marske's man. My Heaven, but this is
too terrible.” And flinging himself into his chair he
bowed his head in his hands.
I saw what had happened. His quick mind had
penetrated the veil, and he had made the connection
between Sir Gideon Marske and the plot against him-
self, in which, till that moment, I do not think he had
wholly believed, or, if so, only to treat it as the work
of some lawless wretches insanely, vengeful for some
fancied wrongs.
There was a tap at the door and a footman brought
in a telegram for his master. Lord Alphington, pull-
ing himself together on the man's entrance, read it,
and heaved a sigh of relief.
"Thank God!” he cried. "Now we can hush this
greater horror up. Marske was always clever, and
he has taken the best way out.”
“What is it, father?” said Lady Muriel. “May
I see?"
“Read it out,” said Lord Alphington, rising heav-
ily. “And then I will ask a favor of you all."
Lady Muriel's fresh young voice rang out firm and
clear in the opening words, but trembled almost to a
whisper as she grasped the true significance of the
news. To us who knew, it was as good as a confession
of guilt in the task committed to Herzog. Sir Gideon
Marske was too hard a man to have taken the extreme


310
MILLIONS OF MISCHIEF
22
It was at about eleven o'clock, while Lady Muriel
was bravely keeping up appearances by singing to
us, that the climax came. The butler entered, and
with a scared face announced that three gentlemen
and “two other persons" were asking for the "Mr.
Martin” who was staying at "Springthorpe.”
“What sort are these other persons, Dawkins ?”
inquired Ralph Carden from the piano, where he was
turning over Lady Muriel's music. “Don't be afraid,
man. Speak up."
“They look like prison warders, sir," stammered
the butler, aghast at such a visit. “They—they are
not behaving as one would wish, when inquiring
for one of his lordship's guests."
"I'll soon settle their hash," said Carden, advanc-
ing to the door, but pausing as he reached it and
placing his finger to his lips.
For wheels sounded in the drive, and a moment
later Lord Alphington's voice was heard at the hall
door.
“Well, why are you fellows crowding me out of my
own house ?” he asked, in cheery accents that seemed
like the dawn of a new day.
A subdued rumble from the spokesman of the
party was all that reached us in the drawing-room.
“Oh, indeed,” came Lord Alphington's resonant
answer. “I have nothing to do with Mr. Martin's
identity. But whatever it may be you need put
yourselves to no further trouble about Captain Riv-
ington. I have here His Majesty's full pardon for
that gentleman, signed and sealed at Portsmouth
on board the Victoria and Albert an hour ago. Just


AFTERMATH OF STORM
311
step into the light and cast your eye over the docu-
ment.”
So passed the great shadow from my life, all the
dark places that it had clouded throughout those
dreadful weeks being illumined by the light of truth
at last. They tell me that I look ten years older, and
my sweet Janet, though she appeared as young as
ever on our wedding day, says that she feels twenty
years older than I look. But, as there is peace in
our hearts and no dishonor on our name, we can
afford to laugh at the ravages, real or fancied,
wrought by the terrible experiences which we have,
jointly and severally, here set down.
It only remains to say that the great secret of
Sir Gideon Marske’s dastardly plot against his noble
chief never reached the man in the street, nor was
the enforced resignation of two colleagues in the
Cabinet ever connected in the public mind with my
escape from Winchester. I have no doubt, however,
that Lord Alphington's private inquiries at the
prison traced the blame to the proper quarters, and
revealed to him how Herzog had wielded a key suf-
ficiently powerful to open the door of my cage.
But if Sir Gideon escaped the everlasting obloquy
of having schemed for the assassination of the Prime
Minister, he fully shared the infamy heaped on his
son when Janet's treacherous treatment by him was
made public after the investigation necessary to my
final rehabilitation. Being deprived of the advantage
which the trial of Roger Marske would have given
me, I had that investigation rigorously pressed home,