359 
 
 359 B
 
 ALICE DEVINE
 
 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 By 
 
 EDGAR JEPSON 
 
 Author of POLLYOOLY, HAPPY POLLYOOLV 
 THE TERRIBLE TWINS, ETC. 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1S16 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PRESS Of 
 
 BRAUNWOPTH * CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS *NO PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN. N. V.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 1 
 
 II THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 17 
 
 III THE ANARCHISTS 41 
 
 IV THE HIEROGLYPHICS AT No. 12 70 
 
 V HERBERT POLKINGTON'S UNCERTAINTY .... 107 
 
 VI THE RESCUE OF HERBERT POLKINGTON .... 130 
 
 VII THE GARDEN ANGEL 148 
 
 VIII LOST LORD CANTELUNE 165 
 
 IX THE EMPTY HOUSE 180 
 
 X THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 220 
 
 XI THE BECHUT MYSTERY 255 
 
 XII WALSH INTERVENES 292 
 
 XIII THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 327 
 
 S136347 *
 
 ALICE DEVINE
 
 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 
 
 I AM Garthoyle; but the Gardens were not 
 called after me. My uncle, Algernon Gar- 
 thoyle, built them, a triangle of twenty-one houses 
 in the heart of Mayfair, and called them after 
 himself. When after the poor old chap's funeral, 
 his will was read, and I found that he had left them 
 to me, I was indeed surprised. I had always taken 
 it for granted that he would leave them to that 
 strenuous politician, my cousin, Herbert Polking- 
 ton. So had Herbert; and he did look disgusted. 
 I should have thought myself deucedly lucky if my 
 uncle had left me half of the hundred thousand 
 pounds he had invested outside the Gardens; the 
 Gardens themselves, twenty-five thousand a year, 
 sounded too good to be true. 
 
 But there is always a fly in the ointment; and 
 the clause in the will in which the Gardens were 
 
 i
 
 2 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 left to me, ended with the words: "Certain con- 
 ditions are attached to this bequest, which will be 
 communicated to Lord Garthoyle by my solicitors.'* 
 All that evening I wondered what those conditions 
 were, of how many of its joys they robbed that 
 twenty-five thousand a year; and very soon after 
 breakfast I motored round to the offices of Messrs. 
 Brayley and Wills, my uncle's lawyers, to hear 
 the worst. 
 
 Old Brayley, the head of the firm, received me; 
 and I told him why I had come. 
 
 "Yes, yes; I was expecting you, Lord Gar- 
 thoyle," he said, "I have the papers here, you 
 know that Garthoyle Gardens were, if I may say 
 so, the apple of Mr. Algernon Garthoyle's eye. 
 Originally they were an investment. He sank 
 four hundred thousand pounds in them. Then he 
 grew interested in them; and they became his 
 hobby." 
 
 "Well, I should have called them his passion 
 they were more than a hobby," said I. "He was 
 even keener on them than he was on his spooks 
 psychical research." 
 
 "Yes, I should say that that was so," said 
 Brayley.
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 3 
 
 "It was. Why, when Number 15 remained 
 empty for eight months it so worried him that he 
 began to lose weight. I'm told he broke up a most 
 important seance when word was brought him that 
 Number 9 was on fire," I said. 
 
 "I see you know all about it, Lord Garthoyle. 
 Well,, your uncle's idea seems to have been to be- 
 queath to you not only the Gardens but also his 
 keen interest in them. The conditions attached to 
 the bequest are that you should manage the Gar- 
 dens yourself." 
 
 "Manage them?" I cried. 
 
 "Yes; that you should be your own house-agent, 
 deal with all matters connected with the letting of 
 the houses, their upkeep and repairs," said Brayley. 
 
 "But I've no experience whatever, not only of 
 the work of a house-agent, but of any kind of 
 business." 
 
 "Oh, you'll soon gain it ^The property is in ex- 
 cellent order at present. Every house is let to a 
 good tenant. And if you do make a few mistakes 
 at the beginning, the property can stand it." 
 
 "But it must mean work a lot of work," I said. 
 
 "Oh, yes. There are a thousand details con- 
 nected with a large property like that; and they
 
 3. ALICE DEVINE 
 
 would need perpetual attention. But of course 
 you would have assistance a clerk two jclerks." 
 
 I considered a while; the matter was beginning 
 to look more serious than I had feared. I had 
 never done any work; and it might be dangerous 
 to begin so late in life at twenty-eight. Besides, 
 I did not see how I was going to find time to do 
 any work; my life was already arranged and full 
 up. 
 
 Then I said: "I suppose if I don't fulfil these 
 conditions, I lose the Gardens." 
 
 "No," said Brayley. "That is the curious thing 
 about it. I suggested such a clause, of course; 
 but your uncle would not have it inserted. It rests 
 entirely with yourself to fulfil the conditions. But 
 here are the conditions in detail." And he handed 
 me some sheets of typewritten paper. 
 
 I said good morning to him and motored back 
 to my flat in Mount Street. There I read over the 
 conditions; and as I expected, I found that it did 
 mean a lot of work. Well, there was no help for 
 it. I must buckle to. The first thing to do was to 
 get help. As I motored down to the Temple and 
 climbed the stairs to Jack Thurman's rooms in 
 the King's Bench Walk, Garthoyle Gardens all
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 5 
 
 the twenty-one houses weighed heavily on my 
 mind. 
 
 Jack himself opened his door to me; I greeted 
 him gloomily; and we went into his sitting-room, 
 
 "Jack," I said sadly, "within the last two hours 
 I've become one of the workers of the world." 
 
 "Never!" cried Jack. "Well, I am glad to 
 hear it! I've always been worrying you to stop 
 leading your idle, rackety life and use those brains 
 of yours." 
 
 "And you call yourself my friend," I said re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 "Well, you have brains, you know; all verte- 
 brates have brains. What's happened?" 
 
 "I've become the owner of Garthoyle Gardens." 
 
 "Well, but but that only means you've thirty 
 thousand a year to spend on racketing about instead 
 of five," said Jack, with a perplexed air. 
 
 "No, it means that I shall have no time to 
 racket about. You didn't know my Uncle Alger- 
 non: Garthoyle Gardens were his passion. They 
 were almost his monomania. I dined with him 
 once every month, a family dinner, don't you know 
 just he and I. And I give you my word he 
 bored me to death with his talk about those Gar-
 
 6 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 dens. I didn't let him see it, of course; for I 
 was fond of the old chap. He knew everything 
 about the Gardens the history of every tenant 
 in every house, how he made his money, if he 
 hadn't inherited it, how many sons and daughters 
 he had, how many servants male and female 
 he kept, how many horses, carriages and motor- 
 cars." 
 
 "He must have had a capacious brain," said 
 Jack. 
 
 "Oh, he kept a record of all these things in a 
 big book, like a ledger. He even entered in it all 
 the births, deaths and marriages which took place 
 in the Gardens. At one time when I dined with 
 him I used to ask him how many babies had been 
 vaccinated in the Gardens during the month. But 
 I gave that up. It set him talking about the Gar- 
 dens at once; and I was the sooner bored. Those 
 Gardens were the apple of his eye yes, the apple 
 of his eye." 
 
 "Then I wonder he left them to you," said Jack 
 frankly. 
 
 "So did I. He was always down on me worse 
 than you for my idle life. He wanted me to take 
 my duties as a hereditary legislator more seriously,
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 7 
 
 take lessons in elocution, engage a political expert 
 as my secretary, and deliver such speeches as he 
 composed for me to the House of Lords. He was 
 always grumbling at my idleness, and I thought 
 that he'd leave the Gardens to Herbert P6lkington; 
 so did Herbert. I should have thought myself 
 deucedly lucky if he'd left me fifty thousand 
 pounds. And now I've got the Gardens. But 
 (jrarthoyle Gardens are a gilded pill." 
 
 "I should like to have the swallowing of it," 
 said Jack; and he smacked his lips. "But what 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that Garthoyle Gardens mean the 
 strenuous life. They are left to me on the con- 
 ditions that I am my own house-agent, that I run 
 them myself. I've got to interview proposed ten- 
 ants, examine their standing, their references and 
 their leases; I've got to see to all matters con- 
 nected with the upkeep of the Gardens, estimates, 
 and contracts for repairs. I've got to run those 
 Gardens ever so much more than my uncle did 
 himself." 
 
 "Good! Excellent!" cried Jack. 
 
 "And I thought you were my friend," I said 
 again reproachfully.
 
 8 
 
 "Do you all the good in the world," said Jack. 
 "And if you fail to fulfil the conditions, you lose 
 the property?" 
 
 "No, that's where my uncle had me. [There's 
 no such provision. If I accept the bequest, it's 
 left entirely to my honor to fulfil the conditions. 
 Of course, I accept it. No one refuses twenty- 
 five thousand a year." 
 
 "Hardly," said Jack. 
 
 "Besides, I want money. It's been the deuce of 
 a job to keep up the title on five thousand a year; 
 and I hate having to let Garth Royal to that Ham- 
 burg money-lender." 
 
 "Yes; that certainly is a nuisance," said 
 Jack. 
 
 "But taking the Gardens on these terms means 
 chaining a log a gold log round my neck for the 
 rest of my life. I can't go off to the States for 
 six months, as I did last year. I can't go shooting 
 in Uganda again not for long enough to be worth 
 while. [You see, my uncle has shown such utter 
 confidence in me that I can't go back on him. Hard 
 labor is what it means for me." 
 
 "You'll soon get used to work," said Jack.
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 9 
 
 I shook my head. "I'm very doubtful about 
 that," I said. "Mine is an untrammeled spirit. 
 And there is also a terrible danger attached to the 
 bequest. My uncle's last words in the document 
 containing these conditions were that he was sure 
 I should grow as fond of the Gardens as he was 
 himself. That would be awful. It's a terrible 
 danger. I might grow to talk of nothing else, choke 
 off my friends one by one by boring them about the 
 Gardens, and bring myself to an old age of lonely 
 desolatidn. Think of it!" 
 
 "I can't," said Jack. 
 
 "Well, you see how things are : I'm one of the 
 workers of the world in for the strenuous life of 
 the house-agent. Now, what I want is a right- 
 hand man. I want you. I'll give you a thousand 
 a year, and you'll give me all the time you can spare 
 from the Bar." 
 
 Jack's eyes opened wide; and they shone. He 
 did brilliant things at Oxford; but that period had 
 come to an end, and he was now in his briefless 
 stage of a barrister's career and hard up. Then 
 his face fell and he shook his head. 
 
 "My good Garth, it's very nice of you to make
 
 JO ALICE DEVINE 
 
 this offer, but it's absurd. You can get a clerk 
 for a hundred and fifty a year who will give you 
 all his time and do everything for you." 
 
 "You're wrong," I said. "A clerk can't do 
 what I want. I want some one to teach me the 
 work to explain everything to me from the begin- 
 ning, patiently. And above all I want some one to 
 keep me up to my work. That's the important 
 thing. No clerk would do that. He'd always be 
 saving me the trouble. You're the only man who 
 can really help me to carry out my uncle's wishes; 
 and I must have you. It's settled. There's 
 nothing more to be said about it." 
 
 Jack seemed to think that there was more to be 
 said about it; and he said it for nearly an hour. But 
 since I was doomed to the strenuous life, I thought 
 I might as well begin; and I was strenuous with 
 him. In fact, I wore him down to a compromise. 
 He agreed to become my right-hand man on a sal- 
 ary of five hundred a year; and I was very glad to 
 get him. 
 
 The next day I fully realized that I had burned 
 my boats for the first time in my life I had an 
 occupation. I settled down to prepare for it 
 gloomily. I moved from Mount Street to my uncle's
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT n 
 
 house in Garthoyle Gardens, Number 18. As I 
 have said, the Gardens are a triangle of twenty- 
 one houses, seven houses on either side, and seven 
 at the base. They look on a triangular garden 
 in the middle, of which all the occupants of the 
 houses have the use. Number 1 8 is in the center of 
 the base of the triangle; and it affords a good view; 
 of the whole of it. My uncle had made the library 
 on the first floor his watch-tower; and I am 
 sorry to say that he carried his vigilance to the 
 point of having two pairs of extremely powerful 
 field-glasses on a little table beside the window at 
 which he used to sit. I say that I am sorry, be- 
 cause when I picked up the largest pair and turned 
 them on Number 3, I not only got a perfect view 
 of the Luddingtons at lunch, but also I got a per- 
 fect view of their being acrimonious with one an- 
 other. It is hardly fair that one should know so 
 much about one's tenants. 
 
 It was quite plain to me that to be a real house- 
 agent I must have an office; and it was also quite 
 plain that it must be in the house, so that I could 
 always step into it without having to make a tire- 
 some journey. I decided that I would not use the 
 library, as my uncle had done, but that I would fit
 
 12 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 up a pleasant room on the ground-floor, looking out 
 on the garden at the back of the house, as a 
 complete office with desks, pigeonholes and a safe. 
 I did not bother Jack about this ; I was paying him 
 for legal help. I motored up into Oxford Street 
 and along it till I found a likely looking shop, and 
 there I ordered everything that seemed right. When 
 the room had been fitted up, I had all the books 
 and documents connected with the Gardens moved 
 into it from the offices of Messrs. Siddle and Wod- 
 gett, who had acted as my uncle's house-agents. 
 
 When they had all been brought in and put tidily 
 away, and at last I stood in my own complete office, 
 I had a proud sense of being truly one of the 
 workers of the world. Then it occurred to me that 
 I needed some one to work the typewriter; I could 
 not do it myself not properly. I tried. 
 
 Jack told me the best way to get some one was 
 to advertise; and I advertised for a lady-typist, 
 stenographer and bookkeeper, as he suggested. 
 But he was not at hand when I wrote out that 
 advertisement, and we had not discussed the ques- 
 tion of salary. Therefore I offered three guineas 
 a week, which seemed to me fair to begin with. I
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 13 
 
 got my first experience of what a hard life a house- 
 agent's is. 
 
 I invited applicants for the post to call at ten. At 
 nine, when I got up, I heard a good deal of noise out 
 in the Gardens, and I observed that Mowart, my 
 man, was pale and scared. Mowart is not allowed 
 to speak to me before breakfast. 
 
 But I saw that he was dying to speak, and I said : 
 "What's the matter with you, Mowart? Has there 
 been an earthquake in the night ?" 
 
 "No, your Lordship. But there's some young per- 
 sons waiting see your Lordship," said Mowart. 
 
 "That's all right. I advertised for them," I said. 
 
 "There's a good many young persons, your Lord- 
 ship," said Mowart in a shaky voice. 
 
 I went to the window and my eyes and mouth 
 opened wide as I gazed down on a surging, seething 
 sea of wide-spreading hats. Among them rose 
 scores of policemen's helmets, and a column of 
 police was marching into the triangle through its 
 apex. For a moment I thought I had assembled 
 round my door half England's womanhood, and all 
 the Metropolitan police. 
 
 "Ain't it awful, your Lordship?" said Mowart
 
 14 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 over my shoulder. And I could scarcely hear him 
 for the volume of shrill sound which rose from 
 that female sea. 
 
 His voice recalled me to myself. I remembered 
 that in great emergencies England looks to her 
 peers, and with an effort I got my mouth shut. 
 
 "I shall have a wide choice," I said calmly; and 
 I went to my bath. I did not trust my chin to 
 Mowart's hands that morning; they were too shaky. 
 
 When I came down-stairs, I found an inspector 
 of police, three policemen and four newspaper 
 reporters, all wild-eyed, in the hall. They seemed to 
 be in about the state of men leading a forlorn hope. 
 They could not keep still; they shuffled about and 
 danced. 
 
 The inspector wrung his hands and said: "Oh, 
 my Lord, this is worse than suffragettes; and it's 
 nothing to what it'll be when the trains come in 
 from the Midlands and the North. Three guineas 
 a week! What is your Lordship going to do?" 
 
 "I suppose I must interview them after break- 
 fast," I said calmly. 
 
 "All them thousands?" asked the inspector. 
 
 "If I have to do it to get what I want," I said 
 calmly. And I went in to breakfast.
 
 I BECOME A HOUSE-AGENT 15 
 
 At breakfast, Richards, my uncle's old butler, was 
 in such an emotional condition, clattering dishes and 
 dropping plates, that I had to pause to assure him 
 in a shout (the volume of shrill chattering was 
 deafening) that women did not bite often. 
 
 After breakfast I began to interview the appli- 
 cants. Ten policemen admitted them, one at a time, 
 through the front door. I sat down at my desk in 
 the office, and asked them questions and wrote down 
 their answers and qualifications in a most business- 
 like way. At the end of the interview each one was 
 let out by the back door. 
 
 Of the first hundred applicants, forty-three were 
 actual typists; the other fifty-seven, as far as I could 
 make out, had come just for the pleasure of a little 
 conversation with a peer. Some of them took it 
 blushing, others did not. I was much touched by 
 their devotion to the Upper House ; but they rather 
 wasted my time; and you can not be strenuous and 
 have your time wasted too. I grew rather short 
 and quite monotonous with that kind before the end 
 of the morning. The hundred and eleventh girl, 
 Miss Delicia Wishart, was the girl I wanted. She 
 was fully qualified; she spoke and looked as if she 
 were capable, and she was undoubtedly attractive,
 
 16 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 with a soft pleasant voice. I thought that I should 
 work better with an attractive assistant Jack 
 Thurman is not; he has a nose like the beak of a 
 full-sized eagle. I engaged her. 
 
 Then I went out into the hall. It was very full 
 of policemen and journalists now, and the inspector 
 looked as if he had the whole of the British 
 Empire on his mind ; and it was compressing it. 
 
 "Inspector," I said gently, "I have engaged a 
 typist. You may clear the triangle." 
 
 He looked at me as if he were rather hard of 
 hearing. 
 
 "Clear clear the triangle?" he said in a faint 
 whispering voice ; and he sat down on the knee and 
 note-book of a journalist who sat, writing, on one 
 of the hall chairs. 
 
 "Yes; I have finished with these ladies," I said, 
 and I went up to the library and looked out of the 
 window. 
 
 The triangle was now full. The trains from the 
 Midlands had come in. I took my hat and a stick, 
 and went quietly out by the back door. I had done 
 my duty as a house-agent; the police must do the 
 rest.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 
 
 L.TER in the day I learned from an evening 
 paper that the police had done the rest, and 
 Garthoyle Gardens were again peaceful. Also Rich- 
 ards telephoned to me at the Palladium to say that 
 nine papers wanted my photograph. I told him 
 that I had not had my photograph taken since I was 
 at Eton, and that if he put them in the way of snap- 
 shotting me, I would sack him. However, they 
 learned somehow or other that I was at the Pal- 
 ladium, and members who came into the card-room, 
 where I settled down for a quiet day's bridge, kept 
 wondering whom those journalist Johnnies with 
 cameras were after, because none of the members 
 was in the Divorce Court at the moment. When 
 the evening papers got into full swing about my 
 advertisement, they knew, and they did not forget 
 to talk about advertising for the rest of the day and 
 all the evening. I did not mind, of course, but it 
 grew rather monotonous. 
 
 17
 
 i8 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 The evening papers had a good deal to say about 
 my advertisement men read bits of it out between 
 the rubbers and the hands. But the morning papers 
 had even more to say. All of them were agreed 
 that three simple guineas a week had brought to- 
 gether the largest crowd of women known in his- 
 tory; and they drew moral lessons from it, different 
 ones. Some papers said that it afforded a striking 
 tribute to the resources of our civilization; others 
 seemed very angry about it because it threw a sinis- 
 ter light on the economic subjection, whatever that 
 may be, of women. All of them agreed that I must 
 be rather a fool (they did not say it outright, they 
 suggested it) to offer three guineas a week, when 
 thirty shillings would have been enough. I do not 
 care much for the papers as a rule, but that morning 
 I found them quite interesting. I seemed to have 
 become all of a sudden one of the most important 
 people in England. Fourteen papers sent inter- 
 viewers round to ask my opinion of the Budget. I 
 did not know what it was or anything about it ; but 
 the first interviewer explained it to me; and after 
 that I got on very well. It seemed to me a matter 
 of one-and-twopence in the pound; and I simply 
 said that I did not mind, that I had plenty to spare.
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 19 
 
 It seemed that I said the wrong thing, for next 
 morning my cousin, Herbert Polkington, came 
 round in the middle of breakfast, and begged me 
 'to be more discreet in my utterances to the Press. 
 In fact he hinted that it would be a good thing if 
 I did not do any uttering at all. In the middle of 
 his visit a note came from my tenant, Sir Marma- 
 duke Ponderbury, begging me "in the interests of 
 my order to be less frank." I argued the matter 
 with Herbert I. never take anything from Herbert 
 without arguing pointing out that what I had said 
 was just common sense, that with thirty thousand 
 a year, one-and-twopence in the pound was neither 
 here nor there. I got Herbert quite heated. He 
 went away saying something nasty about taking 
 steps to have the House of Lords educated. I did 
 not mind; I never do anything Herbert says; and 
 this time I was quite sure I was right. Some of the 
 papers did not print my views; but those that did, 
 praised them. 
 
 The papers kept on making a fuss about my adver- 
 tisement for some days. I grew rather tired of it. 
 I had other things to attend to ; for three days after 
 it I really began work. 
 
 Jack and Miss Wishart came to the office at nine.
 
 20 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I came at ten. This had to be because I keep later 
 hours than they do. They had spent the hour plan- 
 ning an honest day's work for me. There was 
 plenty of it; they had not stinted me. It began 
 with answering letters, forty-nine of them, fifteen 
 from tenants. It seemed that whenever a tenant 
 had five minutes to spare, he, or she, sat down and 
 dashed off an unpleasant letter to the house-agent. 
 Also they were at a loss to understand something. 
 Sir Marmaduke Ponderbury was at a loss to under- 
 stand why, in a well-appointed house, there were 
 only three gas-brackets in the wine-cellars? Lady 
 Pedders was at a loss to understand why, in a well- 
 appointed house, there was no gate to the stairs at 
 the third landing to prevent her children falling 
 down them? Sir Hector Kilsluthery was at a loss 
 to understand why a well-appointed house was not 
 fitted with double windows from top to bottom, 
 back and front. 
 
 I was soon grinding my teeth; then I perceived 
 that, if they were at a loss to understand, I had bet- 
 ter be unable to see my way. I replied that I could 
 not see my way to make these structural alterations 
 (a good filling phrase of Miss Wishart's, that), but 
 I gave them permission to make them themselves.
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 21 
 
 On Jack's suggestion, I signed all the letters 
 "Garth and Thurman." He said it would be safer; 
 that, if I did not, I might have my tenants bothering 
 me about things out of business hours, whenever 
 they; chanced to meet me. I was quite sure that 
 they would, and I jumped at his suggestion. Now, 
 when they tackled me, I could always refer them to 
 Garth and Thurman. It turned out very useful. 
 
 The letters done, I wrestled with leases, assess- 
 ments and repairing contracts, trying to get the 
 hang of things. Jack assured me that my uncle had 
 paid too much for everything; that I should need 
 fresh contracts; and probably fresh contractors; 
 and it would mean studying dozens of price lists to 
 check them. It was cheerful news. 
 
 Then he said: "I've come across one curious 
 thing Number 9 pays no rent." 
 
 "The deuce it doesn't!" said I. "Well, I suppose 
 it wouldn't. My uncle always told me that it was 
 an unlucky house. It has been on fire; the water- 
 pipes burst every winter; the roof will suddenly 
 leak without just cause; and poor little Mrs. Bulke- 
 ley committed suicide there by jumping out of a 
 second-floor window. I'm not really surprised that 
 it doesn't pay rent."
 
 22 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Yes; here's a letter from the tenant J. Quintus 
 Scruton, to Siddle and Wodgett, saying that he has 
 arranged with your uncle to have the house rent- 
 free, and your uncle has endorsed the letter." 
 
 "I must look into this," I said. And I reached 
 for my uncle's record, which I had handy on my 
 desk, and turned up Number 9. 
 
 It had indeed a black record eleven tenants in 
 fifteen years. 
 
 The last entries ran : 
 
 "Tenant: ]. Quintus Scruton. Gum millionaire 
 from New Zealand. Age about forty-seven. Wid- 
 ower. No family Theosophist. 
 
 Servants. Butler, chef, two footmen, house- 
 keeper, and eight other females. 
 
 "Vehicles. Nine. 
 
 "Lease. Seven, fourteen or twenty-one years, at 
 two thousand pounds a year. 
 
 "February 20. Painful discovery the house is 
 haunted." 
 
 That was all; no dossier of the ghost, no reason 
 why the gum millionaire paid no rent. We dis- 
 cussed the matter and came to the conclusion that
 
 the best thing to do was to write to him demanding 
 prompt payment of the last quarter's rent. Then he 
 would inform us of the reason. Miss Wishart wrote 
 the letter, and when I had signed it, I struck work 
 for the day. I had a strong feeling at the moment 
 that mine was a delicately-poised brain, and that 
 it needed to be accustomed to the strain of work 
 quietly and by slow degrees. I told Jack and Miss 
 Wishart this; Miss Wishart smiled; but Jack said 
 in a grumbling tone : 
 
 "I wanted you to put in a little work at some 
 price lists of house-fittings. You ought to go care- 
 fully into the matter of house-fittings." 
 
 "I will to-morrow," I said. "And I see that the 
 sooner I acquire a defensive habit of proscrastina- 
 tion, the safer I shall be." 
 
 With that I left them. 
 
 The next morning, after I had answered thirty- 
 nine letters, I did betake myself to the study of the 
 prices of house-fittings, and it was a tedious job. 
 Jack suggested that I should get a more profound 
 understanding of house-fittings if I went myself 
 and bought those I had not been able to refuse my 
 correspondents, and so come to know the house- 
 fitting in its lair. After lunch, having answered
 
 24 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 eleven more letters, four from tenants, which came 
 by the two-o'clock post, I went. After three hours 
 among the house-fittings, I came home a broken 
 man. It seemed to me that house-fittings were the 
 study of a lifetime; and that I ought to have begun 
 it the moment I went to Eton. 
 
 Parkhurst met me with the information that Mr. 
 J. Quintus Scruton had called to see me on business, 
 and was awaiting me in the library. I was feeling 
 very strongly that I had been house-agent enough 
 for one day; but business was business, and I had 
 to see him. As I went up the stairs it occurred to 
 me that the affair seemed queer. That J. Quintus 
 Scruton might be out after the gullible peer. It 
 seemed a pity he should not find one. I stuck my 
 eye-glass in my eye, opened my mouth and went 
 into the library, looking as gullible a young peer as 
 any one could wish to see. I had found the look 
 useful before. 
 
 Mr. J. Quintus Scruton rose as I entered. He 
 was a broad, thin, active-looking man, torpedo- 
 bearded, with a deeply-lined brown face, out of 
 which stuck a big hooked nose. He looked as if 
 he had spent most of his life out-of-doors in very
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 25 
 
 bad weather. I took rather a dislike to him at the 
 very first sight. The checks of the trousers he was 
 wearing with his gray morning coat were quite 
 impossible. 
 
 "How do you do?" I drawled. 
 
 "How do you do, Lord Garthoyle? I am pleased 
 to make the acquaintance of my new landlord," he 
 said in a rough hoarse voice. "I came to see you 
 about a letter I have received from your house- 
 agents a new firm, apparently demanding the 
 payment of my rent for the last quarter. I gather 
 that you are not aware that I arranged with your 
 uncle to occupy Number 9 rent-free." 
 
 " Ya-as, I know that, don't you know ?" I bleated. 
 "But it's a funny arrangement, your living in my 
 house rent-free. I dare say it suited my uncle, but 
 it doesn't suit me. Why did he let you have it rent- 
 free?" 
 
 He looked at me very hard; he raised one hand, 
 and he said in a very solemn voice : "Number 9 is 
 haunted; and your uncle thought it better that I, 
 who don't mind ghosts, should live in it rent-free 
 than that it should be empty." 
 
 My eye-glass nearly fell out of my eye. I had
 
 26 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 expected to find something in the way of black- 
 mailing at the bottom of the matter but spooks! 
 This gum millionaire had pulled my uncle's leg. 
 
 "Well, of all the reasons for making any one a 
 present of a house!" I cried, forgetting to drawl. 
 
 "I knew it would surprise you, Lord Garthoyle; 
 but haunted it is. And that's a very good reason 
 a very good business reason indeed, for not charging 
 any rent for it," he said earnestly, wagging a finger 
 at me. "It would never do for the newspapers to 
 have columns about a haunted house in Garthoyle 
 Gardens. Your uncle felt that strongly." 
 
 I wanted to hear some more, and I said : "Yes ; 
 haunted houses in London are a bit off color." 
 
 "Just so. It would reduce the property to the 
 level of Bloomsbury. I'm glad you see it," he said 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I see that. But I don't see why I should let you 
 have the house for nothing, and wear it out, don't 
 you know? If I shut it up for a year or two the 
 ghost might get tired of an empty house, and go." 
 
 "No; ghosts don't care whether there's any one 
 in a house or not. They haunt it just the same," 
 he said more solemnly than ever. "As an earnest
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 27 
 
 theosophist, I have studied these psychic phenom- 
 ena; and you may take it from me that it is so." 
 
 "All the same, I may as well give this one a chance 
 to get tired and go, don't you know?" 
 
 "But an empty house in Garthoyle Gardens a 
 house empty for months, perhaps years. It injures 
 the rest of the property. It empties other houses. 
 Your uncle saw that very clearly. Why, he asked 
 me I may say, he begged me to remain on in 
 Number 9 rent-free. He preferred a tenant who 
 paid no rent to no tenant at all." 
 
 "I don't, don't you know? And I can get over 
 that emptiness all right," I said. "I'll keep the 
 blinds and curtains and leave it looking inhabited. 
 Either you'll have to pay rent, or you'll have to go." 
 
 He lost his look of persuading me for my own 
 good and frowned: "Well, in that case," he said, 
 "I need not keep my mouth shut about it any longer. 
 I undertook to keep it quiet, of course, and put up 
 with the discomfort. But if I have to pay rent, I 
 do not see why I should not have a thorough inves- 
 tigation of the most interesting phenomenon I have 
 ever come across an investigation by a committee 
 of experts under the supervision of the Daily Mail"
 
 28 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 It was so near a blackmailing threat that my first 
 thought was to kick him down-stairs. My second 
 thought was that, judging from his build and look, 
 it would be an hour's steady work; and I had al- 
 ready done my work for the day. My third thought 
 was that boots were not business. He was certainly 
 playing with his cards upon the table. He had 
 shown me how he had worked upon my uncle's 
 belief in spooks and his fondness for the Gardens. 
 A newspaper ghost-story would harm the property ; 
 and what was worse I should have to answer scores 
 and scores of letters from my leisured tenants about 
 it. I thought of those letters, and I quailed. 
 
 But then the rent was two thousand pounds a 
 year; and any one who has had to live on five 
 thousand pounds a year for seven years knows what 
 two thousand pounds a year is. I was not going 
 to give it up without an effort. 
 
 I had been sitting, looking at Scruton, with my 
 mouth open, while I thought it out. Now I tried 
 another tack, and said: "Well, I'm not going to 
 pay for this absurd fancy. A ghost in the twentieth 
 century ! It's nonsense, don't you know ?" 
 
 "Fancy? Nonsense? Why, out of my twelve
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 29 
 
 servants only two will sleep in the house. Some 
 sleep in the rooms over the stables; some in lodgings 
 in Green Street. Your uncle did not find it non- 
 sense, Lord Garthoyle. He slept in the haunted 
 room and saw the ghost." 
 
 "Yes, my uncle would ; he had leanings that way, 
 don't you know ? But, of course, there's no chance 
 of my seeing it. It wouldn't come if I were there, 
 don't you know?" I drawled. 
 
 "But you shall see it. It will come, any night 
 you like. It's always there at night!" he cried in a 
 quite excited way. 
 
 I pretended to hesitate; then I said: "Well, 
 I don't believe I shall see any ghost but if I do, 
 and it is a ghost, I'll let you have the house rent- 
 free for another year. If I don't you pay your 
 rent." 
 
 He hesitated a moment; then he said: "It's a 
 bargain. What night will you come and sleep in 
 the haunted room? How will Saturday night suit 
 you?" 
 
 "Saturday night at eleven-thirty. What kind of 
 a ghost is it?" I said. 
 
 "It's a woman, who walks, sighing, up and down
 
 3 o ALICE DEVINE 
 
 the room from which Mrs. Bulkeley threw herself. 
 But she's sometimes seen on the stairs. That's what 
 has driven the servants out of the house." 
 
 "A woman that sighs doesn't sound very terrify- 
 ing," I said. 
 
 "She is, though. She made me sweat with 
 fright," he said. And he said it so sincerely that 
 either he was telling the truth, or he was a first- 
 class actor. 
 
 "Well, I'll come and see if she'll frighten me," 
 I said. 
 
 "She will you'll see," he said solemnly; and he 
 rose and said good-by solemnly. He had the sol- 
 emnest manner I have ever seen. 
 
 I walked down to the front door with him; and 
 I fancied that he was looking pleased with himself, 
 rather as if he had done a good day's work. 
 
 "Till Saturday night," he said solemnly, as he 
 went down the steps. 
 
 I went into the office and told Jack, Scruton's tale. 
 He howled at it. But when he had grown quiet 
 again, he agreed with me that Scruton could make 
 trouble. The people who can afford a house in 
 Garthoyle Gardens are just the very people who 
 believe in all those psychical phenomena. They
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 31 
 
 support the palmists, the mediums, the crystal-gazers 
 and the clairvoyants. They have nothing else to do. 
 My tenants would fuss like fury; many of them 
 would see ghosts in their own houses. It was much 
 better to jog along quietly with Scruton for a while, 
 and see what did happen, before putting the pressure 
 on him and getting a first-class fuss. 
 
 Jack could not understand why a millionaire 
 should stand the inconvenience why he did not 
 clear out of a house in which the servants would not 
 sleep. I had to explain to him that millionaires love 
 to get things cheap; that's how they become million- 
 aires; and a house in Garthoyle Gardens for noth- 
 ing would tempt any one. Of course, we discussed 
 the question whether Scruton was a millionaire at 
 all. I thought that he was. An ordinary swindler 
 would be more of a gentleman; he would never wear 
 those trousers with a gray morning-coat. Jack, 
 too, thought that a swindler would have found a 
 better reason for paying no rent that a ghost in 
 the twentieth century was too thin. But it seemed 
 to me that the tale and the ghost had worked very 
 well with my uncle. 
 
 "And after all," I said, "one night when I was a 
 child I saw the White Lady come down the stairs
 
 32 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 at Garth Royal, or I fancied I did; and it came to 
 exactly the same thing." 
 
 I did not get much time to think about the ghost 
 during the next few days; letters, price lists and 
 house-fittings kept me too busy. On the Wednesday 
 I played polo at Hurlingham. 'A piercing June 
 breeze was' blowing from the east, and there were 
 squalls of driving drizzle, colder than sleet. I 
 caught a bad cold; and on Saturday night I went 
 to Number 9 as hoarse as a crow. I did not know 
 my own voice. 
 
 A disagreeable butler, looking like a mute, took 
 me to Scruton. Scruton received me as if I had 
 come to a funeral ; and I returned his greeting with 
 hearty sneezes. 
 
 "I suppose you've quite made up your mind to 
 go through with it?" said Scruton in a gloomy 
 voice. 
 
 "Rather!" I said. "Ah-tish-u! Ah-tish-u! 
 Ah-tish-u!" 
 
 "Come along, then," he said; and he led the way 
 up-stairs. 
 
 He took me up to a front room on the second 
 floor, a large room, rather barely furnished, with 
 two windows. We had each a candle, and he said
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 33 
 
 that the electric light had not been installed on this 
 floor, and he never used gas. He paused and looked 
 at me seriously; then he said : 
 
 "It doesn't really matter. You won't want much 
 light to see her. I didn't." 
 
 He paused again, then with a sudden start he 
 looked over his shoulder. 
 
 I started, too, and looked over his shoulder. I 
 saw nothing. Scruton gave a little shiver, and said 
 quickly: "I think I'll be going. I don't like this 
 room. Good night." 
 
 He slipped quickly out of the door; and I heard 
 him hurry along the corridor and down the stairs. 
 I felt rather uncomfortable. The candle did not 
 light much of the room, but I set myself to examine 
 it. The walls were not papered, but painted. There 
 was no paneling; and there was not a crack in the 
 surface of the paint. There was no trap-door in 
 the ceiling. There was a thick Turkey carpet on 
 the floor, and I turned it up for five feet round the 
 edges and made sure that there were no cracks, 
 traps, or loose boards in the floor. I looked out of 
 the windows for anything in the way of a ladder 
 from the story below, and left up the blinds to let 
 in the moonlight. I locked the door leading to the
 
 34 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 corridor, and shot the bolt that was just above the 
 lock. There was another door in the corner, at the 
 other end of the room, opposite the bed. It opened 
 into an unfurnished dressing-room. The door from 
 the corridor into the dressing-room was open; and 
 there was no key in it to lock it. The other rooms 
 on the floor were unoccupied. Some of their doors 
 were open, some shut, none was locked. I locked the 
 door between the dressing-room and my bedroom, 
 and shot the bolt over the keyhole. 
 
 Well, I was in quite an ordinary room; and no 
 human being could get into it without forcing the 
 door. There was no doubt about that. I should 
 get a genuine ghost a real psychic phenomenon 
 or I should get nothing at all. Of course, I should 
 get nothing at all. 
 
 But I was going to do the thing properly; and I 
 pulled off my coat and waistcoat and collar; took a 
 warm dressing-gown from my bag, and put it on. 
 I lay down on the bed, pulled a blanket over me, 
 and waited. Everything was very quiet, except 
 when I sneezed. I began to think about poor Mrs. 
 Bulkeley, and her throwing herself out of the win- 
 dow. I wondered which of the two windows it 
 was. It was an uncomfortable thing to think of;
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 35 
 
 and I tried to think of something else. Then I began 
 to hear noises : boards creaked and made me start ; 
 there were footsteps in the corridor two and then 
 silence. I heard a sob, far away, and then another 
 and another, and was some time making out that 
 it was a cistern gurgling. I had firmly made up 
 my mind that it was a jolly uncomfortable room to 
 be in when I fell asleep. 
 
 When I awoke the: room was much dimmer, as 
 if the moon were setting on the other side of the 
 house. I did not want to look around, and was 
 turning over to go to sleep again, when I heard a 
 sigh, distinctly. 
 
 I jerked myself on to my elbow; and my eyes 
 fell on a figure crossing the room to the farther 
 window. As it came near the window I saw that it 
 was a woman. I could not see her face, for her 
 long hair fell about it. At the window she turned 
 and sighed. A cold chill ran down my back, and 
 my mouth went dry. She crossed the room nearly 
 to the wall, and turned and sighed, came to the 
 window, turned and sighed again. The cold chills 
 raced down my back, my heart hammered at my 
 ribs, my scalp prickled with the rising hair, and a 
 cold sweat broke out on me. / was seeing what
 
 3 6 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Mrs. Bulkeley had done before she threw herself 
 out of the window. 
 
 Paralyzed, I watched her cross and recross the 
 room a dozen times, noiseless but for sighs. A 
 rustle, ever so faint a rustle, would have made her 
 less uncanny somehow. 
 
 Presently my heart was not hammering so hard 
 against my ribs. I began to pull myself together; 
 and at last with a great effort, I said in a croaking 
 whisper : "What is it ? What do you want ?" 
 
 The dead woman never turned her head; she 
 crossed and recrossed the room and sighed. 
 
 Suddenly I let off a terrific sneeze. 
 
 At the sudden burst of sound, the figure started 
 just the slightest start. 
 
 Slight as it was, it was enough for me. The 
 blood rushed through my veins again, and rage 
 drove it. I gathered myself together noiselessly, 
 flung off the blanket, and sprang clean over the foot 
 of the bed, and across the room. With a shriek 
 the ghost threw up her arms to ward me off; and 
 I clasped an armful of flesh and blood in a soft, 
 soundless woolen robe. 
 
 "You little wretch !" I cried, shaking her till her 
 teeth chattered, for I was furious.
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 37 
 
 "Don't! Don't! You're hurting me! Let me 
 go!" she cried, struggling. 
 
 "Not a bit of it! You want a good whipping!" 
 I cried. "Hanged hanged if I don't kiss you!" 
 And I did. 
 
 "You brute!" she cried, and slapped my; face with 
 a most unwraith-like vigor. 
 
 The slap sent me sneezing and sneezing, and she 
 took advantage of it to twist out of my grip. When 
 I had done sneezing my righteous anger had cooled 
 a little. I laughed; rubbed my stinging cheek, and 
 said: "And now, my young friend, I'm going to 
 have a look at you." 
 
 I walked to the mantelpiece, struck a match, 
 lighted the candle and gazed round an empty room. 
 
 Not a creak of door or click of lock had marked 
 her going. I gasped and rubbed my eyes. Then I 
 examined the doors; both were locked and bolted. 
 I opened them, and looked out into the corridor and 
 dressing-room. They were empty, dark and silent. 
 I ran to the head of the stairs, and looked down 
 into silent blackness. 
 
 I came back into my room and trod on something 
 soft. It was a slipper of knitted wool. No wonder 
 she had been noiseless. My unsophisticated gum
 
 38 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 millionaire had provided against everything but my 
 sudden leap. 
 
 I locked and bolted the doors again, and went to 
 bed. I thought for a while about the ghost she 
 had a really charming voice then I went to sleep. 
 When I was awakened by a knocking at my door, 
 the room was bright with sunshine. The disagree- 
 able butler conducted me to the bathroom. I took 
 the slipper with me. There might be a hunt for it 
 while I was in my bath. 
 
 When I had dressed I made another examination 
 of the walls. There was not a crack in them. I 
 went into the corridor and examined the outside of 
 them, and came into the dressing-room. I was just 
 turning back, for I had not unlocked it, when an 
 odd thing about the lock caught my eye. It had two 
 handles, a big one and a little one. I turned the 
 little handle, and the woodwork of the door swung 
 open, leaving the lock held in its place by its catch 
 and the shot bolt. I turned the little handle back, 
 and two little bolts shot up out of the top of it. They 
 held the lock in the woodwork of the door. It 
 was a most ingenious device; and it was any odds 
 that no one would think to look at the lock when 
 the door was opened, for it stood back against the
 
 THE HOUSE THAT PAID NO RENT 39 
 
 wall. I should never have noticed it myself, had 
 I not left the door locked. No wonder my poor 
 uncle had been tricked what a night he must have 
 had! 
 
 I had got all I wanted, and a trifle more, by look- 
 ing like an idiot. I did not trouble to put my eye- 
 glass in my eye and open my mouth. I came down- 
 stairs looking like a peer of ordinary intelligence. 
 
 Scruton came hurrying out of the library into the 
 hall; and he looked as if he were ready to sympa- 
 thize deeply. 
 
 I said cheerfully: "Ah, Scruton, good morning. 
 The young woman you employ as ghost is quite 
 kissable, but she has rather large feet." And I 
 waved the woolen slipper at him. 
 
 "Young woman! What young woman? What 
 do you mean?" cried Scruton, and his surprise was 
 very well done. 
 
 I laughed and went on down the hall toward the 
 door. 
 
 "There was only one young woman in the house 
 last night, the under-housemaid . . . Jennings. 
 Where is Jennings, Wheatley?" he said, turning 
 to the butler. 
 
 "I've not seen her this morning, sir. She had
 
 40 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 gone out when I got up, and she hasn't come back," 
 said Wheatley; and when I came to look at him, 
 I saw that he had the same New Zealand kind of 
 look as his master. They were both in it. 
 
 "Has this wretched girl been playing this ghost 
 trick on us all? It's monstrous! I'll prosecute 
 her!" cried Scruton. 
 
 He was a good actor. 
 
 "She's an awfully good locksmith, too," I said 
 gently. "That trick lock on the dressing-room door 
 is a marvel. Send round that rent, please." 
 
 Scruton and his butler gaped at each other. I 
 opened the door and went down the steps. 
 
 Later in the morning came a note from Number 
 9. It contained a check for the rent with just 
 Scruton's compliments.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 
 
 I THOUGHT about the ghost-girl for several 
 days. She was no more a housemaid than I 
 was; housemaids don't have voices like that, and it 
 was her voice that chiefly stuck in my mind. I kept 
 an eye, or rather both eyes, through my uncle's 
 field-glasses, on Number 9, on the chance of seeing 
 her come out of it. I wanted to see whether her 
 face matched her voice. 
 
 All the while I was hard at work; and I did not 
 find work such a bore as I had expected. For one 
 thing, it was a change to have things to do that 
 had to be done, and its being a change softened it. 
 Besides, it was pleasant to find that I could do 
 things. Mugging up price lists of house-fittings 
 sounds an awful grind, but when I found that I did 
 get prices into my head, it did not bore me. I found 
 that knowledge of price lists useful in interviewing 
 contractors. 
 
 41!
 
 42 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 / 
 
 Jack Thurman and I, but chiefly Jack, of course, 
 were not very long in discovering that, thanks to 
 the broad and generous ideas of Siddle and Wod- 
 gett, his house-agents, my uncle had paid through 
 the nose for the upkeep and repairs of the Gardens. 
 I felt that I could spend my money just as well as 
 my contractors could spend it for me. Therefore 
 I set about getting fresh estimates, and making 
 fresh contracts for all the work. Every contractor 
 came to his interview with an iron resolve to pull 
 my leg. Most of them seemed to want to lick my 
 boots, too, because I was a peer. But it was quite 
 clear that they were not going to let that fact, which 
 seemed to make the leg-pulling process so very easy, 
 interfere with it. The idea seemed to be to pull my 
 leg while they were licking my boots. 
 
 I just humored them. I stuck my eye-glass in my; 
 eye, left my mouth open and drawled at them like 
 a perfect ass. After a dozen drawls the prices 
 soared and soared. Then I dropped my eye-glass, 
 shut my mouth and explained to them that I was 
 not going to pay fifty per cent, too much for things. 
 In the jar of the surprise I got better terms than I 
 should have done if I had not started with the eye- 
 glass.
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 43 
 
 I was getting on nicely with the new contracts, 
 when there came the trouble with the kitchen- 
 ranges. Complaints about their kitchen-ranges had 
 come from seven out of the twenty-one houses in 
 the Gardens. An expert examined them for me, 
 and reported that they were nearly worn out. Jack 
 and I discussed the matter, and we decided that it 
 would save a good deal of money to buy twenty- 
 one kitchen-ranges, and have one contract for the 
 fixing of the lot. It would be far better than buy- 
 ing the seven needed at the moment and then two 
 or three at a time as others wore out. I mugged 
 up some price lists, and went forth to examine the 
 kitchen-range in its lair. They will not send kitchen- 
 ranges for your inspection. 
 
 I had had no idea that there were so many tricks 
 to a kitchen-range, or that to the inexperienced they 
 are such a tiresome business. The Rockies are not 
 in it with them ; I have tried both. All the morning 
 I looked at kitchen-ranges, and explored their tricks 
 till my head hummed with them. After lunch I 
 started out to see more at some works at Fulham. 
 I was bent on finding the best kitchen-range in 
 England before I interviewed a contractor about 
 putting them in.
 
 44 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 At Hyde Park Corner we were held up by the 
 traffic going into the Park. When we started again, 
 Gaston, my chauffeur, asked me to stop. His acute 
 ear had caught something wrong with the sound of 
 the engine. I pulled up just in front of Saint 
 George's Hospital ; he got out and raised the bonnet 
 of the car. 
 
 My mind was full of kitchen-ranges, and I was 
 paying no particular attention to anything outside 
 me. Then I saw the pretty girl and the children. 
 She was such a pretty girl that she cleared the 
 kitchen-ranges out of my mind. Her eyes were big, 
 and they shone like the stars . . . wonderful eyes 
 in the prettiest face ... a face like a flower. 
 
 The children were standing round her; a slip of 
 a girl about fourteen, pale-faced and thin, holding 
 a thin baby; a boy of eleven; and a thin little girl 
 of seven or eight They were very poor children, 
 and, judging from their patched clothes, they did 
 not belong to the pretty girl. She was dressed very 
 simply but prettily in a light summer frock, and she 
 was wearing it as if she knew how to wear clothes. 
 The children were watching her anxiously. 
 
 I just glanced at them, but stared at her. I could 
 not help it. She did not notice it she did not
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 45 
 
 see me. She was in trouble of some kind, and was 
 frowning anxiously as she grappled with one of 
 those out-of-the-way pockets women love. 
 
 She stopped grappling with it, and her eyes shone 
 brighter than ever because there were tears in them, 
 and the corners of her mouth drooped. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, children, dear," she said. "But 
 I've lost my purse, and I shan't be able to take you 
 after all. It's no good my going home for more 
 money; it was my last half-sovereign." 
 
 Her voice matched her eyes it was charming. 
 But the odd thing was, I seemed to know it, yet I 
 could not think where I had heard it. 
 
 The elder girl looked at her in a way that made 
 me feel uncomfortable, it was so despairing. Then 
 she lifted the baby so that he was against her face, 
 hiding it, and her shoulders shook. The little girl 
 burst into a howl, and the boy stamped on the pave- 
 ment one, hard. The pretty girl blinked her eyes, 
 and I saw her teeth catch on her quivering lips. It 
 was like the end of a sad play, only it made me ever 
 so much more uncomfortable, and I stepped out of 
 the car. 
 
 The boy pulled himself together, and said in a 
 husky voice to the elder girl: "Buck up, Cherlie!
 
 46 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Don't tyke on. We'll go inter the Park, an' Miss 
 Alice'll plye wiv us." 
 
 "The Park ain't Kew Gardings! It ain't Kew 
 (Gardings !" wailed the little girl. 
 
 "What's the matter?" I said. 
 
 The boy looked me up and down distrustfully; 
 and I fancied he liked my face better than my 
 clothes. Then he said: 
 
 "Miss Alice's lost 'er purse with 'alf-a-suvrin' 
 in it. She was tyking hus to Kew Gardings for a 
 treat an' now she can't." 
 
 The elder girl took her face, wet with tears, out 
 of the baby's frock, and said in a heart-broken voice : 
 "It's Steppie! Steppie's never bin furder out of 
 London than Kensington Gardings ; an' 'e was look- 
 ing forward to it so." I gathered that Steppie was 
 the baby. "And Verie was lookin' forward to it, 
 too. But she's bin to Kew Gardings once . . . 
 when she was older nor Steppie. She remembers 
 them, though." And the tears ran down her cheeks. 
 
 "I wants to go agyne now," wailed Verie. 
 "There was a squir'l in a tree." 
 
 The boy turned to her and said gruffly : "It ain't 
 no use you tykin' on, Verie it ain't really. The 
 morn's gorn."
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 47 
 
 Verie broke into a louder howl; Cherlie sobbed 
 twice; and I feared that the baby would join in. 
 
 I turned to the pretty girl, raised my hat and 
 said : "This is a regular tragedy, don't you know ? 
 And it's got to be stopped. Suppose we take them 
 out into the country in my car?" 
 
 She drew back, frowning a little ; and I went on : 
 "I can't handle them myself, don't you know. I 
 couldn't give them a good time." 
 
 She looked from me to the children, and from the 
 children to me; she wrung her hands, and said 
 softly: "Oh, dear oh, dear!" 
 
 It was hard for her, of course, to make up her 
 mind what to do . . . Whether she ought to go 
 motoring with a perfect stranger, or let the children 
 slide ? 
 
 I did not say anything; it was the kind of thing 
 she must settle for herself. She looked at them 
 again, and the children won. 
 
 Her face cleared, she smiled at me, and she said: 
 "Oh, it would be good of you! It is such a cruel 
 disappointment for them." 
 
 I turned to the children, and said : "It's all right. 
 I'm going to take you into the country the real 
 county in my motor-car."
 
 1 48 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Verie stopped howling. Charlie's eyes opened 
 wide, and so did her mouth, and I never saw such 
 thankfulness in any one's face before. 
 
 "Oh, Steppie, the real country . . . Steppie in 
 the real country . . . where the cows are!" she 
 said, in a whispering voice. 
 
 "In you get," I said cheerfully. And the two 
 girls stepped quickly toward the car. 
 
 " 'Ere, 'old on ! Wyte a bit !" said the boy. "She 
 don't mind, Miss Alice don't, but this gov'ner won't 
 want to tyke the likes of us." Then turning* to me, 
 he added sternly : "We're anarchists, we are and 
 don't you myke any mistyke abart it !" 
 
 Cherlie stopped with the thankfulness dying out 
 of her face, and she looked at the boy as if he had 
 to be obeyed. Verie looked at him, scowled at him 
 defiantly, and climbed into the tonneau. 
 
 "Come out of it, Verie!" he said sternly. 
 
 "Oh, Robbie, don't you think we might . , , 
 just fer once? Think of Steppie in the country," 
 said Cherlie, in such a pleading voice that it gave me 
 a lump in my throat. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right! I don't mind!" I said 
 quickly. "Anarchists ... I rather like 'em. In
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 49 
 
 fact, I'm a bit of an anarchist myself. I never could 
 stick the House of Lords never give you my 
 word. I tell you what I'll be a full-blown anarchist 
 myself all the afternoon." 
 
 I said it straight off without a break, for the chil- 
 dren had got to go. 
 
 "Strite?" said the boy. 
 
 "Straight," said I. 
 
 "If it's like that, thank yer, gov'ner," said the boy 
 with a grunt of thankfulness. And he grinned all 
 over his face as he held Cherlie's arm while she got 
 into the car. 
 
 I held open the door for Miss Alice. 
 
 "It is good of you," she said, as she stepped into 
 it. And she looked at me in a way I couldn't have 
 deserved if I had given the children a house in 
 Garthoyle Gardens and an income to keep it up. 
 
 "Harrod's!" I said to Gaston, and got in after 
 her. 
 
 The tonneau is big; but it was only when I saw 
 how much room the children left on the broad seat 
 that I realized what thin little things they were. 
 As we settled down I took stock of them. I saw 
 that there were a great many patches in their clothes.
 
 50 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 But their faces were clean, and all the more recent 
 dirt had been scrubbed off their discolored little 
 claws. They were claWs. 
 
 It struck me that there had been a lot of careful 
 preparation for their jaunt to Kew. 
 
 They were sitting rather stiffly, looking very seri- 
 ous, as if they were a bit overcome by the grandeur 
 of their position. They were still busy getting used 
 to it when we came to Harrod's. 
 
 Gaston stopped the car; I stepped out and went 
 to the provision department, said that I wanted a 
 picnic hamper for a dozen children, and that it must 
 have lots of nourishing food in it, chickens and 
 tongues. Also I wanted a kettle and tea-things; 
 and I wanted it now right away my car was 
 waiting. They know me in that department, and 
 they bustled. In about five minutes I followed 
 the hamper out, saw it set in front, beside Gaston, 
 and got into the car. 
 
 "Chipperfield Common," I said to Gaston. 
 
 Verie's words about a squirrel in a tree had sug- 
 gested it to me ; and he set the car going. 
 
 The children had been chattering in an excited 
 way when I came out of Harrod's; but when I got 
 into the car, they turned stiff again.
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 51 
 
 Then Robbie broke the ice by saying: "My! 
 Ain't it fine ? A real motor-car !" 
 
 Cherlie bent down to the baby in her lap, and said : 
 "In a motor-car, Steppie . . . ridin' in a 
 motor-car !" 
 
 "So you're anarchists, are you?" I said, to set 
 them going. 
 
 All their faces turned to me; and Robbie said 
 promptly: "Yes, we're anarchists, and so's father. 
 My name's Robespierre Briggs . . . after 'm 
 what myde the French Revolution. And Cherlie's 
 name is Charlotte Corday Briggs ; and Verie is Vera 
 Sassiliwitch Briggs . . . after 'er wot threw 
 bombs at the Czar. And Steppie. . . . He's 
 Stepniak Briggs. He threw bombs, too." 
 
 "I'm going to throw bombs when I grow up," 
 said Verie. 
 
 "And so am I when Steppie's grown up enough 
 not to want me lookin' after 'im any more," said 
 Cherlie in a cheerful voice. 
 
 "An' I'm goin' to myke bombs for 'em to tHrow. 
 I've got a book on chemistry, and father 'elps me 
 to learn it in the evenin's," said Robbie. 
 
 "Well, they are a desperate band !" I said to Miss 
 Alice.
 
 52 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 She was looking at them with pitiful eyes; and 
 she said : "I think it's rather dreadful." 
 
 "But if you throw bombs, you'll go to prison!" 
 I said to the children. 
 
 "Yes, but then we'll be martyrs of the Revolu- 
 tion, an' that's a glorious thing to be," said Robbie. 
 
 "P'raps we'll be 'anged," said Verie cheerfully. 
 
 "An' if you're 'anged, you're hever so much more 
 a martyr of the Revolution," argued Robbie. 
 
 "I'm goin' ter throw bombs at ministers," said 
 Verie. "I told Carrie Evans I was goin' ter throw 
 a bomb at 'er minister, an' she pulled my 'air." 
 
 "There you go agyne, Verie. You do mix things 
 up so," said Robbie in a vexed tone. "I keep telling 
 yer that it's Cabinet Ministers, and not chapel min- 
 isters as you throw bombs at." 
 
 "Carrie Evans said she'd got a minister, an' I 
 said I'd throw a bomb at 'im, an' she pulled my 'air; 
 an' I will throw a bomb at 'im," said Verie firmly. 
 
 "She won't understand; an' I've told her agyne 
 and agyne," said Robbie in a tone of aggravation. 
 
 "I'm goin' ter throw a bomb at Carrie Evans's 
 minister when I grow up," said Verie in a sing-song. 
 
 Cherlie had been holding Stepniak up and pointing 
 things out to him. Now she cried: "Look!
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 53 
 
 There's a cow! Look, Steppie! Look! There's 
 a cow in a field." 
 
 The sight diverted the minds and talk of the other 
 anarchists from bombs, and little by little, as it slid 
 deeper into the country, the car became a perfect 
 babel. They were all calling to one another at once 
 to look at this and look at that ; and all at the same 
 time asking us questions about what they saw. Al- 
 ways there was something fresh; and the eyes of 
 the anarchists grew bigger and bigger. 
 
 Miss Alice was charming with them. She an- 
 swered their questions, her pretty eyes hunted the 
 countryside for things to point out to them. Her 
 face was glowing with pleasure at their pleasure. I 
 did enjoy looking at it, and helping her find fresh 
 things for the anarchists to admire. 
 
 But all the while her voice bothered me. I could 
 have sworn that I had heard it before; but for the 
 life of me, I could not remember when or where. 
 It Was odd, too, that I did not believe that I had 
 ever seen her face before. I could not have forgot- 
 ten it if I had : for I never forget a pretty face; and 
 I can very soon recall when and where I have seen 
 it before. It was certainly strange that I should 
 know her voice and not her face.
 
 54 'ALICE OTVIKIE 
 
 Bushey and Watford gave the children a rest 
 from their excitement. Once in the streets again, 
 they did not trouble even to look about them. They 
 gave their eyes a rest; and they sat back, telling one 
 another again and again of things they had seen. 
 
 In the middle of it, Robbie said: "What's yer 
 nyme, gov'ner? We can call Miss Alice by her'n; 
 but we don't know your'n to call yer by." 
 
 I hesitated a moment ; then I said : "My name's 
 Garth." 
 
 Somehow I couldn't say Lord Garthoyle. . . . 
 It did not seem to go at all with these children. 
 Besides, all my friends call me Garth; and it is my 
 business name. After all I had come out to buy 
 kitchen-ranges for Garth and Thurman. 
 
 When we came out of Watford into the country 
 again, the anarchists again grew excited ; and I grew 
 yet more friendly with Miss Alice, helping her to 
 tell them things. We reached Chipperfield Common, 
 all rather hot and out of breath, though we had 
 been sitting still for nearly an hour. But when 
 once the anarchists were out of the car, on the 
 Common itself, among the flowers and the pine- 
 trees, they just went mad. Robbie and Verie ran 
 round us in rings, screaming; and Cherlie jumped
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 55 
 
 up and down, with her eyes starting out of her head, 
 as she tried to point put to the staring Stepniak 
 everything at once. 
 
 "Look here, they're going mad! What are we 
 going to do with these mad anarchists?" I said to 
 Miss Alice. 
 
 "They won't go mad, they're too nappy," she saidj 
 smiling at me. 
 
 "Well, it's your show, not mine. You'll take the 
 responsibility," I said. 
 
 "Oh, no, no! It's your show. They owe it to 
 you. I could never have given them anything like 
 this," she cried. 
 
 "Not a bit of it. It's your idea altogether. I 
 should never have dreamt of it. Therefore it's your 
 show. And it's awfully fine of you to do this kind 
 of thing." 
 
 "Fine ? Why, I love it !" she cried. 
 
 "I expect you do love fine things," I said. 
 
 She turned away from my eyes with a little blush. 
 I fancy I was looking what I thought of her. 
 
 "Cherlie, give Steppie to me. You must want to 
 run about with the others," she said. 
 
 She gave Steppie a finger, and I gave him another ; 
 and he toddled along between us like a kind of link.
 
 56 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "How did you meet these anarchists?" I said. 
 
 "I found them in the Park one afternoon, and 
 then they came several times to see me, and by de- 
 grees I've got to know them quite well. They are 
 such nice children." 
 
 "And I suppose you have spent all your pocket 
 money on them ever since ?" 
 
 "I haven't enough to do anything really for 
 them," she said with a sigh. "I can only give them 
 a treat now and then tea and cakes. The expedi- 
 tion to Kew was quite out of the common a great 
 affair. At least it would have been, if it had come 
 off. But this is much better absolutely splen- 
 did. . . ." 
 
 "Have you many of these proteges, or are these 
 all?" I said. 
 
 "There are two other lots of small children I have 
 found in the Park; but they're not so poor as the 
 Briggses and not nearly so interesting." 
 
 "That anarchist talk is rather strong, though." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so ? Don't you think it's very 
 natural ... for them? Why, even I ... 
 sometimes . . . when I think of the wretched, 
 poisonous life these children lead ... I feel I 
 qould be an anarchist myself."
 
 THE ANARCHISTS g; 
 
 "And throw bombs?" I said. 
 
 "Yes ; I feel that I could," she said quite seriously. 
 "There are thousands and thousands of children 
 like them. But, of course, you don't understand. 
 . . . You haven't seen them faint with hunger." 
 
 "Things do seem wrong. I wonder that the Gov- 
 ernment doesn't do something to stop it," said I. 
 
 "Things are so stupid ... so utterly stupid," 
 she said, frowning. 
 
 We were silent a while. I was thinking that I 
 might look into this matter of the children a little. 
 I was finding my work as house-agent not half bad. 
 I might put in a little work in the House of Lords, 
 and try to get this matter of the children looked 
 into. In the meantime I might arrange a series of 
 anarchist outings ; and she might help me with them, 
 as she was helping me this afternoon. And I wanted 
 her to help me very much. I did like the way she 
 carried herself; and she walked so lightly. 
 
 We went on among the pines slowly, to suit Step- 
 niak's toddles, and the other anarchists kept rushing 
 up to show us the wonderful things they had found, 
 or to shout at us the wonderful things they had 
 seen. She kept smiling at them, and encouraging 
 them, and congratulating them on their finds.
 
 58 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Then we came to the pool of the Twelve Apostles ; 
 and she said: "you. have brought us to a beautiful 
 place." 
 
 "I never saw it look so beautiful," I said; and I 
 never had. I had never seen it with her in it before. 
 
 I think she understood, for she flushed a little. 
 
 "Fancy being able to motor here any day you 
 like, and to be able to bring children children 
 like these with you! Oh, if only I could do 
 things like that for the children!" she said. 
 
 I nearly offered then and there to put myself and 
 my cars at her disposal as often as she wanted us. 
 But I am not impatient ; and I thought it wise to go 
 slow. If I tried to hurry things, it was very likely 
 that I should spoil it all. 
 
 Then Verie came rushing up, purple with joy, 
 screaming: "There's a squir'l in a tree! There's 
 a squir'l in a tree ! Bring Steppie to see the squir'l !" 
 
 I picked up Stepniak, and we hurried off to see 
 the squirrel, Miss Alice as excited and delighted as 
 the anarchists. We all tried in an excited way to 
 get Stepniak to see the squirrel; I grew as keen on 
 making him see it as Cherlie and Miss Alice. They 
 were sure he saw it ; I was not ; and we argued about 
 it almost in a heated way. Stepniak seemed awfully.
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 59 
 
 solemn for his age, and I did not believe that he 
 was really keen on seeing a squirrel. Miss Alice 
 said I underrated his intelligence. 
 
 The squirrel took us to a tree where he found two 
 other squirrels, and they played about in it. The 
 anarchists were a long time getting tired of watching 
 them, and I found it was nearly four o'clock. 
 
 "Hadn't they better have tea now ?" I said to Miss 
 Alice. "Then they will be ready for supper before 
 we start back. They may as well have two meals 
 while they are about it. They look as though they 
 could do with them." 
 
 "Oh, you do have good ideas ! That will be splen- 
 did!" she said; and her eyes shone brighter than 
 ever. 
 
 "It's just common sense," I said. "By the way, 
 is Alice your Christian name or your surname?" 
 
 "It's my Christian name ; my surname's Devine," 
 she said, with a shade of hesitation. 
 
 "I suppose you spell it with an T? You ought 
 to," I said firmly. 
 
 "No ; it's spelt with an V ; and that's how it ought 
 to be spelt," she said, smiling. 
 
 "With an V " I said. 
 
 "With an V " said she.
 
 60 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Well, I know best, but we won't argue about it," 
 said I. 
 
 We went back in a body to. the car. Gaston had 
 got hot water for the tea, and a big jug of milk for 
 the anarchists. I thought that a fire would be better 
 fun for them than a spirit stove, and they grew im- 
 mensely excited about it There seemed to be no 
 limit to their power of getting excited. 
 
 When it had burned up a little we began to un- 
 pack the hamper. 
 
 We laid the table-cloth between two pine-trees, 
 and set the knives and forks and teacups on it. 
 Then Alice took a cake out of the hamper. At the 
 sight of it the children, who had been crying out 
 to one another how pretty the cups were, and how 
 the spoons and forks shone, suddenly were quite 
 silent. We paused in our unpacking and looked at 
 them. They were staring at the cake in a painful 
 kind of way, with a horrible craving in their eyes. 
 They made me think of hungry little wolves. Verie's 
 mouth was working as if she were already eating. 
 Then Stepniak wailed, and held out his hands. 
 
 "Why . . . Why . . . They must have been 
 hungry all the white . . . All the time they have 
 been laughing and screaming and enjoying them-
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 6i 
 
 selves. . . . Hungrier than ever I was in my life 
 ... all the way from town," I said, more than a 
 bit shocked. 
 
 "Yes . . . they forgot it. How dreadful P 
 said Alice in a hushed voice. 
 
 She had turned rather pale. 
 
 It took me about five seconds to cut up that cake 
 and hand it round. To see the look of thankfulness 
 on those children's faces as their mouths filled made 
 me feel positively beastly. 
 
 "Steady, now, children! Don't wolf it," I said. 
 
 I might just as well have spoken to real wolves. 
 
 Alice had already mixed a cup of cake and milk 
 for Stepniak, and was feeding him slowly. I got 
 out a dish of chicken and tongue, and a pile of 
 bread and butter, and sat the children down to it. 
 They seemed to find cutting up the slices of meat too 
 slow for their appetites. When they got a leg or 
 wing-bone, they just took it in their fingers and 
 gnawed it happily. 
 
 Alice kept saying: "Gently, children. 
 Gently ! Don't eat so fast, please." 
 
 They looked at her in a helpless sort of way, as if 
 they would have liked to do as she wanted, but could 
 not. I did not get out any more food, and when
 
 62 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 they had come to the end of that, I said : "Nothing 
 more to eat for five minutes. Come along and let's 
 boil the kettle." 
 
 They came, and were interested in the boiling of 
 the kettle and the making of the tea; but all the 
 while they kept looking at the hamper as if they 
 couldn't keep their eyes off it. When the five min- 
 utes were up, their eyes still glistened at the food, 
 but they ate it slower. They did enjoy it But it 
 was only toward the end of the meal that Cherlie 
 remembered their manners and reminded them 
 sternly. When Stepniak was full he went to sleep, 
 and when the other anarchists were full, they lay 
 on their sides, looking drowsy and very happy, talk- 
 ing in jerks about the chicken and cakes. 
 
 They were not quiet long; they were soon on 
 their feet again, and running about, leaving us to 
 talk to each other. I had made up my mind that 
 after all I had never heard Miss Devine's voice 
 before, but I did not find it any the less pretty. 
 We talked about the children. She told me that 
 they were motherless; that thieir father worked 
 for a sweating tailor, and that his earnings were 
 wretched. We talked over the whole state of things 
 in the slums; but of course we did not know how
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 63 
 
 it was to be stopped. Only it was plain that that 
 was what the Government was there for; we were 
 both sure of that; and I began to think seriously 
 about going down to the House of Lords and look- 
 ing into the matter. I might put the fat in the 
 fire, and get a little quiet fun out of doing it 
 
 Then Robbie came running up, very eager, and 
 said: "Will you come and plye anarchists wiv 
 us, Miss Alice?. [There ain't no one to throw 
 bombs at!" 
 
 We rose; and I said, "This is a new game. How 
 do you play it?" 
 
 "She knows. She's plyed it wiv us in the Park," 
 said Robbie, and he ran off. 
 
 "It's very simple," she said, smiling. "They 
 throw bombs at us, and we fall down dead." 
 
 "It sounds a cheerful game," said I. 
 
 We walked along the pines, and, suddenly, with 
 loud cries of "Bang!" the hidden anarchists threw 
 bombs of bracken at us. We fell down dead, and 
 the anarchists fled, yelling joyfully, to their lairs. 
 Then we rose, and they stalked us again, and threw 
 more bombs at us. 
 
 When they threw the fifth lot of bombs, to make 
 it a little more realistic, Alice gave a little scream.
 
 64 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I fell down all right, but I got up very slowly, 
 almost as upset as if the bombs had been real. I 
 knew now where I had heard her voice; the scream 
 had brought it back to me. She was the ghost-girl 
 the girl whom Scruton had employed as ghost to 
 frighten me into letting him live there rent-free 
 at Number 9. So she had screamed when I sprang 
 across the bedroom and caught her. 
 
 I was sick. When I got up, I found that a kind 
 of dulness had come over the Common, though I 
 suppose the sun was shining as bright as ever. 
 This girl had taken a hand in Scruton's shady 
 game; she actually had helped him trick my uncle 
 out of a quarter's rent. 
 
 It seemed just incredible, but it wasn't. I could 
 swear to the ghost-girl's voice among a million 
 voices; and it was the voice of Alice Devine. I 
 looked at her, and sure as I was, it was hard to 
 believe it. She looked too pretty; far too pretty, 
 with her flushed face and shining eyes, to have been 
 mixed up in a shady game like that. She was so 
 happy because the children were happy. And tnen 
 the way she had treated those children spending 
 her last half-sovereign to take them to Kew; trying 
 all she knew to give them a good time. It was past
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 65 
 
 understanding; it did not go with that ghost trick 
 at all. I must be wrong. But I wasn't. 
 
 We went on playing at anarchists, but I had lost 
 interest in the game. Then the children tired of 
 it. We sat down on the bank of the pool, and she 
 told them stories. For anarchists they seemed to 
 me uncommonly fond of fairies. I did not listen 
 much to the stories, though she told them very 
 well. The ghost trick was worrying me. . . . The 
 stories did not fit in with it ... and I was glum. 
 She seemed to see that something had gone wrong 
 with me, foi" two or three times she looked at me 
 in a questioning way. 
 
 I was glad when we set about giving the an- 
 archists their supper. It took my mind off the 
 ghost trick. They were very hungry again; and 
 sHe was hungry, too, and enjoyed her supper thor- 
 oughly. I wished I had thought to bring some 
 champagne for her. 
 
 Supper refreshed the anarchists, and we played 
 hide-and-seek in the twilight. It ought to have 
 been delightful playing hide-and-seek with Alice 
 Devirie among the pines, but the ghost trick stuck 
 in my mind. It had spoilt everything. 
 
 It was dusk when we started back to town. I
 
 66 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 carried the sleeping Stepniak to the car, for the 
 ghost-girl and Cherlie had about run their legs 
 off. At the car the anarchists lingered a little as 
 though they could not drag themselves away from 
 the Common. In the car they chattered for a 
 little about the things they had seen, and done, and 
 eaten. 
 
 Cherlie said: "Oh, it was a beautiful day! 
 Such a beautiful day for Steppie!" 
 
 Then they all fell asleep in a lump. 
 
 The ghost-girl took the sleeping Stepniak from 
 the sleeping Cherlie. I covered the sleeping chil- 
 dren with a rug, and drew another round ourselves. 
 We sat quiet for a while, and I could see her eyes 
 shining. Then she began to talk about the an- 
 archists again, and the children like them. . . . 
 How she wished she could take a hundred of them 
 into the country every day, and feed them. Her 
 voice grew angry and thrilling as she talked of what 
 a shame it was that they should live half-fed and 
 half-clothed in the pigsties they did. But somehow 
 or other I had lost my keenness, and I did not think 
 any more about the House of Lords. 
 
 She was sincere enough in her talk, and that 
 again did not go with the ghost trick. All the time
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 67 
 
 she talked I kept thinking of it; and two or three 
 times it was on the tip of my tongue to ask her 
 why she had played it. But I pulled myself up. 
 She said she had had a beautiful time; why should 
 I spoil the end of it? 
 
 We ran into London, and the children slept on. 
 I could see her face again now in the light of the 
 lamps. She told me that the anarchists lived in 
 Lambeth, in one room with their father; and on 
 the way she helped me slip the gold out of my 
 sovereign-case, wrapped in a tenner, into the pocket 
 of the sleeping Cherlie. 
 
 Then we awoke Robbie to guide us; and he 
 piloted the car through very dirty streets to the 
 very dirtiest. As we pulled up, a man came rush- 
 ing out of the house, and cried in a frightened shaky 
 voice: "MyGord! Which of 'em's bin run over?" 
 
 "We're all right, father. We've bin for a 
 moter-ride in the country," said Robbie in an im- 
 portant voice. 
 
 "Lor'! what a turn the car did give me! I 
 thought for cert'in as 'ow one of yer 'ad bin run 
 over," said Mr. Briggs, and he panted. 
 
 We helped the sleepy children out, and their 
 father took Stepniak. He stood looking rather
 
 68 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 dazed from the fright the car had given him, and 
 they huddled round him, telling him of their after- 
 noon. I pulled the hamper out of the car there 
 were a couple of meals left in it and set it down 
 beside them. 
 
 Cherlie was saying: "Think of it, father! 
 Steppie in the country. . . . The real country . . . 
 all the afternoon. An' ridin' in a moter-car!" 
 
 I told Gas ton to start the car, to get off before 
 the thanks began. As it slid away we called back, 
 "Good night, children!" And they called good 
 night to us, shrilly, again and again. 
 
 I was glad, very glad, that I had been able to 
 give them a good time; but I did wish that I had 
 not found out that Alice Devine was the ghost- 
 girl. 
 
 When we came out of the slums, I said: "And 
 now, where shall I drive you home ?" 
 
 "Garthoyle Gardens, please," she said. 
 
 "Oh, you live in Garthoyle Gardens? Do you 
 know Lord Garthoyle himself?" I said. 
 
 "No. Is there a Lord Garthoyle? I didn't 
 know," she said. 
 
 She was certainly speaking the. truth; and it 
 made things more puzzling than ever. She ha<?
 
 THE ANARCHISTS 69 
 
 evidently played the trick on me without knowing 
 who I was. It was a good thing I had been as 
 hoarse as a crow that night, and therefore she had 
 not recognized my voice as I had recognized hers. 
 That would certainly have robbed the anarchists 
 of their afternoon. Besides, there was that kiss. 
 
 At the end of the Gardens she asked me to stop, 
 and I helped her out of the car. The light fell 
 full on her face and shining eyes as she thanked me 
 for having given the children such a happy after- 
 noon. Then she paused. I felt that she was wait- 
 ing for me to suggest taking them out again, but 
 I would not arrange anything of the kind. 
 
 I could keep an eye on the anarchists I knew 
 their address. I could send them money at times 
 or I might find a job for their father down at Gar- 
 thoyle. But at the moment I did not want to see 
 Miss Devine again. At least I did want to; but 
 I thought I had much better not. 
 
 "Good night, and again thank you a thousand 
 times," she said, and held out her hand. 
 
 I shook it and said good night. She turned and 
 walked away. A few steps off I heard her sigh. 
 
 I got into the car feeling very gloomy. If only 
 I had not recognized her as the ghost-girl!
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS AT NO. 12 
 
 IT is curious how I went on feeling annoyed that 
 Alice Devine was the girl who had played the 
 ghost trick on me. I had only spent an afternoon 
 and part of an evening with her, and during most 
 of that time I had been occupied with the anar- 
 chists; yet the fact that she was the ghost-girl 
 stuck in my mind and became a rankling grievance. 
 It began to spoil my temper; and I was getting 
 quite morose. 
 
 Jack Thurman, too, was in a gloomy state about 
 something or other, and when, one day, I cursed 
 things generally, he surprised me by agreeing with 
 everything I said. 
 
 My grievance about the ghost-girl seemed to af- 
 fect everything. It made me less keen on running 
 the Gardens, and even my polo bored me. How- 
 ever, I got my twenty-one kitchen-ranges, and 
 made a very fair contract for the fixing up of them 
 
 7
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 71 
 
 in the twenty-one houses, not all at once, but one 
 at a time. Also I sold the twenty-one old kitchen- 
 ranges at a very fair price to a Yorkshireman of 
 an unusually speculative turn of mind. At least it 
 seemed to me that he must be. What on earth 
 can there be in the way of openings for a worn-out 
 kitchen-range? However, it was not for me to 
 balk his fancy. 
 
 I had already found that being a house-agent 
 means continual work. Just as you think you have 
 got everything cleared up for a week ahead, some- 
 thing fresh crops up, and it crops up every day of 
 that week. If there was not actually anything to 
 be done, there were always letters from fussy ten- 
 ants to answer. 
 
 Of all the tenants who ever rented a house, Sir 
 Marmaduke Ponderbury is the fussiest. I sup- 
 pose that I get eight fussy letters a week from him; 
 and the only consolation is that they are typewrit- 
 ten and easy to read not like Lady Pedders' be- 
 cause he ambles about in public affairs, and keeps 
 a secretary to write his correspondence. One morn- 
 ing there came from him a letter addressed to me 
 personally, and not to Garth and Thurman. It 
 ran:
 
 72 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "DEAR LORD GARTHOYLE, 
 
 "I am addressing myself to you personally 
 and not to Messrs. Garth and Thurman, because 
 you are one of my own order. I am sorry to have 
 to inform you that circumstances have arisen which 
 will compel me to abandon the rest of the lease 
 of this house. Hieroglyphics are written nearly 
 every day on the inside wall of my porch; and I 
 have the gravest suspicion of their purport I will 
 do myself the honor of calling on you at twelve 
 o'clock to acquaint you with the matter. Under 
 these circumstances, you will not be surprised by 
 my requesting you to release me from the rest of 
 my tenancy; and I am sure that, making the re- 
 quest to one of my own order, it will not be re- 
 fused. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "MARMADUKE PONDERBURY/' 
 
 "What does the preposterous old idiot mean?" 
 I said; and I read the letter aloud. 
 
 Miss Wishart, my stenographer and bookkeeper, 
 smiled; Jack Thurman laughed. 
 
 "He can't suppose that I'm going to let him off 
 his rent because somebody scrawls on the wall of 
 his porch?" I said. 
 
 "Can't he, though?" said Jack. "You don't know 
 old Ponderbury. He's the largest spoilt child in 
 England, and the most spoilt. His mother spoilt
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 73 
 
 him, his tutors spoilt him, he never went to a 
 school or a university; his wife spoilt him; he has 
 always lived surrounded by the oiliest gang of 
 sycophants the world holds; and they spoil him 
 worse. He believes that the world was made for 
 him, and that he's the most important man in it, 
 or, at any rate, will be, when he's got the peerage 
 he's after. I've heard him say the most incredible 
 things quite incredible. The only person who 
 doesn't spoil him is Mur ... his daughter; and 
 he hates her." 
 
 I was a little surprised. Jack does not often let 
 himself go; and his eyes were sparkling, and he 
 was scowling. 
 
 "Oh, you know them?" I said. 
 
 "Yes, I know them," said Jack, scowling worse 
 than ever. 
 
 "What does he mean by calling me one of his 
 own order ? His father got the baronetcy for mak- 
 ing crockery," I said. 
 
 "The old snob thinks himself the born aristocrat 
 of the bluest blood. He's trying to get a peerage 
 to make it bluer." 
 
 "These new rich ones make me feel tired every 
 time," I said.
 
 74 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Then old Ponderbury should make you collapse. 
 He's the most tedious old swollen-headed rotter that 
 breathes!" said Jack savagely. 
 
 "You seem to have made up your mind about 
 him fairly distinctly," I said. 
 
 "I have," said Jack. 
 
 "I suppose he has played the spoilt child with 
 you?" 
 
 "All over me," said Jack. 
 
 "And you say he has a daughter?" I said. 
 
 "Yes, he has," said Jack. And he hunched him- 
 self over the ledger he was working at, as if he did 
 not wish to talk about it. 
 
 When at five minutes past twelve I went to the 
 library to interview Sir Marmaduke, I thought it 
 well to stick my eye-glass in my eye, leave my mouth 
 open and look like an idiot. I though it probable 
 that Sir Marmaduke would be quite open with me; 
 but it was just as well to give him every encourage- 
 ment. We should get on quicker. We would start 
 the leg-pulling process without delay; and I should 
 know what he was up to without wasting time. 
 
 When I came into the room a large, round, gray 
 man bounced up out of a chair, and bounced across 
 the room at me; just bounced.
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 7$ 
 
 "My dear Lord Garthoyle, I am charmed to make 
 your acquaintance," he squeaked in a high voice 
 which did not go with his round largeness. "But 
 I regret I regret that it should be under these 
 painful circumstances these extremely painful cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 He seized my hand and waggled it flabbily in a 
 hand uncommonly like a big uncooked sole. 
 
 "How are you?" I drawled. "What er er 
 are they?" 
 
 He sat down slowly and solemnly; and I sized 
 up his large oblong, flabby face, and green eyes 
 under thin eyebrows at the bottom of a forehead 
 which ran well on to the top of his head, owing to 
 the retiring hair. 
 
 "These hieroglyphics these menacing hiero- 
 glyphics," he squeaked. 
 
 "Ah, er yes; the scrawls on your porch," I 
 drawled. 
 
 "Scrawls! No, no, Lord Garthoyle. I wish I 
 could think it. I tried to think of it as a freak of 
 some idle boy even a hoax. They are hiero- 
 glyphics drawn with a deliberate intent." 
 
 "Does it matter?" I drawled. 
 
 "Matter? Matter? It is a most serious affair.
 
 76 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 But I see that you don't appreciate its seriousness 
 its public importance. But perhaps you do not 
 follow public affairs- the affairs of the great world 
 < with close interest?" 
 
 "They're not much in my line, don't you know," 
 I drawled; and I opened my mouth a little wider. 
 
 "No, no. I quite understand. It is a weakness 
 of our order. I have always deplored that so large 
 a percentage of it should devote itself to other vo- 
 cations. Why, if the whole of our order devoted 
 itself to public affairs, we could absorb them. We 
 should have a monopoly. There would be no room 
 for those wretched middle classes and the rest of 
 the lower orders. Still, there are a few of us who 
 devote ourselves to public affairs. I myself have 
 figured largely in public life for many years, not 
 only as President of the Landlords' Defense 
 League, but in many other ways as the stanch op- 
 ponent of the forces which threaten our order with 
 destruction. I have made enemies many danger- 
 ous enemies, by stemming the flood of Anarchy and 
 Socialism which is striving to sweep us away. I am 
 a barrier, Lord Garthoyle a barrier." And he 
 paused to look tremendously impressive.
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 77 
 
 "A barrier? Where they take tickets?" I 
 drawled, looking as puzzled as I could. 
 
 "No, no, no!" he squeaked, frowning. "I am a 
 barrier to the advance of that flood; I am the lion 
 in the path." He looked more like a codfish in the 
 path. "It can not move on to its task of fell de- 
 struction till it has overwhelmed me! It has recog- 
 nized this; and it is gathering its energies to sweep 
 me away." 
 
 "That's deucedly interesting," I said. "Are you 
 backing yourself not to be swept? I'm backing 
 the flood. What odds will you take ?" And I pulled 
 out my betting-book and looked quite lively. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke was pulled up short ; he stuttered : 
 
 "This is not a matter for an idle w-w-wager. I've 
 n-n-never made a b-b-bet in all my life." 
 
 "It's never too late to begin," I said cheerfully; 
 and I drew out my pencil and opened the betting- 
 book. 
 
 "No, no, no! I'm not going to bet I won't 
 bet!" he spluttered, pouting exactly like a spoilt 
 child which is not getting its own way. "I've come 
 about these heiroglyphics. You don't understand." 
 
 "But this is such a good bet for you, don't you
 
 78 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 know," I said, looking quite lively. "Why, it's 
 the chance of a lifetime. If you lose, you don't 
 pay. Your executors pay." 
 
 "No, no, no!" he spluttered. 
 
 "Come, I'll lay you even money, and we'll fix a 
 time limit say a year," I said. 
 
 "No . . . no!" he squeaked. 
 
 "Well, I'll make it nine months. I lay you even 
 money that they out you in nine months." 
 
 I pretended to be tremendously excited about it. 
 
 "No . . .no!" he almost squealed. 
 
 "But think what a comfort it will be to you when 
 the bomb bursts, or the knife jabs in your back, to 
 think that your executors will have to pay," I said 
 as persuasively as I could. 
 
 "I will not bet!" he squealed. "I came to talk 
 about these hieroglyphics, and you won't listen!" 
 
 "Oh, all right . . . fire away!" I said in a dis- 
 gusted tone. 
 
 He panted a little, and then he began: "These 
 hieroglyphics, are a warning and a threat. I am 
 sure, of it. When I first saw them I took no notice 
 of them beyond telling my butler to wipe them 
 away. He did so; they . . . were . . . renewed. 
 My suspicions were awakened ; they have been con-
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 79 
 
 firmed. The hieroglyphics are not only renewed, 
 when they are wiped away; they change. Every 
 three or four days, Lord Garthoyle, they change. 
 They grow more threatening. To-day there is a 
 distinct coffin and a bomb." 
 
 "That's er pretty thick, don't you know," I 
 said. 
 
 "Thick? [Thick? It would appal the stoutest 
 heart. And we can't find put who draws them. 
 One of the most astute firms of private detectives in 
 London has been watching the house night and 
 day for a fortnight. The hieroglyphics are drawn 
 under their very eyes. They must be. The affair 
 has grown so sinister that the time has come for 
 me to decide whether I should retire from the fight 
 or continue the conflict. There is a great meeting 
 of the Landowners' League shortly; if I speak out, 
 the forces of anarchy will dash themselves upon me. 
 But it has been suggested that I might speak out, 
 and then retire into a prudent seclusion for a few; 
 months. That is why I have come to you. You 
 are a large owner of property; I am its chief de- 
 fender. Are you willing to stand by me if I pur- 
 sue this desperate course, by releasing me from the 
 rest of my tenancy? Then, when these miscreants
 
 8o ALICE DEVINE 
 
 come along to accomplish their fell purpose, they 
 will be balked by an empty house." 
 
 "I think I'd rather not," I drawled. 'Two thou- 
 sand a year is two thousand a year." 
 
 "But what is a paltry two thousand a year com- 
 pared with the enormous interests at stake the 
 dearest interests of our order ? Consider that, Lord 
 Garthoyle. We owners of property stand or fall 
 together." 
 
 "I don't fall; the flood isn't out after me," I 
 said. 
 
 "But your order you will surely stand by your 
 order?" 
 
 "You're doing the standing by, and I'm doing the 
 looking on admiring, and all that sort of thing, 
 don't you know. Why, I shouldn't wonder if I 
 didn't manage to back the flood to out you for as 
 much as a monkey." 
 
 "But this is callousness," he said. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," I drawled. "But rent's so 
 uninteresting. It's the sort of thing that's bound 
 to happen. At least it always happened to me till 
 I came to live in my own house. There's no point 
 in interfering with rent. But a bet's quite another 
 thing more sporting and I'll lay you . . ."
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 81 
 
 "I'm not going to bet! I'm not going to bet! 
 I keep telling you so!" he squealed. "And you 
 don't realize that I'm making this proposal in your 
 own interest. You don't want to see Number 12 
 shattered with a bomb?" 
 
 "I don't mind. It's insured. In fact, I should 
 like to touch the Insurance Company for a bit. I'm 
 always shelling out to it," I said calmly. 
 
 "But the loss of life surely you are not indif- 
 ferent to that?" he cried. 
 
 "No! Oh, no! I shall be very sorry, don't you 
 know. But it's your game. I don't put up the 
 stakes," I said. 
 
 He jumped up and began bouncing. He did 
 look uncommonly like a large gray, india-rubber 
 ball. And as he bounced he spluttered; and I 
 caught sentences about "Astonishing insensibility," 
 "Blind to the clarion call of duty," and something 
 about Imperial Rome being wrecked by callousness. 
 There seemed to be a lot of the orator about him. 
 
 At last I said in a hopeful voice: "It's quite 
 likely they won't throw any bomb at all. They'll 
 just knife you on the quiet, or plug you from behind 
 with a revolver. I don't think you need worry about 
 Number 12. I shan't."
 
 82 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 He stopped bouncing and stared at me with his 
 eyes wide open ; and his face turned green in places. 
 
 "And is this the gratitude one gets from one's 
 order?" he said in a kind of squeaky whisper. 
 
 "Oh, I'm quite grateful," I said, smiling at him 
 pleasantly. "I should send a what-d'ye-call-it ? 
 a wreath to your funeral. I couldn't do less, don't 
 you know." 
 
 He went a little greener; but he did not seem 
 to be able to find anything to say. I fancied I 
 was getting square with him for bothering me with 
 his fussy letters. Then I had a happy idea; I said 
 I would come and take a look at the hieroglyphics 
 myself, and I bustled him out of the house and 
 across to his own. He did not say much, he seemed 
 to be thinking hard; and he did not bounce. He 
 walked rather feebly. Two or three times he looked 
 back over his shoulder; I fancied he was looking 
 for that knife. 
 
 We came to Number 12, and went up into the 
 porch of it On the left-hand, inside wall were 
 these figures, drawn in chalk: 
 
 4
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 83 
 
 I looked at them and said: "I suppose this 
 thing on the right is what you call the coffin? I 
 don't call it a coffin; it might be anything, don't 
 you know. Is the round tiling with the cross in 
 the middle the bomb?" 
 
 '^Yes; that is undoubtedly the rough drawing of 
 a bomb," he said in a fainting kind of voice. 
 
 "I don't see it a bit," I said. "What's the thing 
 next it?" 
 
 "An infernal machine," he said. 
 
 The door opened, and a very pretty, dark-eyed, 
 dark-haired girl came out. As she came out she 
 looked quickly from us to the hieroglyphics, and 
 back again. I dropped my eye-glass and shut my 
 mouth. There was no point in looking like a per- 
 feet ass before her. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke introduced her to me as his 
 daughter Muriel, and I said : "I was just looking 
 at the hieroglyphics. I don't see that they're 
 coffins and bombs and infernal machines." 
 
 "I say they are, and Mr. Manders agrees with 
 me," said Sir Marmaduke solemnly, in a disagree- 
 able tone. 
 
 "Mr. Manders always agrees with you. They're 
 just scrawls," she said sharply.
 
 84 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "I never expect any sympathy or understanding 
 from you, Muriel. I do not look for it. We are 
 agreed that the figures are a coffin, a bomb, an in- 
 fernal machine, a bomb of a different pattern and 
 the figure four." 
 
 "I'm not agreed," I said. "I think they might be 
 anything." 
 
 "I'm sure that they're a chocolate-box, a hot- 
 cross-bun, a cake, a plum-pudding and the figure 
 four," said Miss Ponderbury. 
 
 "Of course I might have known it. I stand on 
 the verge of a tremendous peril; and all I get from 
 my daughter my only daughter is mockery!" he 
 snapped ; and he was no longer greenish, but a nice 
 bright red. 
 
 "You're so silly, father. You let the Manders 
 humbug you about anything," she said. 
 
 "It is like you to sneer at my faithful friends!" 
 he snapped. 
 
 It did not seem to me that it was part of the duty 
 of the complete house-agent to assist at the family 
 scraps of his tenants; and I said in a loud voice, "I 
 think I'll just take these figures." 
 
 They stopped scrapping to watch me draw the
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 85 
 
 figures in my betting-book. In the middle of it I 
 looked up and found Miss Ponderbury smiling at 
 me in an odd sort of way, as if she thought me silly 
 to bother with them. 
 
 With a little bow she said: "Good-by, Lord 
 Garthoyle. It is silly of you, father, to let the Man- 
 ders worry you about these scrawls." And she 
 went down the steps and along the pavement to- 
 ward Mount Street. 
 
 I was just finishing the drawings when a small 
 sharp-looking woman bustled out of the house and 
 went off down the pavement after her. 
 
 "That's got them," I said, putting my betting- 
 book into my pocket. 
 
 "It only remains to discover what the hiero- 
 glyphics mean as a whole," said Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 "They do look pretty bad," I said. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke looked very gloomy. He seemed 
 to be thinking about the funeral wreath. 
 
 "Perhaps you had better chuck it and go abroad," 
 I said. 
 
 "Never! I will never desert my order!" he 
 squeaked; but he did not seem very full of en- 
 thusiasm.
 
 86 
 
 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Well, I'll bet fifty to forty that these anarchists, 
 if they are anarchists will out you all right. Your 
 executors to pay," I said. 
 
 "I won't bet about such a thing! I consider the 
 suggestion monstrous," he squeaked furiously. 
 
 "Well, if you won't, you won't. But anyhow 
 I'll leave the bet open. You may change your 
 mind, you know," I said cheerfully. "Good-by." 
 
 He said good-by peevishly. 
 
 I went home and into my office. I showed Jack 
 my drawings of the hieroglyphics, and he did not 
 take much interest in them. But he was interested 
 in Miss Ponderbury's scrap with her gutta-percha 
 papa, and said that she was treating him as he 
 wanted treating. 
 
 "Well, I hope I helped to frighten the silly old 
 india-rubber ball into some out-of-the-way corner 
 where he can't bother me with his infernal fussy 
 letters," I said. 
 
 "It's possible. Let's hope for the best," said 
 Jack. 
 
 We discussed the question (at least I did; Jack 
 did not seem interested in it) of who was playing 
 the trick on Sir Marmaduke. 
 
 At last Jack said: "It might be anybody. If
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 87 
 
 any one were introduced to the preposterous old 
 idiot, the first thing he would go and do would be 
 to go and scrawl hieroglyphics on his porch wall." 
 
 "He is a bouncing temptation to the average 
 sportsman," I said. 
 
 It was plain that Sir Marmaduke's theory about 
 anarchists was rubbish, but to make quite sure, I 
 went round to see that rising young politician, my 
 cousin, Herbert Polkington, and asked him if Sir 
 Marmaduke Ponderbury were sufficiently impor- 
 tant for anarchists to throw bombs at. 
 
 Herbert is an austere fish, and meek; but at my 
 question his eyes flashed, his pasty face turned pink, 
 he thumped his table and cried: "Important! 
 Ponderbury important? If being the most pes- 
 tiferous old busybody in London, and badgering 
 everybody to be made a peer for it, is being im- 
 portant, then he is important. He pesters my 
 life out, since I'm one of the people who look after 
 the jparty rewards. I get hundreds of letters from 
 him, and he's always forcing himself on me here 
 and everywhere. I wish to heavens the anarchists 
 would blow him up !" 
 
 I had not seen Herbert so excited for years; 
 and I spent a good half -hour trying to persuade him
 
 88 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 that it was a very serious matter and he ought to 
 come round to the Gardens and look at the hiero- 
 glyphics himself. He grew even more excited, re- 
 fusing to waste his time on doing anything of the 
 kind; and I left him ruffled. 
 
 He had cleared my mind of the last bit of un- 
 easiness about the hieroglyphics; but I decided to 
 back Ponderbury to get his peerage every time I 
 got the chance. A man who could so infuriate 
 Herbert that he turned rose-pink at just the men- 
 tion of his name, was dead certain of it He must 
 be a perfectly pertinacious beggar. 
 
 I soon had proof of it. I had five letters in the 
 next three days, begging me to stand by my order 
 and release him from his tenancy. Then he ad- 
 vertised in the Daily Mail, offering a hundred 
 pounds reward for information about the person 
 who scrawled the figures on the wall of his porch. 
 
 I laughed when Jack showed me the advertise- 
 ment; but I did not laugh when the Ponderbury 
 mystery, with pictures and explanations of the 
 hieroglyphics, filled columns in the papers, and the 
 swarm of amateur detectives settled in the Gardens. 
 There were scores of them. There must have been
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 89 
 
 forty clean-shaven young men who looked like the 
 pictures of Sherlock Holmes; there were dozens 
 of retired Army and Naval men, all trying to look 
 like born detectives, and there were about twenty 
 women, young, middle-aged and old English and 
 foreign. I could not go out of the house without 
 getting nine piercing glances from eagle eyes, and 
 being dogged by half a dozen men and women to 
 my club. There was always a group in the porch 
 of Number 12, examining the scrawls, and twice 
 I saw Muriel Ponderbury in the window, watching 
 them with great enjoyment. I learned that Sir 
 Marmaduke was having a glorious time; his corre- 
 spondence was delivered in big sacks; and all the 
 papers called him "The man who stands by his 
 Order." It really looked as if the Government 
 would have to give him a peerage at once. 
 
 I went round and saw Herbert again, and asked 
 him if this was not so. He only turned rose-pink, 
 like a blushing debutante, as I told him and cursed 
 me. 
 
 Then I met Ponderbury coming out of one of 
 my clubs the Palladium; he bounced once and 
 squeaked: "England has responded nobly to my
 
 90 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 peril, Lord Garthoyle. I have had letters from all 
 over the country, bidding me fight on against the 
 flood of anarchy." 
 
 "I'm still laying five to four on the flood. All 
 this will make them keener than ever to put you," 
 I said. 
 
 "Never a word of sympathy or congratulation 
 from my own order," he squeaked. And he 
 bounced, pouting, down the steps. 
 
 There were no new hieroglyphics, for there were 
 always four or five amateur detectives in the porch 
 of Number 12. They were a nuisance. They were 
 all over the place; they were always being turned 
 out of the Numbers 10 and n. One had to be re- 
 moved by the police with a fire-escape from the roof 
 of Number 10. They positively nested in the trees 
 in the garden of the triangle which overlooked the 
 porch, and they fought one another for places in 
 the shrubbery opposite it. But since they were al- 
 ways there, on the watch, they prevented any new 
 hieroglyphics being written, and began to lose their 
 keenness. They grew fewer and fewer quickly; and 
 in a few days the last one had gone. 
 
 The very next morning, on the same wall of Sir 
 Marmaduke's porch, there was a freshly-scrawled
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 91 
 
 figure, the figure which he had called a bomb. This 
 one: 
 
 He must have wired the news to the evening 
 papers, for before noon the amateur detectives were 
 swarming again. And for the rest of the day they 
 were all over the place. 
 
 After dinner that night, I was strolling across 
 to the garden to smoke a cigar in the moonlight, 
 when I saw Muriel Ponderbury go through the gate 
 of it just in front of me. I strolled after her to 
 ask her the latest news of the hieroglyphics. She 
 passed out of sight round the corner of a shrubbery. 
 As I came round it I heard voices, and the sound 
 of a kiss; and I came right on to her and Jack 
 Thurman standing very close together. I was 
 naturally shocked to find that people kissed each 
 other in this exclusive garden; but I managed 
 to say a few kind words about the moonlight and 
 strolled on trying to look as if I hadn't been 
 shocked. 
 
 I had never guessed that Jack had a love affair. 
 But I was pleased to see that he was not letting
 
 92 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 his barrister's brieflessness prevent him kissing a 
 pretty girl because she was the daughter of a very 
 rich man. It set me wishing that I had a love affair 
 myself; and somehow or other I found myself 
 staring at Number 9 where Alice Devine lived. The 
 house was lighted up: Scruton was evidently 
 giving a party. Then I caught myself wishing 
 that I went to his parties and met her. I pulled 
 myself up very short. It would never do to get 
 into the way of thinking about the ghost-girl. I 
 did not want to get into the mess of a lifetime. 
 I cleared out of the garden and the moonlight, off 
 to one of my clubs, and played an honest game of 
 auction bridge. 
 
 Next morning Jack said to' me: "I say, I'd 
 rather you didn't tell any one you saw me with Miss 
 Ponderbury last night." 
 
 "I shouldn't dream of it," I said. 
 
 "We're going to be married as soon as she's of 
 age in seven months. Her silly old dunderhead 
 of a father is dead against it. He's made her 
 promise not to write to me; and he employs the* wife 
 of that sponger Manders to see that she never 
 speaks to me. We don't often get a chance of 
 meeting."
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 93 
 
 "I hope you make up for it when you do," I 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, we try. But it's hard work waiting," he 
 said. 
 
 "It must be," said I. 
 
 He said nothing for a minute or two; then he 
 said: "It's time you were getting married your- 
 self." 
 
 "I know it is. But I stave it off I stave it 
 off," I said; and I don't know why on earth I 
 should have seen a sudden picture of Alice Devine's 
 flushed face and shining eyes, just as I had seen 
 them on Chipperfield Common. 
 
 Parkhurst interrupted us to say that Sir Marma- 
 duke Ponderbury wanted to see me particularly, and 
 was waiting in the library. When I went into it 
 with my eye-glass in my eye, and my mouth well 
 open, he was standing before a window, bouncing 
 gently. 
 
 He turned and squeaked very shrilly: "Lord 
 Garthoyle, I've come to make a last appeal to you, 
 as one of my own order, to release me from my 
 tenancy." 
 
 "What's happened now? I thought you were 
 going so strong," I drawled.
 
 94 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 He was a pertinacious beggar. 
 
 "The result of my defying these miscreants by 
 my advertisement is that yesterday there was a 
 single hieroglyphic the figure of a bomb," he 
 squeaked. "It's the last warning. They will act 
 at once! Any minute! After a sleepless night I 
 have resolved to balk them by flight." 
 
 "Well, / don't object. I haven't got a bet with 
 you about it, or I might call on you to stick it out," 
 I said. 
 
 "But my rent are you going to let me off the 
 rest of my lease ?" he squeaked. 
 
 "No; I'm not going to interfere with your pay- 
 ing your rent. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll 
 lay you seven to four now that, whether you bolt 
 or whether you don't, the flood of Anarchy outs 
 you." 
 
 He was looking rather green he turned greener. 
 Then he bounced from side to side, two or three 
 times, and cried: "It's incredible! Absolutely in- 
 credible! If the ordinary landlord had refused, I 
 could have understood it. But that one of my own 
 order should refuse, when I'm fighting for that 
 order it's incredible !" 
 
 "I'm not going to spoil sport, don't you know*
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 95 
 
 Here are you and these anarchists having a little 
 set-to, and I want to see the best man win. Come, 
 will you take seven to four that they out you?" 
 I said cheerfully. 
 
 "The sporting spirit is the curse of our order!" 
 he howled. And out of the room and down the 
 stairs he bounced. 
 
 Next morning I got a letter from him marked 
 "Urgent." It ran : 
 
 "The bomb has been drawn on the porch wall 
 again. In spite of the fact that the police are 
 watching the house. I fly this afternoon. Will you 
 release me from my tenancy? 
 
 "M. P." 
 
 I expected he had bounced all over his house, and 
 I wrote in the name of Garth and Thurman saying 
 that we could not see our way to let him off his 
 rent. 
 
 Later in the morning I strolled out into the gar- 
 den of the triangle to see what the amateur de- 
 tectives were doing. They were buzzing in a swarm 
 in front of Sir Marmaduke's house, in the porch, 
 on the pavement, in the roadway, and in the shrub- 
 bery of the central garden. About fourteen alter-
 
 96 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 cations were going on in a lively way, and I waited 
 for a while in the hope of seeing a general scrap. 
 But there was nothing but altercations, and making 
 up my mind that amateur detectives are noisy, but 
 peaceful, I strolled on round the garden, to see how 
 the gardeners were doing their work. 
 
 In the middle of the garden I suddenly came on 
 the ghost-girl, and my heart gave quite a jump. 
 She was walking toward me, looking at the ground, 
 her pretty forehead wrinkled with a frown, think- 
 ing hard. I thought for half a second that I would 
 bolt before she saw me, then I thought that I would 
 do nothing of the kind. Then she looked up and 
 saw me and flushed. 
 
 We shook hands, and she said: "Have you too 
 come into the garden to find out about the hiero- 
 glyphics?" 
 
 "I'm afrain my brains wouldn't run to it," I said. 
 
 It was plainly on the tip of her tongue to ask me 
 what I was doing there, since only residents are 
 allowed in the garden, and of course she no more 
 knew that I lived in the Gardens than she knew 
 my name, or that I was the man on whom she had 
 played the ghost trick.
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 97 
 
 She did not aslc, she looked at me earnestly, and 
 said: 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Garth, you helped me to take those 
 poor children into the country when I had lost my 
 purse. I wonder if you'd help me now?" 
 
 "Of course I will," I said. 
 
 "I've found out the secret of the hieroglyphics, 
 but I don't quite know what to do." 
 
 "The dickens you have !" I cried. 
 
 "Yes. I want that hundred pounds reward 
 awfully for some more poor children I've made 
 friends with. My stepfather said that it was quite 
 plain that the hieroglyphics were drawn by some 
 one who lived in Number 12. So I've been watch- 
 ing and watching the house with glasses. Yester- 
 day I found out that it is the pretty girl Miss Pon- 
 derbury, I think it is who writes them; and she 
 writes them for a dark young man with a big 
 hooked nose, who lives at Number 18." 
 
 Jack Thurman! That was his beak. It could 
 be no one else's. And as I thought of Sir Marma- 
 duke's terrors, and all the fuss in the papers, I 
 burst out laughing all that fuss about a lovers' 
 signal code!
 
 98 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Miss Devine stared at me, and then she said: 
 "Yes, it is funny all that fuss. But she did do it. 
 There was nothing on the wall of the porch at six 
 yesterday morning. At half past six she came out 
 of the house, stopped just a few seconds in the 
 porch and walked across into the garden. I slipped 
 out at the far gate, came down past the house, ran 
 up the steps, and saw the hieroglyphic on the wall." 
 
 "Excellent!" I said. 
 
 "I came back to the garden and went on watching. 
 I saw a housemaid find the hieroglyphic, and I saw 
 all the fuss that the servants and Sir Marmaduke 
 Ponderbury and the police made when the hiero- 
 glyphic was found. Sir Marmaduke was highly 
 excited, talked very shrilly, and jumped up and 
 down." 
 
 "He does bounce," I said. 
 
 "And I saw Miss Ponderbury go back into the 
 house soon after eight. Then at ten minutes to 
 nine the young man with the big nose came by, ran 
 up the steps, took one look at the hieroglyphic, and 
 came down the steps, looking ever so pleased. I 
 saw quite plainly from his face that he knew all 
 about it, that it was drawn for him. I'm quite sure 
 of it."
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 99 
 
 "So am I," I said. "You must claim the reward 
 at once." 
 
 "That's just the difficulty. It's why I want your 
 help, or rather your advice. Last night I saw Miss 
 Ponderbury and the young man in the garden here, 
 and they and they oh, well, they seemed very 
 fond of each other. It would be a shame to get 
 them into trouble. Yet I should like to get that 
 hundred pounds reward. What am I to do?" 
 
 "I see. You want that money, but you don't 
 want the path of true love to run rough. Let's 
 think," I said. But I did not find it easy to think 
 with her standing" before me looking so charming 
 with her frowning, puzzled face. 
 
 "I think I see a way," I said presently. "But old 
 Ponderbury will be as mad as a hatter. He'll be 
 the laughing-stock of England. It will knock his 
 precious peerage on the head for good and all." 
 
 "His being angry is just what I'm afraid of," 
 she said. "It is quite plain that he's already angry 
 with them, or they wouldn't have to meet secretly. 
 This will make him worse than ever." 
 
 "If you like to leave it with me, I think I can 
 work it without harming them; and I'll send Sir 
 Marmaduke's check along to you, if I get it."
 
 ioo ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "It would be splendid if you could a hundred 
 pounds! But you mustn't make trouble for those 
 two," she said. 
 
 "Oh, I won't do that. I wouldn't roughen the 
 path of true love on any account. I might be there 
 myself one of these days," I said. 
 
 "One never knows," she said, smiling. 
 
 "And what have you been doing since the expe- 
 dition? And how are your young anarchists?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 She told me she had given some teas in Hyde 
 Park to two or three other lots of poor children, 
 and that the anarchist family of Briggs was going 
 very strong. She had been invited to join Charlotte 
 Corday Briggs on a great shopping expedition ; and 
 from Robespierre to Stepniak the family was re- 
 splendent. 
 
 It was past one before we had finished our talk; 
 and she hurried away to lunch. I walked across to 
 Number 12, and was taken straight to Sir Marma- 
 duke, in a small room at the back of the house out 
 of reach of the bombs. He was sitting in an arm- 
 chair, and looking as if he were out on a rough 
 sea, and it was not agreeing with him. 
 
 "Ah, at the last moment you have decided to
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 101 
 
 stand by your order, and release me from my 
 tenancy?" he said. 
 
 "No, I've come for the hundred pounds reward," 
 I said. 
 
 "You've found the miscreants? Then I can 
 bring them to justice at once! I must act swiftly 
 and terribly! The country will expect it of me! 
 Their names?" And he was up and bouncing. 
 
 "Well, there's only one, and it's Miss Ponder- 
 bury," I said. 
 
 "Miss Ponderbury? My daughter?" he gasped. 
 
 "It seems you made her promise not to write to 
 my friend, Jack Thurman, and these hieroglyphics 
 are their signals." 
 
 "But this is monstrous !" he squeaked. 
 
 "It's very natural, don't you know?" I drawled. 
 
 "Incredible! Monstrous!" he squealed, bounc- 
 ing. "My own daughter! I'll have no more to 
 do with her! I'll send her away! She shall never 
 enter this house again!" 
 
 He went on for a long time about the ungrateful- 
 ness of tricking one's father; and I let him bounce 
 and squeal. 
 
 Then I said : "I should have thought you would 
 have been glad to be rid of your fear of anarchists."
 
 102 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "When I think of what I have suffered, I could 
 curse my daughter curse her, Lord Garthoyle!" 
 he squeaked. 
 
 "Yes. That's all right; it's relieving," I said. 
 "But the worst thing is, your public work is spoiled 
 for good and all." 
 
 "Why, how?" he squeaked. 
 
 "When it comes to be known that you've made 
 all this fuss about some lovers' signals, you'll be 
 the laughing-stock of the country; and no one will 
 ever take you seriously again." 
 
 "I never thought of that," he gasped. And he 
 collapsed into his armchair. 
 
 I lighted a cigarette, and let him think of it; 
 then I said: "You won't be able to do any public 
 work at all, and you'll never get that peerage, un- 
 less you can hush it up." 
 
 "Yes, yes; you're right! I'll send my daughter 
 away at once to-night," he cried. 
 
 "What good would that do? That wouldn't 
 shut Jack Thurman's mouth. It would open it. 
 You've got to shut it," I said. 
 
 "Curse that young man! Curse him!" he 
 squeaked.
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 103 
 
 "Oh, yes. By all means. But he's got you in a 
 cleft stick. You've got to let them get married." 
 
 "Never! Never! They shall never marry!" he 
 squealed. And he was bouncing up and down 
 again. 
 
 I let him bounce till he was tired, then I said: 
 "It seems rather silly to become the laughing-stock 
 of the country and lose a peerage for a fad like 
 this. Really Jack Thurman has done you a real 
 service. He's brought your name before the pub- 
 lic as no work of your own ever did. He's really 
 got you a peerage, if you sit tight and take it. But 
 you know best. I'll let the papers know about this 
 discovery at once, myself." 
 
 I rose, and was opening the door, when he cried : 
 "Wait! Wait! I must think about it! Don't 
 be so hasty!" 
 
 He flung himself back in the armchair, pouting, 
 with his eyes full of tears; and I expected him to 
 start blubbering. 
 
 At last he said very sulkily: "I yield. They 
 shall marry. I do not yield out of fear of ridicule. 
 I do not abandon my just resentment. The good of 
 my country demands my surrender, the surrender
 
 104 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 of my private feelings; I can not let myself be 
 paralyzed in my work for its best interest. They 
 shall marry!" he squeaked solemnly. 
 
 "That's all right," I said. "And now we'll draw 
 up the contract." 
 
 He kicked at this; but what I felt was that it 
 was no use my being a house-agent if I did not 
 draw up contracts. Besides, he seemed to me too 
 peevish to trust. I just bullied him into it. 
 
 I drew up the contract myself. He gave his 
 consent to Miss Ponderbury's marrying Jack in 
 three months' time. He settled seven hundred a 
 year on her (I tried to make it a thousand, but I 
 found that that was trying him too high, and might 
 upset the whole business). When he had signed 
 the contract he wrote a check for the hundred 
 pounds reward for Alice Devine. 
 
 After it he was better. He bounced beside me 
 to the front door, and as I went down the steps, he 
 said : "It is a relief once more to take up the work 
 of strengthening our order with an unharassed 
 mind." And he bounced once. 
 
 When I got home I sent the check round to Alice 
 Devine and went into my office. Jack had just come 
 back after his lunch.
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS 105 
 
 "I've just drawn up a contract, and I should like 
 you to look through it," I said. "I think it's all 
 right." And I gave it to him. 
 
 He could not believe his eyes. "What ? Where ? 
 How? How on earth did you get this out of the 
 old dunderhead ?" he stammered. 
 
 "Gently with your future father-in-law," I said; 
 and I told him the line I had taken. 
 
 When I had stopped his thanks, I pulled out 
 my drawing of the hieroglyphics, and asked him 
 what they meant exactly. 
 
 "They showed me where Muriel would be on the 
 fourth day after it was drawn," he said. "The 
 four shows the fourth day, the circle with the line 
 drawn through it at the bottom of it is the after- 
 noon sun; if the line were drawn through the top 
 
 it would be the morning sun. The ducal coronet. 
 
 
 
 
 
 "You call that a coronet?" I interrupted with 
 surprise. "Ponderbury called it an infernal ma- 
 chine," I said. 
 
 "It's a coronet a ducal coronet. It meant that 
 Muriel would be at the Duchess of Huddersfield's 
 in the afternoon. The circle with the cross means 
 the night the crossed out sun. The square with
 
 106 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 the three in it is 3, Berkeley Square. That's where 
 she'd be that night." 
 
 "I see," I said. "And what does the bomb 
 the crossed-out sun the last hieroglyphic you 
 drew, mean when it's by itself?" 
 
 "Oh, that meant that her duenna, Mrs. Manders, 
 would be out, and she'd come to the garden that 
 night. It's quite simple." 
 
 It was.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 HERBERT POLKINGTON^S UNCERTAINTY 
 
 THE discovery that he had made such a Com- 
 plete fool of himself seemed to have a 
 chastening effect on Sir Marmaduke. Jack told 
 me that now, when he went to the house to see 
 Muriel, the Gutta-percha One was quite civil to 
 him. Also he seemed to have grown rather shy of 
 me since I had drawn up that marriage Contract, 
 for he ceased pestering Garth and Thurman with 
 his fussy letters. 
 
 The Gardens, indeed, were going very nicely and 
 quietly. It is a great advantage that the rents of 
 the houses are two thousand pounds a year, not 
 only from the point of view of my income, but also 
 because it means that my tenants are desirable. 
 Bad hats and swindlers do not run to such high 
 rents. 
 
 Indeed, the only tenant about whom I was doubt- 
 ful was Scruton; ever since the good gum million- 
 aire had tried to get his house rent-free by that in- 
 
 107
 
 io8 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 genious ghost trick, I had been expecting some 
 more games from him. He really was a millionaire, 
 or thereabouts. I had had inquiries made about 
 him, from some of my tenants; and my lawyer 
 and Jack had thought it well to have the share 
 register at Somerset House looked up, and found 
 that he was a large shareholder in Australian and 
 New Zealand securities. Still, I knew he was a 
 crooked millionaire; and I could not help expect- 
 ing that he would turn out to be an undesirable 
 tenant. I myself much prefer the millionaire who 
 has inherited his millions to the millionaire who has 
 made them. He is straighter. 
 
 Oddly enough, it was that rising young politician, 
 my cousin, Herbert Polkington, who brought to my 
 knowledge the unpleasant fact that Scruton was on 
 the way to get Number 9 the reputation of a 
 gambling-hell. Herbert is one of those earnest and 
 serious politicians who get up on their hind-legs and 
 paw the air when I tell them that politics is only 
 a game, and not so cheery a game as racing. I 
 have often had to tell Herbert this to check his 
 pouring out home-truths on me about my useless 
 life, though lately, since I have been acting as my 
 own house-agent, he has had to stop that,
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 109 
 
 Before I was a house-agent I used to think that 
 Herbert's was a hard life. He has made up his 
 mind to be Prime Minister; and he must not think 
 of anything else. He has even to dress the part. 
 He has to sit through all those dreary debates in 
 the House of Commons, mug up blue-books by the 
 furlong, make speeches all over the country, and 
 write long dismal articles, or let Freddy Gage, his 
 secretary, write them, in the monthly reviews. But 
 now that I am a house-agent and have work to do, 
 I do not think Herbert's life so hard after all. Be- 
 sides, he is one of those morbid people who like 
 work, especially the dull kind. If he did not, he 
 wouldn't do it; for he has seven thousand a year, 
 and no big place to keep up. 
 
 When he turned up one day, and said he had 
 come to lunch with me, I was rather surprised. 
 Herbert is always very lofty with me, and this 
 was condescending indeed. I wondered what he 
 wanted. 
 
 It was a stifling hot day, but Herbert was the 
 correct politician in black top-hat, black morning 
 coat, dark trousers, dark tie and dark gloves. It 
 made me feel hot to look at him. 
 
 I thought that he would bear unloosening, so I
 
 no ALICE DEVINE 
 
 told Richards to give us a bottle of 1908 Heidsieck; 
 and we lunched in the summer dining-room, which 
 faces north and is cool. 
 
 As usual Herbert was looking as serious as a 
 gate-post. He always tried to look as though he 
 was carrying the Empire about with him it is part 
 of the game. He said nothing, and I had nothing 
 to say; and we had finished our melon and our 
 caviare before the conversation began ; then I said : 
 
 "Do you never wear summer clothes something 
 gray?" 
 
 "Never in London. Gray clothes give a man an 
 air of frivolity; they do not go with serious aims 
 in life. In the country I wear tweeds of course, 
 but always dark shades. My reputation demands it," 
 he said solemnly. 
 
 "I shouldn't like to have a reputation like that," 
 I said. 
 
 "I fear you never will. It is, unfortunately, too 
 late," he said very loftily. 
 
 "Saved! Saved!" I said softly. 
 
 He looked pained, but did not rebuke me; so I 
 knew for certain that he did want something. 
 
 I seemed to have set him going, for he talked 
 earnestly about the dress, and the habits, and the
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY in 
 
 customs of the correct young politician. Herbert 
 talking always makes me fidgety. He is so infer- 
 nally long-winded. He can say more about noth- 
 ing at all than any one I know. Also, he has a 
 way of fixing his pale eyes on sorne point on the 
 wall opposite, and speaking as if he had learned 
 what he is saying by heart, painfully. I have 
 never heard him make a speech it must be awful ! 
 Besides, with his pasty, yellowish face he is not a 
 pretty sight; and he does not only look as if he 
 had oiled his hair but sounds as if he had oiled his 
 voice. 
 
 I let him drone on. It is never any use trying 
 to quicken him; he will take the most roundabout 
 way to come to what he wants. I dare say he 
 thinks it diplomatic. I went on with my lunch, 
 sparing the champagne, which I did not like so 
 young, and not paying any particular attention to 
 what he was saying about the respect due to a man 
 of unswerving political sincerity from his fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 Then he did give me a jolt. He got away from 
 the perfect young politician, began to talk about 
 the perfect young politician's wife, and said the 
 important thing was that she should have brains.
 
 112 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I looked at the bottle of champagne. It was 
 not that: he had not drunk enough. Then I said: 
 "Rot, old chap! The important thing is, that she 
 should be related to the right kind of people and 
 know how to entertain them in the right kind of 
 way or else she must be a woman with a lot of 
 money." 
 
 "No," he said solemnly. "What a man a man 
 dealing with Imperial affairs needs in a wife, is 
 a stimulating (companion, some one to foster the 
 efforts of his genius." 
 
 I looked again at the bottle of champagne. It 
 was not the quantity he had only had a couple 
 of glasses of it. It must be stronger than I thought. 
 Then I said: 
 
 "This is what they call poppycock in the States. 
 If we were out-of-doors, I should say that you were 
 talking through your hat." And I felt a little tired. 
 
 "I am quite serious. These are the conclusions I 
 have come to after giving the matter my most care- 
 ful consideration," said Herbert solemnly; and he 
 raised his glass and looked at it as if he were per- 
 fectly satisfied with it, himself and everything else 
 in the nice round world. 
 
 I was not going to bother with rot like this.
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY] 113 
 
 "All right; it doesn't matter," I said. "At any 
 rate, .you're fixed up properly. You're going to 
 marry Anne Dressington, and she is related to the 
 whole gang of the right people, knows exactly what 
 they want, and has five thousand a year." 
 
 It has been understood in the family for a long 
 while that Herbert is going to marry our cousin, 
 Lady Dressington; and it is one of those comfort- 
 able arrangements which are good for every one. 
 
 Herbert emptied his wine-glass quickly; and his 
 round yellow face turned a little pink. 
 
 "Not at all not at all," he said quickly. 
 "Neither Anne nor I have considered that seriously. 
 But it was about a matter of that kind I came to 
 consult you. In spite of the frivolous life you lead, 
 you have a certain amount of common sense." 
 
 "Flatterer!" said I. 
 
 "Besides, in matters of this kind you have had a 
 good deal of experience." 
 
 "What kind of matters ?" said I. 
 
 "Women. You know all about them." 
 
 "You don't know anything about them, or you 
 wouldn't say anything so silly," I said firmly. 
 
 "Oh, yes; you do!" he said obstinately. "Look 
 at all the messes you've been in !"
 
 ii4 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Messes? What a way to speak of grand 
 passions! But never mind. What is it you want 
 to know?" 
 
 "Well, I'm very much interested in a lady a 
 very pretty girl," he said, in a hesitating way. "I 
 met her at the house of one of your tenants at 
 Scruton's, the millionaire at Number 9 a very able 
 man." 
 
 "Very able," I said, as I thought of how the old 
 sweep had tricked my uncle out of a quarter's rent 
 by his ghost, and very nearly tricked me. Then 
 my heart gave a little jump; and I felt annoyed. 
 Herbert had been making love to the ghost-girl 
 herself. I had no reason to feel annoyed, of course. 
 It had nothing to do with me. Whatever a girl 
 who had lent herself to such a shady trick as that 
 might do, it could not possibly matter to me. Still, 
 Herbert . . . Herbert is such a rotter. 
 
 "But I'm rather uneasy about the circumstances 
 the environment," went on he. "Two or three 
 times a week Scruton has a party after the theater 
 a man's party. They play baccarat, and they 
 play very high. I was taken to one of these parties, 
 and I met her there. And I have been again sev- 
 eral times. And the play is always very high. I
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 115 
 
 I have found the atmosphere of the house sus- 
 picious." 
 
 Here it was as large as life. I had been expect- 
 ing some little game from Scruton ; and here it was. 
 
 "Look here, do you mean to tell me that the in- 
 fernal New Zealander is running a gambling-hell 
 in Garthoyle Gardens?" I said. 
 
 "No, no. I don't say that. I've no right to. My 
 suspicions are quite vague hardly suspicions. Be- 
 sides, a millionaire wouldn't run a gambling-hell, 
 would he?" he said quickly. 
 
 "You know very well a millionaire would. It's 
 just the profitable amusement a millionaire would 
 love. You know the sweeps," I said. "How much 
 have you lost?" 
 
 "About three hundred. But of Bourse I don't 
 mind that." 
 
 "Of course you don't! You go to see the girl, 
 and that is the price you pay for it. I should never 
 have accused you of being young, but you're a deal 
 younger than I ever dreamt." 
 
 "You've no right to jump to conclusions in such 
 a hurry, I tell you. It may be all my fancy." 
 
 "Fancy or not, I can give you the advice you 
 want at once," I said. "You keep away from
 
 n6 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Number 9, or you'll get into a most unholy mess, 
 and England will lose a choice Prime Minister." 
 
 "No, no. That isn't it at all. It isn't your advice 
 I want. I want the benefit of your experience. I 
 want you to come to one of Scruton's parties so 
 that you may see for yourself and tell me if there 
 is anything wrong. There's no need for any invita- 
 tion. I can take you without." 
 
 "No, thank you," I said. "Outside is good enough 
 for me." 
 
 I did not want to see any more of the ghost-girl. 
 I had a feeling that that way lay the mess of a life- 
 time. Besides, it would be rather awkward: she 
 knew me under the name of Garth, and she might 
 be annoyed to find that I had not told her my right 
 name when we talked about the Ponderbury hiero- 
 glyphics. 
 
 But Herbert would not take the refusal. He 
 went on pestering and pestering me to give him the 
 benefit of my experience, and declaring and declar- 
 ing that I could not do it properly till I had looked 
 into the matter for myself. Also, I felt that I ought 
 to prevent him getting into a hole if I could after 
 all, though it is not my fault, he is my cousin and 
 in the end I gave way. But I would not dine with
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 117 
 
 him on Thursday. It was bad enough to be let in 
 for a business I did not fancy without being bored 
 to death by Herbert. He arranged to call for me at 
 eleven the next Thursday night. 
 
 After he had gone, I grew even more annoyed 
 about the business ; and yet it really did not matter to 
 me whether the ghost-girl married Herbert or not. 
 
 When he called for me I was ready for him, with 
 two hundred in fivers in my pocket. I did not mean 
 to plunge. We strolled round to Number 9, and 
 were taken up to a room on the first floor. A long 
 table covered with a green cloth was set under two 
 of the windows in the cool, and a dozen men were 
 playing at it. Scruton, as black-faced and hard- 
 bitten as ever, stood on the hearth-rug talking to a 
 man I did not know. Three or four men were clus- 
 tered round two girls who were sitting on a couch 
 on the left-hand side of the room; and all of them 
 were talking cheerfully. One of the girls was Alice 
 Devine; and at the sight of me her eyes opened 
 wide and she flushed. 
 
 Scruton did not show the slightest embarrassment 
 at the sight of me. He greeted me easily, and said 
 he was very glad I had come round for a game. It 
 was clear that to him his little attempt to trick me
 
 u8 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 out of his rent was neither here nor there just a 
 sort of diversion. 
 
 The panting Herbert drew me across the room 
 to the couch on which the two girls were sitting. 
 I shook hands with Alice quickly, before he could 
 introduce me as Garthoyle. Then I greeted three 
 of the men in the group round the girls, heartily 
 stretching the greetings out, for I knew that all of 
 them would call me Garth. 
 
 It was no use; Herbert would not have it. He 
 seized me by the arm, turned me round and bawled : 
 "Let me introduce you to Miss Maynard. Lord 
 Garthoyle Miss Maynard." 
 
 I did not miss the ghost-girl's little start when she 
 heard my real name; and out of the corner of my: 
 eye I saw a little frown on her forehead as she 
 stared at me. 
 
 I looked as innocent as I could and began to talk 
 to Miss Maynard quickly. In two minutes I found 
 that she was all right to talk to, very bright and 
 quick, and ready to laugh. She was a pretty girl, 
 too, with very fine dark eyes, and dark hair, and a 
 very clear skin with plenty of color in it. I fancied, 
 too, that she had one of those quick hot tempers;
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 119 
 
 that she could flare up quickly on occasion, but that 
 she would not sulk. 
 
 In five minutes we were quite friendly; and when 
 the other men moved to the baccarat-table, I stayed 
 on talking to her, letting Herbert talk to the ghost- 
 girl. 
 
 .They did not seem to be getting on very fast, and 
 then he said in a disagreeable tone : "Wouldn't you 
 like to go and play baccarat, Garthoyle?" 
 
 I tumbled to it at once. It was not the ghost-girl 
 who had captured Herbert's wayward heart : it was 
 Miss Maynard. I felt ridiculously pleased. But 
 what on earth did it matter to me? 
 
 "Conversation before cards for me, Herbert," I 
 said coldly; and I went on talking to Miss Maynard. 
 
 She seemed all right, she looked a nice girl, and 
 she talked like a nice girl. But you never can tell; 
 and the Directoire frocks of the two girls were about 
 as direct as they make them. I was really annoyed 
 by the one the ghost-girl was wearing. 
 
 I went on talking till I felt that Herbert was 
 champing the bit badly. When I grew afraid that 
 at any moment he might snort, I said : 
 
 "Well, I'll go and flutter for a while." 
 
 I sat down on the farther side of the table so that
 
 120 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I could watch Herbert and Miss Maynard, and as I 
 played I began to size up the gathering". It seemed 
 harmless enough. Morrisdale was banker a fifty- 
 pound bank men were staking fivers and tenners. 
 I knew most of the men playing; half a dozen of 
 them were serious gamblers, the others were young 
 ones on the racket. I did not think that the game 
 would stay so gentle as this all the evening. As I 
 played I watched the ghost-girl and Miss Maynard. 
 I did wish those Directoire frocks were not so con- 
 foundedly direct. 
 
 Miss Maynard was talking away to the solemn 
 Herbert, and he was talking to her. But presently 
 I grasped the fact that she kept looking toward the 
 door. Three more men came in, one of them that 
 hulking brute, Sir Theobald Walsh. They came to 
 the table. Miss Maynard still kept looking at the 
 door. Then in came Freddy Gage, Herbert's pri- 
 vate secretary. I saw* the look he and Miss May- 
 nard exchanged, and I knew whom she had been 
 looking for. 
 
 Freddy had been one of my fags at Eton, and I 
 had always liked him. I have always believed that 
 he wrote Herbert's speeches and articles for him. 
 To speak roughly, he has four times as many brains
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 121 
 
 in his little finger as Herbert has in his capacious 
 bullet head. He went to Herbert and the two girls 
 and began to talk. I went on with my game, con- 
 sidering things. It was all very well, but however 
 much she might look for his coming, I did not think 
 that when it came to serious business, Freddy, with 
 his brains and five hundred a year, besides his sal- 
 ary, stood much chance against Herbert with his 
 seven thousand. Several times I caught the ghost- 
 girl's eye ; she was looking at me in a puzzled kind 
 of way. Evidently she had not yet grown used to 
 my not being a simple commoner; she was rear- 
 ranging things. 
 
 Then Otto Steiner and the piebald duke went to 
 the couch and began to talk to the ghost-girl. Freddy 
 Gage seemed to do a little readjusting, for in about 
 two minutes he carried off Miss Maynard through 
 the window on to the balcony; and Herbert came 
 across to the table, looking rather puzzled, and began 
 to play. 
 
 The piebald duke went on talking to the ghost- 
 girl; but his eyes kept straying to the table. Then 
 he came to it. At once Walsh rose and went to the 
 ghost-girl, pulled a chair up to the couch, and, lean- 
 ing over her in a proprietary sort of way, began to
 
 122 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 talk in her ear. I was annoyed. Walsh is not the 
 kind of man whom one likes to see within a quarter 
 of a mile of a decent girl. 
 
 Steiner took the bank and made it a three-hundred 
 bank. Miss Maynard and Freddy Gage came back 
 into the room looking very pleased with themselves, 
 and, coming to the table, watched the play. It was 
 higher, men were betting twenties and fifties. Then 
 I saw the ghost-girl was sittng up very stiffly and 
 frowning, and her eyes were sparkling angrily. 
 Walsh was smiling in an ugly way. 
 
 I got up and went across to them. 
 
 "You look as if you found the heat of the room 
 rather trying, Miss Devine. Won't you come out on 
 the balcony and get a breath of fresh air?" I said. 
 
 Walsh scowled at me and said something about 
 her being very well where she was. 
 
 She rose quickly and said: "Oh, yes; I should 
 like to." 
 
 "Disagreeable brute, Walsh," I said, when we 
 had settled down into' two easy chairs among the 
 plants. 
 
 "I I don't like him. I'm very glad you took me 
 away from him," she said in a hesitating way.
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 123 
 
 "Go on disliking him hard," I said. "You know 
 what these baronets are. They shouldn't be encour- 
 aged. Whenever you come across a baronet, sit on 
 him." 
 
 She laughed softly; then she said: 
 
 "It's all very well; but what if they won't be sat 
 on?" 
 
 "Walsh is a pertinacious beggar," I said. "But 
 keep on sitting on him, and in time he'll understand 
 what's happening." 
 
 "I do what I can," she said. "But he doesn't 
 seem to understand yet." 
 
 "Never mind; keep on. It's the only way," I 
 said. 
 
 She leaned back in her chair and looked across 
 the gardens. Then she looked at me and said rather 
 quickly : 
 
 "Why did you give me a false name? It wasn't 
 'fair." 
 
 "Oh, all my friends call me Garth, don't you 
 know. And it might have made those children un- 
 comfortable to know that they were with a lord. 
 I've known it work that way with people ; goodness 
 knows why. Besides, peers have such a bad name.
 
 124 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 You might have got straight out of the car and run 
 for your life, if you had known that I was a peer." 
 
 "Are you ever at a loss for an excuse?" she said, 
 smiling. 
 
 "No now you come to speak of it, I don't think 
 I ever am. But these aren't excuses, they're good 
 solid reasons.'* 
 
 "Still, you might have told me when we were 
 talking about those hieroglyphics." 
 
 "Yes; of course I might. But why should I? 
 Besides, it was a bit difficult. I couldn't say: 'By 
 the way, my real name is Lord Garthoyle,' 
 could I?" 
 
 "Perhaps not. But I like things above board." 
 
 I could not see exactly how that liking went with 
 the ghost trick. But there, women are like that; 
 they must humbug. 
 
 "I haven't thanked you for getting that check for 
 me," she said. "I'm awfully obliged to you." 
 
 "There's no need to be. You could have got it 
 yourself. I was very glad to save you a little 
 trouble." 
 
 "Oh, I should have made a dreadful mess of 
 things," she said quickly.
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 125 
 
 "Roughened the path of true love? I don't think 
 you would. Have you spent it all ?" 
 
 "Indeed no, it will last ever such a long time. 
 Why, there are more than a hundred treats expe- 
 ditions to Kew or to the country in that money. 
 I'm keeping it for it. It's splendid to have a lot of 
 money like that." 
 
 It was an odd way for the niece of a millionaire 
 to talk, especially since she was living with him. 
 But I was not surprised by it. Except when they 
 are showing off, millionaires are stingy sweeps ; and 
 I did not suppose that Scruton was any exception 
 to the rule. 
 
 I bethought myself that I was there on Herbert's 
 business ; and I set her talking about Miss Maynard. 
 She did not want any encouragement 
 
 "Oh, Kitty's a darling," she said. "I don't know 
 what I should do without Kitty." And she plunged 
 into praises of her. 
 
 I learned that Miss Maynard's mother was a 
 widow, and they were very hard up ; that Miss May- 
 nard was very keen on amusing herself, and always 
 came to Scruton's parties. He had told Alice that 
 she should invite her to help her entertain his guests.
 
 126 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Of course, there was no need to have a hostess at 
 such parties; and it was clearer than ever that the 
 two girls were used as decoys. It was no business 
 of mine; but it vexed me. I said nothing about it; 
 I let the ghost-girl go on talking. And I gathered 
 that though Miss Maynard was a nice enough girl, 
 and uncommonly clever, she was a bit on the wild 
 side, and dead set on having a good time. I could 
 not see her the wife of a serious, not to say dull, 
 politician like Herbert. It would work well enough 
 perhaps if Herbert were merely a fool; but he is 
 such an obstinate fool. A mild brand of wife who 
 liked being bullied, like Anne Dressington, was what 
 he wanted. He was just the kind of man to come 
 badly to grief with a clever wild one like Miss 
 Maynard. Herbert was in a hole. 
 
 The ghost-girl presently stopped talking about 
 Kitty Maynard, and I said: "You say Miss May- 
 nard is hard up, but that dress she's wearing doesn't 
 look like hard-upness." 
 
 Alice looked at me rather hard, and she flushed. 
 
 "Oh, these dresses," she said slowly, in a dis- 
 tressed voice: "It's my uncle. He arranges about 
 our dresses not only mine, but Kitty's, too. He 
 says it's only fair that since she helps me act as
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 127 
 
 Hostess, he should provide the proprieties. And 
 and he will have them like this. I I hate them." 
 
 "They're very nice dresses," I said cheerfully. 
 "What's the matter with them?" 
 
 "Oh, you know quite well what's the matter with 
 them !" she flashed out with a sudden brust of tem- 
 per. Then she gave a little gasp and said : "But 
 but why am I talking to you like this ? I I scarcely 
 know you." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do. You know all there is to know. 
 And why shouldn't you talk freely to me? I'm 
 quite safe. And I like it. It's a great compliment," 
 I said quickly. 
 
 "I dare say it is. But . . ." 
 
 She stopped short, rose, and we went back into 
 the room. 
 
 Two or three men were talking to Kitty Maynard ; 
 and Alice went back to the couch and sat down on 
 it. I saw that for the moment she had had enough 
 of me, and I went back to the table and played. As 
 I played I wondered about her baccarat is a nice 
 easy game to play; it gives you plenty of time to 
 think. She did seem contradictory; somehow that 
 ghost trick did not fit in with the rest of her. Once 
 or twice I caught her glowering at me as if she were
 
 '128 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 still angry with me for telling me her feelings about 
 that Directoire frock. It was awfully like a woman 
 to blame me for what she had said. 
 
 The play was serious now a thousand-pound 
 bank. As I punted I watched very carefully; but I 
 saw nothing wrong. Indeed, with such seasoned 
 gamblers as Tony Le Quesne, Steiner and two or 
 three of the other men who were playing at the 
 table, it would have been very difficult for there to 
 be anything wrong. I watched Scruton with par- 
 ticular care when he took the bank. He seemed far 
 too clumsy a dealer to play any tricks with the cards. 
 Besides, he lost about seven hundred over his bank. 
 
 Men kept dropping out and talking to the girls 
 for a while and coming back again. They talked to 
 them with too easy an air to please me. But it 
 was no business of mine. Scruton undoubtedly used 
 the two girls to attract men to his parties. 
 
 I dropped out myself and had another talk with 
 Miss Maynard ; and it made me surer than ever that 
 she would never do for Herbert. Soon after two, 
 the two girls slipped away; and then Herbert went, 
 and then Gage, and Walsh, and two or three others. 
 I took it that these came chiefly on account of the 
 two girls; and I was annoyed to see that Walsh
 
 HERBERT'S UNCERTAINTY 129 
 
 was one of them. The rest of us broke up at about 
 a quarter past four. 
 
 I walked home rather slowly; one way and an- 
 other I had plenty to think of. Well, I had had a 
 pleasant evening.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT POLKINGTON 
 
 I WAS finishing my breakfast rather late next 
 morning, when Richards ushered in Herbert. 
 He said "Good morning"; and I told Richards to 
 pour him out a cup of coffee. He poured it out and 
 went out of the room. 
 
 "Well, what do you think about Miss Maynard?" 
 said Herbert. 
 
 "I think, my good chap, that outside is good 
 enough for you," said I. 
 
 "Nonsense! Why?" said Herbert. "She's a 
 thoroughly nice girl, and very clever." 
 
 "She's clever and pretty and nice. But all the 
 same it won't do. You can't marry a girl who is 
 acting as decoy at the gambling parties of a nonde- 
 script millionaire." 
 
 "She isn't!" said Herbert 
 
 "I don't think she knows she is, any more than 
 Miss Devine does. But that's what they are doing 
 all the time." 
 
 130
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 131 
 
 "But it's absurd!" cried Herbert. "Scruton's is 
 not a gambling-hell ; the play's perfectly fair there. 
 I asked Le Quesne, and I asked the duke. They 
 were both sure that it was." 
 
 "Were they?" I said. "What does that matter? 
 The play is quite fair at Monte Carlo. Every one 
 will be saying that Miss Maynard was a decoy at a 
 gambling-hell, if you bring her into prominence by 
 marrying her. And you will bring her into promi- 
 nence. You're so eligible." 
 
 "Well well they'll say something just as bad 
 about any one I marry." 
 
 "Not about Anne." 
 
 "I wish you'd get that silly idea out of your head. 
 I'm not going to marry Anne," said Herbert pet- 
 tishly. 
 
 I was sure that he was; but it was no use telling 
 him so. 
 
 "It isn't only that, but Miss Maynard wouldn't 
 make the kind of wife you want. She's had a poor 
 time ; and if she marries a rich man, she'll make up 
 for it hard. She'll set up the backs of all your 
 political crowd ; and she'll never take the trouble to 
 learn the political game the drawng-room part of 
 it. She won't be bothered with it," I said.
 
 132 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "You're wrong quite wrong. I know that Kitty 
 is fond of pleasure. She admits it frankly. But 
 she has a plastic nature; I should mold her." 
 
 I looked at Herbert hard. The idiot who could 
 say that about Miss Maynard was worth looking at. 
 
 "You couldn't mold her in a hundred years not 
 with a club," I said slowly. "If there's any molding 
 done, she'll do it. Within six months of your mar- 
 riage she'll have you a regular attendant at every 
 big race-meeting in England." 
 
 "Preposterous!" said Herbert. 
 
 "I'll bet you a tenner," I said. 
 
 "You know I never bet," said Herbert. 
 
 "No, you don't; and yet you propose to marry 
 Miss Maynard." 
 
 "I don't see the connection," said Herbert stiffly. 
 
 "Which shows you have no business to be marry- 
 ing Miss Maynard." 
 
 "But I do see that I was foolish ito consult you. 
 The fact is, Rupert, you are so incorrigibly frivolous 
 yourself that you are incredulous of the possibility 
 of seriousness in any one else," he said pompously. 
 
 "It isn't that at all," I said. "But there are some 
 brands of seriousness that won't mix. Yours is 
 one of them."
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 133 
 
 Herbert rose solemnly and said: "I see that I 
 was foolish to consult you. I had my doubts, grave 
 doubts, of the wisdom of it Good morning." And 
 he stalked toward the door. 
 
 ''Good morning," I said. "But don't forget that 
 I've told you." 
 
 He went out solemnly. 
 
 I had done no good ; but that did not trouble me. 
 I had not expected to do any good. The important 
 thing was that I had told Herbert the facts, and my 
 mind was quite at ease. 
 
 I went round to Scruton's next party he gave 
 them twice a week for I felt that as the head of the 
 family I ought to keep an eye on Herbert's love- 
 affair, and besides I wanted to know if the ghost- 
 girl had forgiven me for having been so open with 
 me. 
 
 I talked to her two or three times in the intervals 
 of playing; but she would not come on the balcony 
 again. Perhaps she felt that it led to confidences. 
 I talked to her about Kitty Maynard, of course, for 
 I wanted to know as much as possible about her; 
 and once more she said what a pity it was that the 
 Maynards were so hard up.
 
 I 3 4 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Well, Miss Maynard must marry a rich man," 
 I said. 
 
 "She says she means to. But I do hope she won't 
 It isn't right to marry a man you don't love," she 
 said in a very genuine tone. 
 
 "It's often done," I said. "And Freddy Gage 
 would be awfully cut up." 
 
 "You've noticed that ? You are quick !" 
 
 "It's pretty obvious," I said. 
 
 "It would be so much the best thing to do. He's 
 very nice. But I'm afraid he hasn't enough money," 
 she said with a sigh. 
 
 Some one joined us ; and I got no more talk with 
 her that evening. 
 
 After that I fell into the way of going to Scru- 
 ton's parties regularly. I had to keep an eye on 
 Herbert. His love-affair was going on in a very 
 satisfactory way, for him; and he was wearing his 
 most important air. Freddy Gage was the only man 
 who gave him any trouble. It lay between them 
 plainly enough. The more I saw of Miss Maynard 
 the less reason I found to change my belief that 
 Herbert would come the complete cropper. 
 
 One night he and I came away together. 
 
 "I have quite satisfied myself that you were en-
 
 L THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 135 
 
 tirely wrong about Miss Maynard," he said pom- 
 pously. "She has a thoroughly adaptable nature. 
 At heart she is a very serious girl." 
 
 "We'll talk about that later," I said. "When you 
 have been married six month's." 
 
 "But I must get rid of Gage," he went on, without 
 taking any notice of my kind words. "He encour- 
 ages her in her frivolity. The worst of it is, if I do, 
 he'll go to Ambledon. Ambledon has been trying to 
 get him from me for the last six months." 
 
 "Very good man, Freddy Gage," I said. And 
 we went our different ways. 
 
 Three days later I received a note from Herbert 
 telling me that he was engaged to Miss Maynard, 
 and that their engagement would be publicly an- 
 nounced in about a fortnight, when he had broken 
 in his people to the idea. 
 
 I did not write to congratulate him. I was silent, 
 as a disapproving head of the family ought to be. 
 He should never say he had had any encouragement 
 from me. 
 
 At Scruton's next party I again found Kitty 
 Maynard, and I was a good deal surprised. I had 
 taken it for granted that that would be the first 
 thing Herbert would stop. It looked as if she had
 
 136 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 already begun refusing to be molded. She was 
 rather nervous and she looked worried. Freddy 
 Gage looked worried, too; and Herbert was not 
 beaming. I talked to Kitty Maynard a while; I 
 played baccarat, and then I got Alice to come out 
 on the balcony to get away from Sir Theobald 
 Walsh. 
 
 For a while we talked about nothing at all, pleas- 
 antly, then I said : "My cousin and Miss Maynard 
 don't look as if they were enjoying being engaged 
 What's the matter?" 
 
 "You do ask straightforward questions," 
 
 "Well, I must do my best to smooth the path of 
 true love." 
 
 "True love," said the ghost-girl softly. "Yes, 
 one would have to do that. But but oh, well, 
 Kitty isn't happy. I think your cousin wearies her 
 a little." 
 
 "Herbert would weary a turbine if he got a fair 
 chance at it," I said. 
 
 "And he's rather exacting. He forbade her to 
 come here, but she would. She said she wasn't 
 going to desert me ; and he was angry." 
 
 "Herbert is a fool ; but she must know that 
 really worried about Freddy Gage, I suppose?"
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 137 
 
 "I've no right to talk about it," she said quickly. 
 
 "No more have I, but we mustn't let that prevent 
 us," I said. "It's a case of three in a hole. Now, 
 if I were to haul Herbert out by the scruff of the 
 neck, the other two would be happy enough. I 
 should like to do a little rescue work." 
 
 "If you only could ! But you can't ! Your cousin 
 is very obstinate. It it distresses me to think of 
 their marriage. I can only see unhappiness for 
 Kitty for both of them in it." 
 
 "That's all there is to see." 
 
 "Oh, why doesn't he carry her off by force and 
 marry her?" she cried. 
 
 "Herbert's other name is not Lochinvar. Besides, 
 she wouldn't let him," I said rather densely. 
 
 "I mean Mr. Gage, not Mr. Polkington." 
 
 "Oh! She'd let him, would she?" I said. 
 
 "I oughtn't to have let you know," she said 
 quickly. 
 
 But she had let me know, and it set me thinking, 
 in fact, gave me an idea. 
 
 At Scruton's next two parties, things did not 
 seem to be getting any better. I saw from Herbert's 
 sulky face that the molding process was not working 
 well, but he was very snappish when I told him how
 
 i 3 8 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 it struck me. On the fourth evening before the 
 announcement of the engagement, I came on Freddy 
 and Miss Maynard in the central garden. Neither 
 of them had any right to be in it, since they did not 
 belong to the families of any of my tenants. They 
 seemed to be quarreling, and not enjoying the quar- 
 rel. She went off to see the ghost-girl, and I in- 
 sisted that Freddy should dine with me. 
 
 He was very like a funeral, and the champagne 
 was some time ironing the frown out of his boyish 
 brow. 
 
 Then I said: "I think it's a jolly shame your 
 letting that poor girl come to grief by marrying 
 that prig Herbert." 
 
 His face went crimson, and I thought he would 
 throw his plate at me. 
 
 "Damn it all, Garthoyle! I've enough to worry 
 me without you starting to nag at me !" he said. 
 
 "Well, why don't you stop it?" I said. 
 
 "Stop it ! How can I stop it? Haven't I tried to 
 stop it? Haven't I told her forty times what an 
 aggravating rotter Polkington is ? Haven't I argued 
 with her, and begged and begged her not to ruin her 
 li f e by marrying him ? Don't I know him ? Haven't 
 I had two years of him?"
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 139 
 
 "You have," said I. 
 
 "She couldn't stand him; she's not the kind of 
 girl." 
 
 "She isn't," said I. 
 
 "But she's made up her mind to marry a rich man, 
 and nothing will stop her. She's sick to death of 
 being hard up. It's hopeless." 
 
 "It may be. But you've got to stop it. You must 
 be firm," I said. 
 
 If I had been within reach, I think he would have 
 bitten a piece out of me. 
 
 "Firm!" he howled. "Firm!" 
 
 "Firm," said I. 
 
 He choked a little and called me a damned inter- 
 fering idot. 
 
 He seemed nicely wound up, and I said : "Look 
 here, did you ever happen to hear of young Loch- 
 invar? And have you ever thought what motor- 
 cars are really for? And what about special mar- 
 riage licenses?" 
 
 He cooled uncommonly quickly, drank off his 
 glass of champagne, and said softly: "By jove!" 
 
 "Now, we know that motor-cars are always ap- 
 pearing in the Divorce Court, but no one ever uses 
 them pour le bon motif when their intentions are
 
 140 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 honorable. Is it fair on the motor-car, I ask you ?" 
 said I. 
 
 "Fire away," said Freddy. 
 
 I told him of my plan for rescuing Herbert, and 
 he was quick tumbling to it. 
 
 When I had told him all the details, he said: 
 "The awkward thing is, I can't drive a car." 
 
 "You politicians!" said I. "But I'm not going 
 to do the thing by half. Herbert must be rescued. 
 I'll drive the car myself." 
 
 "By jove, if you would !" he said. "But are you 
 sure 3 7 ou can stick it out? There'll be an awful fuss. 
 You won't soften?" 
 
 "Not a soften," said I. 
 
 He had grown quite cheerful by the time we had 
 worked out all the arrangements ; and when he went 
 away I had almost to throw him out of the house 
 to stop his thanks. 
 
 Two days later I picked up Miss Maynard and 
 Freddy at her mother's flat in West Kensington. 
 She was looking delightfully pretty; there was not 
 a shadow of a cloud on her face ; and I saw that she 
 had made up her mind to enjoy the afternoon. I 
 rather envied Freddy. 
 
 She proposed politely to sit by me, but I put them
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 141 
 
 into the tonneau. It was a glorious day, and once 
 out of London, I enjoyed the drive. I felt that I 
 was performing a noble action. Most of the time 
 I drove slowly; but once when a road-hog came 
 scorching along, I gave him my dust for eight miles. 
 All the while I heard a gentle murmur of talk from 
 the tonneau, and sometimes a soft laugh. They 
 were not talking about Herbert. 
 
 We had tea at the "White Hart" at Lewes. We 
 talked for some time after it. I left them to get the 
 car, and I was some time over that. It was past 
 six when I brought it round to the front door of 
 the hotel. 
 
 As she got into the car, Kitty Maynard said 
 anxiously: "I'm afraid we shall have to hurry 
 back, Lord Garthoyle. Mr. Polkington is calling for 
 me at half past nine to take me to a dance at the 
 Cheshams. Do you think we shall do it?" 
 
 "The car can do it," I said. 
 
 It could. 
 
 I ran up to Three Bridges and* down to Horsham. 
 It is at the top of the triangle of which a line drawn 
 between Guild ford and Dorking would be the base. 
 Garth Royal, my country house, lies in the middle 
 of it. I set out to drive round that triangle.
 
 142 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 .The talk in the tonneau was rather fitful. There 
 were long silences. Once I heard Kitty Maynard 
 say: 
 
 "No, no, no, Freddy. It's too late." 
 
 By eight o'clock I had driven round the triangle 
 and was back at Horsham. Freddy seemed to see 
 the danger, for I heard the talk brisk up. 
 
 I thought I was going to get safely through the 
 town, when Kitty Maynard gave a little cry and 
 said: 
 
 "Why why we were here hours ago! We 
 must have lost our way ! We shall be ever so late 
 getting to London. Herbert will be perfectly hor- 
 rible." 
 
 "But we're not going back to London," answered 
 Freddy. 
 
 I let the car go. The middle of a town of nine 
 thousand inhabitants is not the place for delicate 
 explanation. Besides, I did not want to overhear 
 the discussion; I thought that they would prefer it 
 private. As it was, I caught scraps of it, of Kitty 
 Maynard's side of it. She was plainly enough in a 
 royal rage. 
 
 I had got about eight miles beyond Horsham when 
 Freddy called to me to stop. We were in a nice
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 143 
 
 empty part of the country, a long way from any- 
 where as far as walking went. So I stopped. 
 
 Kitty leaned over the front of the tonneau and 
 said: 
 
 "Please drive me back to London at once, Lord 
 Garthoyle." 
 
 She was still in a rage; her cheeks were white and 
 her eyes were just flaming. 
 
 "It can't be done. I'm a brutal bad brigand at 
 five stone seven to-night. It's my first attempt at 
 a kidnaping job, and I'm going through with it 
 like a man," I said cheerfully. 
 
 "It's hateful. . . . It's disgraceful . . . it's 
 incredible! You can't really suppose that you jean 
 force me to do this ridiculous thing!" she cried. 
 
 "I don't see anything ridiculous in it. I should 
 think you'd find it rather nice," I said. 
 
 "You won't?" she cried, and turned to Freddy. 
 "Make him, Freddy! Make him at once! . . . 
 Oh, I'll never never forgive you!" 
 
 "I can't make him . . . hulking brute; and I 
 wouldn't if I could," said Freddy cheerfully. And 
 I gathered that he was hopeful. 
 
 "But but what will people say ? I shall be com- 
 promised hopelessly compromised!" she cried.
 
 144 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Not if you marry me," said Freddy. 
 
 "I won't marry you!" 
 
 "We're keeping that parson waiting," said 
 Freddy. 
 
 "I'll never marry you!" she cried, and jumped 
 out of the car. 
 
 She set out walking quickly to Horsham. 
 
 "It's all right," said Freddy calmly. "She'll be 
 better presently like a lamb. There's always a 
 reaction after these rages. It's only a matter of 
 keeping one's temper with her." 
 
 He set out after her, caught her up and walked 
 beside her. I could see that he was talking hard. 
 I let them get a couple of hundred yards down the 
 road before I set the car crawling after them. I 
 wondered how far she would walk before she gave 
 in. Two or three times Freddy put his arm round 
 her, and she shook herself out of it. Then at the 
 end of a mile they stopped. I stopped, too, for I 
 thought that they were at the final row that would 
 clear things up. 
 
 Then Freddy beckoned to me, and I ran up to 
 them. 
 
 "Now, on your honor, Lord Garthoyle, what time
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 145 
 
 does the last train leave Horsham?" she said. And 
 I saw that she looked pale and uncertain. 
 
 "On my honor it leaves at nine-eighteen," I said. 
 
 "Then it is hopeless ; and I'll never forgive Freddy 
 never." 
 
 "That's all right. I've treated you shamefully, 
 and we'll let it go at that," said Freddy cheerfully. 
 "Now we'll go and be married." 
 
 He half lifted her into the car; and I let it rip. I 
 did not hear any talk from the tonneau. I took it 
 that they were whispering. 
 
 It was ten minutes past nine when I stopped at the 
 door of Garth Royal Rectory. I had fixed the time 
 within ten minutes. The rector stood on the steps 
 looking out for us. 
 
 Kitty and Freddy got out of the car, looking as 
 if the)'' did not know whether they were standing 
 on their heads or their heels. She was not at all 
 pale, she was blushing; and her eyes were shining 
 in quite a different way. 
 
 I had made all the arrangements with the rector. 
 He had only to look at the special license and see 
 that it was all right. Then he married them in his 
 own drawing-room, his wife and daughters stand-
 
 146 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 ing by Kitty and making the required fuss. Kitty 
 looked quite resigned. 
 
 Then Kitty wrote a short letter for me to take 
 to her mother. Then I gave her my peace-offering 
 in the shape of a rope of pearls. 
 
 They thanked the rector and came back to the 
 car ; and I drove them to the Dower House. I could 
 not lend them Garth Royal itself, for I had let it to 
 a Hamburg money-lender. But the Dower House 
 was lighted up and looked very nice and comfort- 
 able; and I knew that their wedding supper was all 
 right, for I had arranged it with Harrod's myself, 
 and sent down Richards to see to it. 
 
 They got out of the car, and the door opened and 
 Richards came out to receive them. In the blaze of 
 light I saw that Kitty was looking very pretty. 
 
 They turned, but I did not give them time to start 
 thanking me. I called out good night and good 
 luck and bucketed off. I did bucket. It was only 
 half past eleven when I sneaked softly up the stairs, 
 slipped Kitty's note into the letter-box of her 
 mother's flat and bolted down to the car. 
 
 I was in the middle of my supper when Herbert 
 rushed into my dining-room. I have never seen 
 him such a rich purple since.
 
 THE RESCUE OF HERBERT 147 
 
 "The' little jade has jilted me! She's married 
 Freddy Gage!" he roared. 
 
 I jumped up and caught his hand, gave it the 
 heartiest grip I could get out of my muscles, and 
 shouted, "Saved! Saved!" 
 
 "You silly idiot," howled Herbert. And he 
 danced out of the room, waggling his Crushed 
 fingers. 
 
 From Herbert's point of view I dare say that 
 there was something in what he said. &11 the same 
 I had rescued him.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 
 
 THERE was no doubt that since I was running 
 them, it was my duty to keep an eye on the 
 Gardens all the time. That is what a complete 
 house-agent has to do. There was no doubt, too, 
 that the central garden was the best place to keep 
 an eye on them from ; and I took to spending a good 
 deal of my time in it. I could not help the fact that 
 Alice Devine spent a good deal of her time in it, 
 too; so that I was always meeting her there. And 
 when I met her, I had to talk to her. It would not 
 have been polite not to. 
 
 I soon began to enjoy that garden. I found it 
 quite a little world a world of children and nurse- 
 maids, with cliques and jealousies and dislikes and 
 squabbles, just like the world we live in. I learned 
 about them quicker than I should have done, for 
 Alice knew the ropes and told me. She enjoyed 
 
 148
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 149 
 
 that little world thoroughly; and she made me see 
 how amusing it was, while I kept pointing out to 
 her how very like its squabbles were to the squab- 
 bles going on between the parents of the children. 
 She was very popular in it, not only with the chil- 
 dren, which was only natural, but also with the 
 nursemaids, which was much more difficult. She 
 had the sympathetic nature. Certainly I found her 
 as sympathetic as could be; and I fell into the way 
 of telling her my difficulties with my tenants. Often 
 she made the most useful suggestions; and some- 
 times they were quite brilliant. 
 
 I was a good deal interested in a friend of hers 
 whom I often saw in the garden : Miss Mary Eglan- 
 tine Pontifex D'Eresby. And I was chiefly inter- 
 ested in her because she looked exactly like a small 
 but wingless angel. She had the golden hair and 
 deep blue eyes that angels always have at the Acad- 
 emy and on Christmas-cards. She had the angel full- 
 face, the angel side-face, the angel mouth, the angel 
 nose; and she was about twelve years old. 
 
 When I first noticed her angelic appearance, she 
 seemed to be having a lonely and desolate time of it. 
 
 I asked Alice who she was, and when she told 
 me, I said : "Why isn't she playing with the others ?
 
 ISO ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I've been watching her; and she doesn't go near 
 them. Is she sulking?" 
 
 "The angel-child kicked little Lord Pomeroy's 
 shins; and the other children have sent her to Cov- 
 entry," said Alice, smiling. 
 
 Little Lord Pomeroy is a pink boy with tow- 
 colored curls. I never see him without wanting to 
 crop him on the spot. 
 
 "Do him good," I said. 
 
 "Oh, he's such a sweet little boy!" cried Alice. 
 
 "Yes, sticky," I said. "Why did the angel-child 
 kick him?" 
 
 "I'm afraid he pulled Molly Boisragon's hair," 
 said Alice. 
 
 "I expected it was something of that kind little 
 sweep! And I suppose all the other little girls love 
 him dearly; and so they sent this angel-child to 
 Coventry ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Alice. 
 
 "Well, do you think you could introduce me to 
 her?" I said. 
 
 Alice called to her, but Miss D'Eresby only gave 
 her a cool nod and went down the path with a great 
 deal of dignity.
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 
 
 "Never mind; some other day, when she isn't 
 feeling so haughty," I said. 
 
 "She isn't often haughty. I expect she's feeling 
 the injustice," said Alice. 
 
 As it chanced Alice did not present me to the lady. 
 The very next day I presented myself to her. After 
 lunch I was sitting on a bench in the garden, smok- 
 ing a cigar, when that angel-child came in view 
 tearing down the path as hard as she could lick ; and 
 after her came lumbering heavily one of the under- 
 gardeners, a young man of the name of Frederick. 
 The chase was certainly no business of mine; the 
 gardeners are in charge of the garden; and it is silly 
 to do your own barking when you keep a dog. It 
 was just the sporting instinct that made me jump 
 for it, and snatch her up as she reached me. 
 
 "You pig!" shrieked the angel-child; and she 
 kicked my shins with uncommon vigor. 
 
 I sat down with her on my knee, and it was like 
 holding a little wildcat. She seemed to have a good 
 deal more muscle than an Academy angel. In her 
 hand was a bunch of yellow carnations. 
 
 Frederick came lumbering up and said rather 
 breathlessly : "I've bin tryin' and tryin' to find out
 
 152 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 who was a-stealing of them carnations; an' to-day 
 I thought I'd just take my dinner in the shrubbery 
 ag'in' the big bed ; an' I caught 'er in the act !" 
 
 "You never caught me," said the angel-child 
 scornfully. "If you'd caught me, I should just have 
 bitten you, and got away easily, old pig Frederick." 
 
 " 'Ark at 'er, your Lordship ! 'ark at 'er ; She's a 
 terror that child a fair terror," said Frederick. 
 
 "It's a depraved taste biting under-gardeners," 
 I said. 
 
 "I will bite the pig, if he touches me," said the 
 angel-child firmly. 
 
 "But why did you steal the carnations, Miss 
 D'Eresby?" I said. 
 
 "I didn't steal them. I just took them to give to 
 the little boy who's been ill, to punish Frederick for 
 not letting him come into the garden," said the angel- 
 child. 
 
 "As if I should let the likes of them into the 
 garden, your Lordship ! An' the sick one not even 
 in a proper pram just in a box a box on wheels 
 'ome-made," cried Frederick with great indignation. 
 
 I do not like Frederick, a slack-jawed, loose-lipped 
 loafer, always gossiping with nursemaids instead of
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 153 
 
 doing his work. This jack-in-office turning a sick 
 child out of the garden was exactly the kind of 
 thing he would do with all his heart. 
 
 "I don't suppose they would have done any harm," 
 I said. 
 
 "That's what I said. They won't eat your beastly 
 old flowers," said Miss D'Eresby. 
 
 "It warn't the flowers, your Lordship. But this 
 'ere is a garden for gentlefolk; and we don't want 
 none of them paupers in it. I did me dooty, your 
 Lordship," said Frederick with a virtuous air. 
 
 "Well, you can go back to your work," I said. 
 
 "And I'll pay you out for interfering, old pig 
 Frederick," said the angel-child. 
 
 "'Ark at 'er langwidge! An' she belonging to 
 one of the best families in Englan," said Frederick; 
 and he slouched off down the path. 
 
 "I'll teach him," said Miss D'Eresby firmly. 
 
 She was now looking perfectly unruffled and com- 
 posed, in spite of her flight from Frederick and her 
 struggle with me. 
 
 "He only did his duty," I said. 
 
 "If he did his work ever, it wouldn't matter so 
 much," said Miss D'Eresby coldly. "But he does
 
 I 5 4 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 nothing but idle and interfere. I'll teach him and 
 Gwendolen Binns, too," she added with even greater 
 firmness. 
 
 "Who is Gwendolen Binns ?" I said. 
 
 "She's the Cantelune baby's nurse," said the 
 angel-child. 
 
 "And what has she been doing to you ?" 
 
 "She hasn't been doing anything to me; but she's 
 always neglecting that baby shamefully. Three 
 times I've found him screaming, and she's been ever 
 so far off, talking to Frederick. I'll teach both of 
 them." 
 
 From her tone I believed she would; and I 
 thought that Frederick and his Gwendolen had bet- 
 ter look out. 
 
 "You seem a general redresser of wrongs," I 
 said. 
 
 "I don't know what that means; but they'd better 
 look out," she said. 
 
 "About those carnations?" I saidL. 
 
 "Oh, I was forgetting," she said, slipping off my 
 knee. "Henry and George are resting on the pave- 
 ment in the shade just outside the gate. I'll take 
 Henry the carnations. You don't mind my giving 
 them to him, do you ?" she said a little anxiously.
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 155 
 
 "I'll come with you and take a look at Henry and 
 George," I said; and I got up, and we went out of 
 the garden. 
 
 We found Henry and George in the shade of the 
 trees on the edge of the garden. Henry, very white- 
 faced, a boy of about nine, was lying in the shallow 
 wooden box on wheels which was his invalid's chair. 
 George was sitting on the pavement by the side of 
 it, waiting for the angel-child. At the sight of me 
 he jumped up and pretended to be pushing Henry 
 along. I could quite understand that he was used 
 to being chivied along about May fair. It is not the 
 place for a sick child in a wooden box. The angel- 
 child stopped them and gave Henry the carnations. 
 He seemed to like them a good deal, and grinned at 
 her feebly. 
 
 I asked George what was the matter with Henry, 
 and he told me that he had been knocked down by 
 a motor-car and had lately come out of the hospital. 
 The accident was a severe family trouble; for the 
 gentleman who was driving the car had dashed on, 
 leaving the smashed Henry lying where he had 
 knocked him, and so escaped paying the money 
 which would have brought him better food during 
 his convalescence.
 
 156 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 It seemed to me that Henry might as well have 
 any good he could get out of the garden; and I 
 wheeled him into it and found a nice shady corner 
 for him. Then I went to my house and told Rich- 
 ards to get from the cook a basket of invalid's food, 
 pate de foies gras and jelly, and chicken and cake, 
 and a jug of milk. I carried it to the boys ; and they 
 were pleased, and so was the angel-child. She quite 
 mothered Henry as he ate. When I came away 
 from them, I told George that he was to call at my 
 house every day for more invalid food. 
 
 Miss D'Eresby followed me. 
 
 "I say I I'm so sorry I kicked you. I didn't 
 know that you were such a brick," she said. "I hope 
 I didn't hurt you very badly." 
 
 "Oh, no; but I would rather you didn't kick me 
 when you have thick boots on," I said. 
 
 "Oh, I shall never kick you again never," she 
 said; and she went dancing back to her proteges. 
 She seemed to have forgotten about being in Cov- 
 entry. 
 
 I happened to go into the garden after dinner that 
 evening, and I was sorry to learn from Alice that 
 the angel-child had got into more trouble later in 
 the afternoon. Little Lord Pomeroy had come and
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 157 
 
 thrown stones at her and the invalid Henry, and 
 she came away from the contest that followed 
 with a nice sample of his tow-colored 'ctirls. 
 
 After this introduction she and I grew very 
 friendly, and I learned more about the garden-world 
 from her. I gathered that she acted as a kind of 
 guardian of it. She looked after Henry and George, 
 who came to their shady corner every fine afternoon ; 
 she kept an eye on the smaller children, and saw 
 that the big ones did not tease them ; she was always 
 checking the interfering Frederick, and she did her 
 best to keep Gwendolen Binns, a high-colored noisy 
 wench, up to her work of looking after Lord Can- 
 telune. He did not seem to me to look neglected; 
 he was a chubby baby. She gave me a good deal of 
 her society, in spite of her numerous occupations, 
 declaring that she preferred being with grown-ups 
 to being with children. 
 
 Several times I asked her when she was going to 
 make a man a working man of Frederick. She 
 always shook her head, and said darkly that Fred- 
 erick had better look out, that she would catch him 
 one of these days. 
 
 I saw her catch him. 
 
 I came into the garden about three o'clock one
 
 158 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 afternoon, and was walking toward Henry's shady 
 corner to see how he was getting on, when the angel- 
 child came tearing round a bend in the side path 
 that led to it; and after her lumbered the inevi- 
 table Frederick. In the middle of her course she 
 jumped something I could not see what Freder- 
 ick did not jump, but he came a thundering cropper 
 over a piece of string, about a foot from the ground, 
 tied to a shrub on either side of the path. 
 
 The angel-child pulled up short at my side and 
 turned. At the sight of Frederick's cropper she 
 shrieked with joy and held on to my arm that she 
 might indulge in violent merriment without falling 
 to the ground. 
 
 Frederick picked himself up slowly and stood 
 staring about in a dazed way, as if he were trying 
 to think what he had been doing and could not quite 
 remember. 
 
 "Whenever I come into the garden, I find you 
 playing with little girls, Frederick. Haven't you 
 any work to do ?" I said severely. 
 
 Frederick seemed to remember what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "Playin 5 !" he howled. "Playin' !" 
 
 "Playing," I said. "Playing catch as catch can."
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 159 
 
 "That young limb took my trowel! 'Ow can I 
 work without a trowel?" howled Frederick. 
 
 "I took it to make him go on with his work and 
 not keep Binns from minding the Cantelune baby," 
 said the angel-child with a most virtuous air. 
 
 To take away a man's tools seemed an odd way 
 of making him go on with his work; but I took it 
 that Miss D'Eresby knew Frederick better than I 
 did. 
 
 "I'll gompline to yer ma !" he roared. "I'll have 
 damages. That's what I'll do; and damages I'll 
 get ! I'm not goin' to be knocked about for nothink 
 not me! I'll have the lor of yer! S'welp me I 
 will!" 
 
 "Sneaking pig!" said the angel-child contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 "I'm off to yer ma now this very minute," 
 cried Frederick. "His Lordship'll bear witness 'ow 
 you've bin knockin' me about. He seed yer do it." 
 
 He turned and went 
 
 "You've forgotten your trowel," cried the angel- 
 child, and she threw it after him. 
 
 The point of it struck Frederick's elbow and he 
 jumped and squealed. 
 
 "Oh, wasn't that a lucky shot! It must have
 
 160 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 caught him on the funny-bone," cried the angel- 
 child; and she danced lightly in a rapturous joy. 
 
 Frederick picked up the trowel and bounded round 
 the bend in the path as if he were anxious to get 
 out of range. 
 
 "I'm afraid you are going to get into trouble this 
 time," I said. "He'll certainly tell your mother." 
 
 "Oh, it's all right if he only tells mother. She 
 won't mind. She knows all about Frederick. I've 
 told her lots of times. There would be trouble if he 
 told father, though. Father never does understand 
 things." 
 
 "Then let's hope he doesn't get at your father." 
 
 "If he does, I will teach him to complain!" said 
 the angel-child ; and she set about untying the string 
 across the path. 
 
 I strolled on and met Frederick pulling on his 
 coat with an air of resolution as he strode toward 
 the gate. 
 
 "Here, where are you going to ?" I said sharply. 
 
 "I'm horf to the Honorable Mrs. D'Eresby to 
 compline strite, your Lordship," said Frederick. 
 
 "You can get to your work, and be sharp about it. 
 I don't pay you wages to spend all your time gossip- 
 ing and gadding about to make frivolous com-
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 161 
 
 plaints. You can do that in your own time when 
 you've done your work," I said with some ferocity. 
 
 "B-b-but, your Lordship you you seed 'ow that 
 young limb treated me," Frederick stuttered. 
 
 "You get back to your work, and be smart about 
 it!" I snapped. 
 
 I thought Frederick would burst into tears, but 
 he turned and went. 
 
 It seemed as well that Miss D'Eresby should have 
 the opportunity of telling her version of the story 
 first. As for Frederick, I had no pity for him; I 
 wondered, indeed, why the head gardener had not 
 discharged him long ago. 
 
 I had not learned whether he had made his com- 
 plaint to the angel-child's mother, or her father, or 
 whether he had made it at all; but as I strolled 
 through the garden the next afternoon, she rushed 
 out of a shrubbery and said in an excited whisper: 
 "You're just in time!" 
 
 With that she caught hold of my hand and led 
 me into a shrubbery, whispering to me to be very 
 quiet. Her eyes were sparkling and her face was 
 flushed. She was radiant. As I came through the 
 shrubbery I heard the sound of tremendous snoring; 
 and on the retired lawn on the other side of the
 
 162 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 shrubbery I saw Frederick. He was lying sprawled 
 on his back, his head pillowed on his coat, and from 
 his gaping mouth came tremendous snore after tre- 
 mendous snore. As an employer of labor his labor 
 my blood boiled at the sight of this sloth. Then 
 I saw that a garden-hose ran across the lawn, and 
 the nozzle of it rested on Frederick's bosom. 
 
 "Wasn't I lucky to find him like this ?" whispered 
 the angel-child. "You watch!" 
 
 Three feet from us was the stand-pipe with which 
 the hose was connected. She' turned the tap on full. 
 
 A bubbling gush of water deluged the front of 
 Frederick and inflated his shirt ; a long-drawn snore 
 ended abruptly in a terrific snort, and I have never 
 seen anything so funny as his face when he woke 
 and tried to think what was happening to him. Then 
 he let out an astonished howl and jumped up, stream- 
 ing like a walking waterfall. He dashed out of the 
 lawn, and it was well for us that we had a clear 
 field. I should have choked if I had had to restrain 
 my laughter; and the angel-child was fairly shriek- 
 ing with joy. She had a wonderful sense of farce 
 for one so young. We found it better to hold on 
 to each other; that way we could laugh more com- 
 fortably.
 
 THE GARDEN ANGEL 163 
 
 When we had got over the worst of our laughing 
 we came out of the shrubbery, and we heard the 
 jclump, clump of Frederick's boots coming our way. 
 At the sound we looked as solemn as two judges; 
 and Frederick came round the corner bounding like 
 an infuriated tiger, dripping as he ran. At the sight 
 of us he pulled up and glared at the angel-child. 
 
 I stopped, too, and said in a severe tone: 
 
 "Whenever I see you, Frederick, you're running. 
 I'm not going to have you train for Marathon races 
 in this garden. It won't make the flowers grow." 
 
 "I warn't training for no Marathon ryce, your 
 Lordship," panted Frederick indignantly; and he 
 glowered at the angel-child with suspicious fury. 
 
 "Oh, he's been in the fountain with his clothes 
 on ! Look how wet he is," said the angel-child. 
 
 "Really you have extraordinary habits, Freder- 
 ick," I said, even more severely. 
 
 "It's not a nabit, it's a trick," said Frederick 
 thickly. 
 
 "Well, don't play it again," I said. 
 
 "Plye it ! Plye it ! I never did ! It was a trick 
 as was played on me!" said Frederick in a louder 
 tone. 
 
 "You've been drinking," I said. "No one could
 
 164 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 put a big lump like you into the fountain, if you 
 were sober." 
 
 "It warn't the fountain, it were the 'ose. Some 
 one wetted me with the 'ose," shouted Frederick. 
 
 "The garden isn't the place for shower-baths. 
 You have no right to get people to wash you in the 
 garden," I said. 
 
 Frederick opened his mouth, then he shut it. He 
 looked round the garden rather wildly; then he 
 looked at the sky. His eyes rolled. 
 
 I saw his difficulty; he did not wish to explain 
 that advantage had been taken of him in his sleep. 
 
 "It were a naccident, your Lordship," he whined. 
 
 "Then don't let it happen again," I said. 
 
 Frederick shuffled away hastily, muttering that he 
 must get his wet clothes off, or he would catch his 
 death of cold. 
 
 "He won't go to sleep when he ought to be work- 
 ing again, in a hurry," said Miss D'Eresby in a vir- 
 tuous tone. 
 
 "I don't think he will ; and I'm very much obliged 
 to you for keeping him up to his work," I said. 
 
 "Oh, I like doing it like that," she said quickly. 
 "Wasn't his face funny when the water woke him 
 up?" And she laughed again heartily.
 
 I k 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE 
 
 / 
 
 FOR some days after that the chastened Fred- 
 erick seemed to be doing his work better 
 and gossiping less. That, at least, was the report of 
 Miss D'Eresby. Then he had a relapse; for one 
 afternoon I happened to be strolling in the garden 
 with Alice, when she came to us with a very anxious 
 face. 
 
 "Frederick's really dreadful," she said. "/ don't 
 know what to do with him. He's been talking and 
 talking to that Gwendolen Binns, and she's neglect- 
 ing the Cantelune baby worse than ever." 
 
 "Things are getting serious," I said. 
 
 "They are," said the angel-child. 
 
 "Well, I leave it in your hands. I think you'll 
 find a way of stopping it before you've done," I 
 said. 
 
 "I expect I shall," she said; and she went off with 
 a more hopeful face. 
 
 165
 
 166 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "She's a wonder, tHat child," I said. "She'll soon 
 relieve me of all responsibility about this garden." 
 
 "She does look after things," said Alice. 
 
 It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later that we 
 found her looking after things again. We heard 
 howls and outcries in a corner of the garden, and 
 hurried up to find out what was happening. In the 
 middle of a ring of shrieking children I saw the 
 angel-child. She had one hand clenched in the tow- 
 colored curls of little Lord Pomeroy and was smack- 
 ing his face with the other. His were the howls we 
 had heard. 
 
 I dashed for them and got hold of them. They 
 came apart more easily than I had expected; and 
 little Lord Pomeroy ran off howling. 
 
 "That'll teach him to stick pins into babies," 
 said the angel-child triumphantly. 
 
 I did not think that it would. 
 
 Little Lord Pomeroy's nurse came up and began to 
 scold her; Alice scolded her, too. I think it was 
 those tow-colored curls that made little Lord Pom- 
 eroy such a pet. Miss D'Eresby defended herself 
 with a firm gallantry. It seemed that Gwendolen 
 Binns had slipped away to gossip with Frederick, 
 leaving Lord Cantelune sleeping in his perambulator.
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE f6; 
 
 Little Lord Pomeroy had thought the chance too 
 good to be missed and prodded Lord Cantelune with 
 a pin. It had not been so good a chance as little 
 Lord Pomeroy had supposed; for the angel-child 
 had come upon him unawares in the very act and 
 secured the requisite grip on his curls before he 
 knew that she was there. 
 
 I defended the angel-child and praised her han- 
 dling of the situation; and Alice scolded me for 
 encouraging her in her violent administration of 
 justice. It took us the rest of the afternoon to 
 argue it out. 
 
 The angel-child went away early in the afternoon, 
 saying that she expected that the little beast's (she 
 was referring to little Lord Pomeroy) mother would 
 come out and make a fuss. 
 
 When I saw her the next day she was frowning as 
 if she were trying to think hard and found it a 
 strain. 
 
 I asked her what was the matter, and she said : 
 "It's Frederick and Gwendolen Binns. I don't 
 know what to do with them. I want to give them 
 a real lesson." 
 
 "But you're always giving Frederick real lessons," 
 I said.
 
 168 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "I want to give him one he'll really remember, 
 and Gwendolen Binns, too." 
 
 "I expect you'll think of one, if you go on try- 
 ing," I said in a cheering tone. 
 
 "I thought perhaps you could help me," she said. 
 
 I sat down on a bench and gave my mind to it; 
 but I could not hit on a lesson. At last I told her 
 that it was more in her line than in mine, and left it 
 at that. 
 
 Three days later I came back home about four 
 o'clock after motoring to Wembley and back for a 
 little polo practise. As I stopped before my house, 
 I saw a crowd in the garden near one of the gates, 
 and went to see what was the matter. 
 
 The crowd was composed of nursemaids and chil- 
 dren, and in the middle of it were Police-Constable 
 Brookes and another policeman. I pushed through 
 it and asked Brookes what was the matter. 
 
 "There's a baby missin', m'Lord," said Brookes. 
 "Lord Cantelune's 'is name." 
 
 He went on questioning Gwendolen Binns. 
 
 She declared again and again that she had only 
 just turned her back on the child; and when she 
 looked round he had gone. One of the older nurses 
 volunteered the information that Gwendolen had
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE 169 
 
 been talking to Frederick for at least ten minutes; 
 and Gwendolen said with some heat that she would 
 not demean herself to answer no such lies. 
 
 There was something of an altercation; and I 
 gathered that she had left Lord Cantelune sleeping 
 in his perambulator, and when she returned to it, 
 the perambulator was empty. 
 
 Now Lord Cantelune could not have got out of his 
 perambulator by himself. He w r as not old enough. 
 Moreover, Gwendolen Binns asserted that he had 
 been strapped into it securely. If he had got out of 
 it he could not have crawled any distance from it, 
 for he had only just reached the crawling stage, and 
 would be seriously hampered by his outdoor clothes. 
 It was quite plain somebody had taken him. 
 
 Here Alice intervened with the information that 
 she had seen two tramps loafing along outside the 
 garden; and little Daisy Sartorius had seen them, 
 too. 
 
 This put a serious complexion on the business; 
 and I took charge of it. I divided up the children 
 and the nursemaids into gangs and set them to search 
 the shrubberies thoroughly. I sent off one of the 
 policemen to the station to inform the inspector in 
 charge, and have the news telephoned to the neigh-
 
 170 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 boring police-stations. Before the children and 
 nursemaids were half-way through their search, the 
 inspector himself, accompanied by three more police- 
 men, came in haste from the station. I suggested 
 that each policeman should take with him a nurse- 
 maid who knew Lord Cantelune (there are plenty 
 of spare nursemaids in the garden, since there are at 
 least two to each family), and make inquiries in the 
 neighboring streets to find which way the men had 
 gone. The inspector fell in with the suggestion; 
 neither the nursemaids nor the policemen made any 
 objection; and after we had mapped out the area to 
 be searched by each couple, off they went 
 cheerfully. Then I suggested to Alice that she and 
 I should go hunting eastward. She agreed ; and we 
 started. Just as we were leaving the garden the first 
 newspaper reporter arrived and fell eagerly on 
 Gwendolen Binns. 
 
 Alice was distressed, and disposed to think that 
 Lord Cantelune would never be found. I was not 
 We had been too quick discovering his loss and set- 
 ting out to hunt down the kidnapers. Long before 
 they could reach their lair the newspapers would 
 have set half London on their track, unless they 
 chanced to be living close by in one of the Mayfair
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE 
 
 slums. And then those slums are not so large as 
 they are dirty; and the police could ransack them 
 thoroughly without any great difficulty. It is not 
 easy for a tramp to get any distance with a clean 
 baby without attracting notice. 
 
 I had chosen the most likely direction for our own 
 search ; and we went quickly along, making inquiries 
 as we went. We asked every likely person, police- 
 men, commissionaires, postmen, and all persons who 
 looked to have been standing about idling at street 
 corners, or against the walls of public-houses, if they 
 had seen a tramp or tramps with the lost Lord Can- 
 telune. No one had. It was somewhat embarrass- 
 ing that so many of them leapt to the conclusion 
 that it was our own lost baby we were looking for ; 
 they were very sympathetic, begging Alice not "to 
 take on." Many of them, too, had stories of lost 
 children to tell, stories they had heard from friends 
 or acquaintances, mostly of children who had been 
 lost and never found. They were not cheering; but 
 they went along with us to tell them. 
 
 By the time we reached Bond Street we had gath- 
 ered round us an enthusiastic little band of rather 
 more than a hundred helpers, who took part in all 
 our inquiries in a thoroughly confusing way. Sev-
 
 172 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 eral of the women who had joined us kept pf offer- 
 ing scriptural consolation to Alice; but I fancied 
 that they always quoted wrong. 
 
 We plunged into the region beyond Bond Street ; 
 but there again we found no traces of lost Lord 
 Cantelune. Our search party was now two hundred 
 strong; and I found it so much more embarrassing 
 than useful that I suggested to Alice that we should 
 allow it to go on searching by itself. Alice said 
 that it would be best; and suddenly we slipped into 
 a tea-shop. Only eleven of them saw our move and 
 followed us in. Five of these, not persons of the 
 kind who generally use tearshops, at once proposed 
 that I should pay for their tea. When I refused, 
 they went outside, leaving only six. These six 
 seemed bent on having a substantial meal ; Alice and 
 I drank our tea and left them at it. When we came 
 out we found the five waiting patiently to take up 
 the search with us again ; but a taxicab was passing, 
 we jumped into it and drove back to Garthoyle Gar- 
 dens. Alice was disposed to be dispirited and 
 gloomy; but I cheered her up by assuring her that, 
 though we had failed, some one else would be sure 
 to have succeeded, and that by now Lord Cantelune 
 had been restored to Gwendolen.
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE 173 
 
 As we drove along there stared at us from the 
 
 posters the words: 
 
 t> 
 
 LORD CANTELUNE STOLEN. 
 
 When we came to the garden, we found it fuller 
 than ever. Most of my tenants and many of their 
 servants had come into it to discuss the kidnaping, 
 and get the earliest news of what was happening. 
 So far the police had no news of the missing baby; 
 none of the nursemaids had returned with her ac- 
 companying policeman ; they were hunting still ; and 
 in view of the hour, I fancied that each nursemaid 
 and her policeman were at the moment hunting in 
 a tea-shop at the nursemaid's expense. 
 
 Gwendolen Binns was in great form, holding 
 forth to a dozen panting newspaper reporters about 
 how she had been dogged by suspicious-looking peo- 
 ple for several days, and having her portrait taken 
 in the part of lost Lord Cantelune's devoted and sor- 
 row-stricken nurse for all the illustrated weeklies. 
 Frederick clung to her side, sharing her glory. In 
 the middle of it the Marquis of Alperton, Lord 
 Cantelune's father, arrived on the scene, promptly 
 discharged her from his service, and bade her at
 
 174 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 once pack her boxes and clear out of his house. She 
 went, protesting in shrill howls. 
 
 Then came the news that the Evening Herald had 
 offered one hundred pounds reward to any one giv- 
 ing information that should lead to the capture of 
 the kidnapers; and one of its chief editors rushed 
 up to me and asked permission to establish a tem- 
 porary office of inquiry in the garden. 
 
 I had just refused to allow anything of the kind 
 when the Honorable Byngo D'Eresby, the father of 
 the angel-child, came up to me. We always call 
 him the Honorable Byngo because he looks so like 
 it. The angel-child must have got her beauty from 
 her mother. 
 
 "I say, Garthoyle; have you seen that little devil 
 of mine anywhere?" he said in his drawling way. 
 
 "No; what is it a fox-terrier dachshund 
 collie? Dogs aren't admitted in this garden, don't 
 you know," I said. 
 
 "Dogs! It's not a dog! It's my little girl, I 
 mean Polly. No one's seen her for hours; and 
 I've come out to look for her. Her nurse has gone 
 off with a policeman to hunt for that Cantelune 
 baby." 
 
 "Perhaps she went with them," I said, though I
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE 175 
 
 could not remember having seen her go, or indeed 
 having seen her at all. 
 
 "No, she didn't. I've found that out," said the 
 Honorable Byngo. 
 
 "I hope to goodness she hasn't been stolen, too," 
 I cried. 
 
 "No fear! I should be sorry for any one who 
 stole Polly. But don't let out that she's missing, 
 or she'll get into the papers, too. She'll turn up all 
 right I know Polly. It's only that her mother's 
 nervous." 
 
 The Honorable Byngo spoke as if he did not real- 
 ize his privilege in having such a daughter; and 
 Polly did seem to me to be a poor name for an angel- 
 child. 
 
 "I tell you what. She's gone off hunting for this 
 lost baby on her own," I said. 
 
 "That's it. I'll go and tell her mother," said the 
 Honorable Byngo ; and off he went. 
 
 About six pairs of nurses and policemen trickled 
 slowly in. Not one of them had found any trace 
 of the missing baby. No news had come from any 
 of the outlying police-stations. The affair was be- 
 ginning to look very serious indeed. By a quarter 
 to seven all the nurses and policemen had come in.
 
 i ;6 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 There was nothing that I could do; and there was 
 nothing to be gained by staying in the garden. I 
 asked the inspector to let me know the moment any- 
 thing fresh turned up and went to my house. 
 
 Richards met me in the hall and said: "If you 
 please, m'Lord, little Miss D'Eresby has brought a 
 baby for you to see; and they've been waiting for 
 you most of the afternoon." 
 
 "The the deuce she has !" I said ; and I sat down 
 on a chair. 
 
 "Yes, 1 m'Lord; and I gave them some tea; and 
 Martha helped Miss D'Eresby feed the baby. He's 
 a sturdy little chap, m'Lord." 
 
 "Sturdy little Why you All London 
 
 is hunting for that baby! Where is it?" I howled. 
 
 "It is up-stairs in the library, m'Lord. M-M-Miss 
 D'Eresby preferred the library, b-b-because of the 
 view over the garden, m'Lord," stammered Richards. 
 
 I rushed up-stairs and dashed into the library. 
 The angel-child had her elbows on the window-sill 
 and was watching the crowd in the garden. 
 
 "Hang it all. . . ." 
 
 "Hush, you'll wake the baby," she interrupted, 
 and I saw the lost Lord Cantelune reposing peace- 
 fully in an armchair by her side.
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE 177 
 
 "WHAT on earth . . ." 
 
 "I thought you were never coming," she inter- 
 rupted. "Binns won't neglect this child again in a 
 hurry. It has been fun watching all the excitement 
 in the garden." 
 
 It was no use, I had to laugh to think of all the 
 police and press of London in a whirl of furious 
 energy, and the lost Lord Cantelune crawling peace- 
 fully about my library all the while. 
 
 "I thought you'd enjoy it," said Miss D'Eresby ; 
 and she laughed pleasantly herself. 
 
 Then I put on a serious face, and reproached her 
 for all the trouble she had given us. She was quite 
 unmoved ; she only said : "Well, something had to 
 be done, you know." 
 
 It was no use trying to make her see the other 
 side of the matter; and I began to consider what 
 I had better do. Here was the lost Lord Cantelune 
 in my house; and I did not want a disappointed 
 public to break the windows, and every paper in 
 London to make poor jokes about my being a re- 
 ceiver of stolen babies. I thought it best to re- 
 store it to its home quietly. 
 
 I rang for Richards and told him to tell Martha 
 to put on her hat. As soon as she came I sent the
 
 1 78 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 angel-child home, telling her to say nothing about 
 her exploit. 
 
 "As if I should!" she cried. "Papa never does 
 understand things!" 
 
 When she had gone I sallied out of the back door 
 with Martha carrying Lord Cantelune about ten 
 yards behind me. Fortunately he was still asleep; 
 and she could keep his face covered. We got to 
 the Alpertons' undetected. The door opened at 
 once to my knock; and she slipped up the steps 
 and into the house in a jiffy. I slammed the door. 
 
 At first there were great rejoicings over the re- 
 covery of Lord Cantelune. Then the Alpertons 
 began to ask questions; and when they heard what 
 had happened, they were furious with the angel- 
 child. But I put forward the other side of the 
 matter firmly and several times, that it was their 
 business to know that their baby was being neg- 
 lected; and that they ought to be deucedly obliged 
 to the angel-child for bringing it to their notice. 
 I got them calm at last; and then I came away. 
 
 I went into the garden and told the inspector 
 that the lost baby had been recovered. There was a 
 wild dash of reporters to the Alpertons' house, but 
 the door did not open. They came dashing back
 
 LOST LORD CANTELUNE 179 
 
 to me; and I told them that a young lady had seen 
 Lord Cantelune trying to escape from his perambu- 
 lator, and thinking it dangerous, had carried him 
 to the house of a friend where he had spent the 
 afternoon. I did not disclose the name of the young 
 lady; and I did not tell them that I was the friend.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 THE angel-child kept her own counsel about 
 the loss of Lord Cantelune in the noblest 
 way; and I met all the questions of the interested 
 mothers among my tenants with a point-blank re- 
 fusal to tell them anything about his recovery. I 
 did not feel that people would think that either the 
 police or I had displayed any great intelligence in 
 the matter ; and so the less said about it the better. 
 There was a good deal of talk about it for a day or 
 two in the Gardens; and then people found some- 
 thing else to occupy their attention. 
 
 I was beginning to make an odd discovery; my 
 Uncle Algernon had been right in expecting me to 
 grow keen about the Gardens. The more I worked 
 at running them the keener I grew about them. I 
 ,was now particularly keen on their being spicker 
 and spanner than any other square or street, or 
 crescent or place, in Mayfair. Jack Thurman said 
 
 1 80
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 181 
 
 that I was growing quite touchy about them; and 
 sometimes when I had finished saying what I 
 thought about somebody's untidy window-boxes or 
 balcony awning, I caught Miss Wishart smiling as 
 if I were really amusing her. Then I had the happy 
 idea of offering a prize of fifty pounds to the butler 
 whose house was kept the spickest and spannest 
 throughout the year. If the butlers made up their 
 minds to have the house spick and span the tenants 
 would be made to find the money. 
 
 I soon found that it was working all right, be- 
 cause Tubby Delamare came up to me at the Pal- 
 ladium one afternoon and said : 
 
 "I say, Garthoyle, it's a bit thick you offering 
 this prize for the best-looking house in the Gar- 
 dens. I never get a bit of peace now for my butler's 
 worrying me to do something or other to the front 
 of the house. As soon as I had it painted, he was 
 at me for new window-boxes, and now it's fresh 
 blinds all over the front of the house." 
 
 "And very nice they'll look," I said. 
 
 "But I put in fresh blinds two years ago; and 
 they'd have gone another two years quite well," 
 he grumbled. 
 
 "You can't have too much of a good thing; and
 
 182 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 you can't have it too often," I said; and it sounded 
 to me like a philosopher. 
 
 "That's all very well, but I'm spending money 
 to improve your property, and then you'll raise the 
 rent on me," he said. 
 
 "I can't raise the rent on you till your lease ex- 
 pires," I said. 
 
 "I knew that was the game. You're growing a 
 regular Shylock," growled Tubby, and he rolled 
 away. 
 
 It was no wonder that Number 16 was beginning 
 to get on my nerves. Its tenant seemed to have 
 shut it up and gone away for a long holiday at the 
 very moment at which it wanted painting badly. 
 Some of the flowers, too, in the window-boxes had 
 died, and the rest were straggling all over the plact 
 in a disgustingly untidy way. With its grimy win- 
 dows and blistering paint, and little primeval for- 
 ests under each window on the ground floor and 
 the first floor, it was a perfect eyesore, spoiling the 
 look of the whole of the side of the triangle in 
 which it stood. 
 
 Perhaps I should not have minded it much if 
 it had not been next door but one to my own house. 
 As it was I could not go out or in without being
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 183 
 
 annoyed, or, to be exact, infuriated by the sight 
 of it. 
 
 I found that three years before my uncle had let 
 it to Sefior Pedro Vicenti, a South American mer- 
 chant, on a lease of seven, fourteen, or twenty-one 
 years. Plainly I had this infernal foreigner, with 
 his dirty house, spoiling the look of the Gardens, 
 for at any rate the next four years. Then I'd 
 clear him out, if money or law could do it. Till 
 then I had to stick it out. I could not conceive 
 what had induced my uncle to let the house to a 
 foreigner. 
 
 I wrote letter after letter to Vicenti, some to his 
 bankers, some to Number 16, on the chance of their 
 being forwarded to him by the post-office, asking 
 him to clean and paint his house and have the 
 window-boxes refilled. The first letters were firm, 
 the later ones were firmer. I got no answer to 
 any of them. It looked as if Vicenti had buried 
 himself for the time being in some out-of-the-way 
 part of South America where there were no post- 
 offices and nothing could be done till he came out 
 of it and struck civilization again. Number 16 
 would remain an eyesore until his return. It would 
 have aggravated the ordinary house-agent beyond
 
 1 84 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 endurance, but I was landlord as well. It was in- 
 furiating. 
 
 One afternoon I came out into the central garden 
 to smoke a cigar and talk to the children. There 
 I found Alice Devine and the angel-child. The 
 angel-child was in great feather because she was 
 finding Lord Cantelune's new nurse quite satis- 
 factory. I did not join her in her satisfaction, for 
 as I came into the garden I had unfortunately 
 looked back, and had had a full view of the dis- 
 gusting appearance of Number 16. 
 
 Presently Alice said: "What's the matter? You 
 seem quite depressed." 
 
 "I think he's very disagreeable quite piggish," 
 said the angel-child frankly. 
 
 "It's that beastly house Number 16 it makes 
 me positively sick. I'm expecting to see a rich crop 
 of thistles in those window-boxes before long," I 
 said grumpily. 
 
 "Why don't you have them cut ?" said Alice. 
 
 "I've no right to interfere with my tenants* 
 window-boxes," I said. 
 
 "If I only did the things I had a right to do, I 
 should find it dull," said the angel-child. 
 
 "I don't suppose your tenant would ever know;
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 185 
 
 and if he did, he would probably be much obliged 
 to you," said Alice. "After all he's in South 
 America." 
 
 "By jove! That's an idea," I said. 
 
 It was an idea that did not want any thinking 
 about. The thing to do was to act. 
 
 "Come along, let's find a gardener and have it 
 done at once," I said. 
 
 They came along briskly; the mere fact that I 
 was going to do a forbidden thing seemed to make 
 it quite attractive to the angel-child. 
 
 Of course the first gardener we found was Fred- 
 erick. I told him to get a ladder and come and 
 trim the window-boxes at Number 16. I was im- 
 patient to see it done and I went with him. He 
 seemed to think he had got three days' quiet work 
 before him. I did not see it in that way, and I 
 bustled him along hard in fact I got a hustle on 
 him, as they used to say in the States when I was 
 there. In ten minutes I had him clipping away at 
 the boxes on the first floor. I stood on the steps 
 of the house, directing his labors; and Alice and 
 the angel-child stood by my side. .The angel-child 
 made suggestions. Frederick did not seem to be 
 able to do anything quite to her liking.
 
 1 86 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Frederick had clipped the boxes in the two side 
 windows of the drawing-room, when of a sudden 
 he gave an awful yell, came tumbling down the 
 ladder and hit his head a thundering crack on the 
 pavement. 
 
 The angel-child laughed, and Alice and I ran to 
 him. He seemed stunned. I propped him up 
 against the steps, ran to my own house and fetched 
 Richards. We carried Frederick into my office and 
 set him very gently on a sofa. Alice and Miss 
 Wishart bustled about and wrapped wet cloths 
 round his head, and a footman ran for a doctor. 
 Frederick began to groan; and there was a bump 
 as big as a hen's egg on the top of his head. We 
 waited anxiously for the doctor, and I saw that 
 the angel-child was beginning to look really fright- 
 ened. 
 
 Then Frederick came to himself and said: 
 "Workman's Compensation Act." 
 
 I was relieved, though Frederick groaned louder 
 than ever. Then the doctor came and examined 
 him. 
 
 When he had done the doctor said : "You're all 
 right, my man only a bump on the head." 
 
 Frederick only uttered a deep groan. The doc-
 
 TEE EMPTY HOUSE 187 
 
 tor ordered the wet cloth to be kept round his head, 
 and to be changed again when it got warm. 
 
 I went with him to the door, and he said : "Your 
 gardener's got a good thick skull, Lord Garthoyle. 
 It's a good job he fell on it. He might have broken 
 something." 
 
 I went back to Frederick and found him groaning 
 loudly. 
 
 "WHat the poor fellow wants is a stiff brandy- 
 and-soda," I said to Richards. 
 
 There was a break in Frederick's groaning, then 
 he went on again louder than ever. 
 
 Richards brought the brandy-and-soda, mixed it, 
 propped Frederick against the back of the sofa and 
 held the glass to his lips. 
 
 Frederick emptied it and said feebly : "More." \ 
 
 "Give the poor fellow another," I said; and 
 Richards gave him another. 
 
 Frederick swallowed it firmly, then he moaned: 
 "I shan't be able to work fer weeks an* weeks." 
 
 "How came you to fall off the ladder?" I said. 
 
 "It was the fyce the 'orrible fyce wiv eyes like 
 a devil. It give me a start," said Frederick. 
 
 "Well, that was a silly fancy to bump your head 
 for," I said.
 
 188 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "It warn't no fancy; I seed it plyne. It 'ad 
 pulled the blind on one side an' was a-starin' at me," 
 said Frederick in a firm voice. 
 
 "Rubbish. The house is empty," I said. 
 
 With two brandies-and-sodas in him, Frederick 
 proved of a very argumentative disposition. He 
 sat up to discuss the matter. He would have it that 
 it was no fancy. He had looked up from his work 
 to see a horrible face staring at him round the cor- 
 ner of the blind. It was such a devilish face that 
 the sight of it had given him such a start that he 
 had lost his balance and fallen off the ladder. He 
 grew more and more excited about it the more 
 firmly; I expressed my disbelief in it. He forgot 
 all about the Workman's Compensation Act and 
 his weeks and weeks of holiday; and at last, 
 arguing furiously, he walked to Number 16 with 
 me. I climbed the ladder myself; there was no face 
 there. I rapped the window ; no face peered at me 
 round the jcorner of the blind. The blind never 
 stirred. 
 
 I gave Frederick half-a-sovereign to soothe the 
 pain of the bump on his head, and fetched another 
 gardener, had the rest of the window-boxes
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 189 
 
 trimmed and thought very little more of Frederick's 
 silly fancy. 
 
 But a night or two later, coming back from 
 playing baccarat and talking to Alice at Scruton's, 
 I came upon Brookes, the most intelligent of the 
 policemen who protect the Gardens, in front of 
 Number 16. I remembered Frederick's story and 
 stopped and told him about it. 
 
 Brookes knows Frederick, and he said: "Lor', 
 m'Lord, there's nothin' in what 'e sees or don't see. 
 If 'e seed a purply-green fyce, it wouldn't have sur- 
 prised me, seein' the amount of booze 'e gets out- 
 side of in a day." 
 
 "That's what I thought," I said. 
 
 "All the syme, as it 'appens, I'm keepin' my eye 
 on this 'ere 'ouse myself. Though it is empty, 
 there's people 'angs about it, m'Lord." 
 
 "I wish they'd clean these filthy windows, then. 
 They're a disgrace to the Gardens," I said. 
 
 "You may well say so, m'Lord," said Brookes 
 in a very sympathetic way. 
 
 He went on to tell me that he had seen men 
 several men foreigners hanging about the house 
 at night, for the last fortnight, two or three of them
 
 '190 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 at a time. They were not the foreign refuse with 
 which London is getting choked, but well-dressed 
 men, sometimes even in evening dress. One night 
 he had seen two of them come out of the porch 
 and asked them what they were doing in it. They 
 said that they were friends of Serior Vicenti and 
 had knocked to see if he were at home. I agreed 
 with Brookes that it was idiotic to leave a house 
 like that without a caretaker in it. 
 
 But these men seemed to me suspicious; and I 
 wondered if there were anything wrong with the 
 house. But I thought it would be safe enough if 
 Brookes were keeping an eye on it; for he is an 
 uncommonly intelligent policeman, and well on his 
 way to be promoted to the rank of sergeant. I 
 made a point of looking at the house myself when 
 I came home at night and of trying the door of it 
 as I passed. 
 
 About a week later I came home about half past 
 eleven, and before going to bed I went out on 
 the balcony. There was a bright moon ; and I saw 
 a policeman, probably Brookes going up the left 
 side of the triangle. Then a woman in black 
 passed quickly along the pavement beneath me and 
 slipped up the steps into the porch of Number 16.
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 191 
 
 I lost no time. I ran down-stairs, let myself out 
 of the house and walked past Number 16. I saw 
 a dark figure against its door and caught a glimpse 
 of a white cheek and a glimmering eye as the wo- 
 man turned her face to see who passed. I walked 
 on to the corner, keeping my head over my shoul- 
 der to see if she came out of the porch. She' did 
 not. I waited three minutes, walked quietly back, 
 and saw the dark figure still in the porch, close to 
 the door. I walked up the steps and said sharply: 
 "What are you doing here?" 
 
 She gave a startled little cry. Then she said 
 in a spirited tone : "Eet ees no business of yours." 
 
 It was a pleasant voice the voice of a lady. 
 
 "Pardon me," I said. "It is very much my busi- 
 ness. This house is mine; my tenant is away and 
 in his absence I keep an eye on it." 
 
 "Oh, ees eet zo?" she said coolly; and I fancied 
 that she slipped something into her pocket. 
 
 "Yes, it is; and I should like an explanation," 
 I said. 
 
 "Eet ees veree simple," she said slowly. "Senor 
 Vicenti ees my oncle. I am zeeing if he ees at ze 
 house. I am coom to London lately; and I find 
 heem gone from eet."
 
 192 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 It was a simple, natural explanation; and it 
 came straight off her tongue, but I did not believe 
 it. 
 
 "It's very late," I said. 
 
 "Not to zeek an oncle," she said with a soft 
 laugh. "I weesh to zee heem veree mooch. I do 
 not know when he cooms back to his house." 
 
 "Well, if there were any one in the house, they 
 would have come to the door long before now," 
 I said. 
 
 "Zat ees true," she said with a little sigh. "But 
 once more I weel try." 
 
 And with that she beat a thundering tattoo on 
 the door with the knocker. As the knocks went 
 ringing out on the quiet Gardens, I realized that 
 she had not knocked before. Of course she might 
 have been ringing. 
 
 "If there ees any one in ze house, zey weel hear 
 that," she said; and she laughed a queer soft 
 laugh, with a kind of threat in it, uncomfortable 
 to hear. 
 
 And then she came down the steps without wait- 
 ing a moment to hear if her knocking had roused 
 any one. It was an odd thing to do. 
 v In the full light of the moon I saw that she was
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 193 
 
 a very pretty girl, with very red lips in a pale face, 
 and large velvety eyes. I fancied that they looked 
 at me in a rather mocking way. 
 
 We walked along to the corner and I turned 
 down Carisbrooke Street with her. 
 
 Then she stopped and said: "Zere ees no need 
 for you to coom with me." 
 
 "I don't think that your uncle would like you to 
 be walking about alone at this hour; and since he 
 is my tenant, he would think it only proper that I 
 should see you home, or at any rate put you into 
 a cab," I said. 
 
 I meant to hear the address she gave the cabman. 
 
 She looked at my face and she saw that I meant 
 to come. Perhaps I was looking obstinate. I was 
 certainly feeling obstinate. 
 
 "Veree well," she said, shrugging her shoulders. 
 "But zere ees no need. My motor-car ees waiting 
 for me at ze end of ze street." 
 
 We went on; and half-way down the street I 
 said: "You're expecting your uncle to return 
 soon?" 
 
 "I do not know," she said. 
 
 "Well, I hope he'll wash his windows when he 
 does come," I said.
 
 i 9 4 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Wash hees windows?" she said; and she 
 stared at me with her eyes wide open. 
 
 "Yes; the windows of his house. They're a 
 disgrace to the Gardens. Do you think that you 
 could have them washed?" 
 
 "Deesgracef ul ? Me? Oh, but you Eengleesh 
 you are fonny," she, said, and laughed. 
 
 It was a charming* laugh; but I could not see 
 anything funny about the windows of the eyesore. 
 They were disgusting. 
 
 Sure enough, at the bottom of the street, a big 
 motor-car was standing against the curb. I opened 
 the door of it for her and she stepped into- it. 
 
 "Good night," she said. 
 
 "Good night," said I; and the car started off 
 at a smart pace. 
 
 Of course there was no taxi in sight. If there 
 had been, I should certainly have taken the liberty 
 of seeing where the car went. 
 
 The car went round the corner and I turned back. 
 I wished I had asked her to inform me immediately 
 of her uncle's return, that I might have started on 
 him at once about the disgraceful appearance of 
 the outside of his house. 
 
 I came home wondering about her. Certainly
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 195 
 
 she did not seem the kind of person to feel anxious 
 about She was not one of the criminal class, of 
 that I was quite sure. I looked about for her for 
 a day or two; but I saw nothing of her. She did 
 not come again to seek her uncle at any time when I 
 was in the Gardens. Neither did Senor Vicenti 
 return, nor were any preparations made for his 
 return, nor were the windows washed. 
 
 It was four or five days later that coming home 
 one night I met Brookes at the corner of Caris- 
 brooke Street. I stopped and asked him if he had 
 seen any more suspicious characters lingering about 
 Number 16. 
 
 "Well, not lingering, m'Lord. But last night I 
 seed, or anyways I thought I seed, two men and a 
 woman come down the steps of it. But I couldn't 
 be sure. I was right the other side of the Gardens ; 
 and they hooked it off down Carisbrooke Street 
 an' was out of sight long before I could get round." 
 
 "It's all very odd," I said. "And then again, 
 it mayn't be anything at all. Just friends or busi- 
 ness people anxious to see Senor Vicenti." 
 
 I wished him good night and went on home. I 
 just had time to mix myself a lemon-squash, and 
 was drinking it, up in the library, where drinks
 
 196 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 and biscuits are always set for me, in case I come 
 home late and am hungry or thirsty, when I heard 
 a loud knocking at one of the front doors near. I 
 went out on the balcony and found that it came 
 from Number 16. I ran down-stairs and along to 
 it, expecting to find the pretty niece of Senor 
 Vicenti again seeking her uncle. Instead of her I 
 found Brookes in its porch. [The door was ajar, 
 and as I ran up the steps, he rang and knocked 
 again. 
 
 "This is a rum start, m'Lord," he said. "I comes 
 up the steps to take a look at this door; I gives it 
 a shove and open it goes. I don't like the looks 
 of it at all. The lock 'as bin tampered with an' 
 not to-night. I've 'ad me eyes on this 'ere 'ouse 
 all the evening. I think I'd better find Barnett an' 
 take a look round it" 
 
 "There's no need to fetch Barnett, I'll go round 
 it with you," said I. 
 
 Brookes hesitated a moment; then he said: 
 "Very well, m'Lord," and he opened the door wider 
 and went in. 
 
 I followed him. The light of his lantern cut 
 but a small wedge in the darkness of the big empty 
 hall. He drew the door to behind us. I noticed
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 197 
 
 an odd unpleasant smell not exactly musty 
 but rather like it I could not place it, though I 
 was sure that I had smelt it before. Then I stum- 
 bled over a basket standing a yard or so inside 
 the hall. 
 
 Brookes turned the light of his lantern on it; 
 and we saw that it was about two feet square and 
 the lid was shut. In the lid was an odd little trap^ 
 door about four inches square, and that was open. 
 
 "It's a rummy-lookin' basket. I've never seed 
 one with an extra lid like that," said Brookes ; and 
 then he added: "It do smell like as if it 'ad 
 'ad an hanimal in it." 
 
 "Yes : but what animal ?" I said. 
 
 "I can't rightly call it to mind," said Brookes. 
 As he spoke I took a step forward and tripped 
 over a wire stretched across the hall, about six 
 inches from the floor; and on the instant a shrill 
 bell started ringing quickly, high up in the house. 
 
 "Electric burglar alarm," said Brookes. 
 
 He stepped forward to take a look at the wire my 
 foot had struck, his own foot struck another wire 
 running parallel to it and set another shrill bell 
 ringing. 
 
 We stood quite still. I was waiting, for some one
 
 198 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 to call to us from the top of the house. I was sure 
 that some one would call. But no one did, nor 
 was there any stir. Only the shrill bells rang. 
 
 Brookes swept the light of his lantern over the 
 floor of the hall. It was mapped out into squares 
 by a network of wires. 
 
 "If there ain't a few," he said. 
 
 "Rather silly to have the house full of burglar 
 alarms and nobody in it to hear them," I said. 
 
 "That's just it," said Brookes; and I noticed 
 that we were both talking in whispers. 
 
 Then he shouted: "Is there any one up-stairs? 
 It's thepleece!" 
 
 There was no answer. One of the bells stopped 
 ringing; the other rang on. 
 
 "Well, we'd better look into it," I said. 
 
 Stepping over the wires, we went round the hall 
 trying the doors. All of them were locked and 
 there were no keys in them. Then Brookes' foot 
 struck another wire and set another bell ringing. 
 
 Then we came to the stairs. At the foot of them 
 we were brought up short by a barricade of barbed 
 wire. 
 
 "Why, hang it all! The house is fortified 
 against an assault! This isn't burglars!" I cried,
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 199 
 
 "It's a rum start," said Brookes. 
 
 "And nobody would fortify an empty house," I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Hush, I thought I 'card somebody movin'," 
 said Brookes; and then he shouted: "Hi! L You 
 there up-stairs! It's the pleece. Your front door 
 wants locking." 
 
 His voice went echoing away up the stairs, about 
 the landings and died away at the top of the 
 house. There was no answer. Then the last 
 alarm stopped ringing; and all was very still. It 
 was oddly creepy too. The shaft of light from 
 the lantern left a lot of darkness about us; and 
 there was the odd smell. 
 
 "We must try up-stairs," I said. 
 
 Brookes turned his light on the barricade; 
 and I saw that it was a set of barbed wire screens, 
 about five feet high, half of them hinged to the 
 banisters, half to the wall. They were overlapping 
 one another. By drawing the nearest toward one 
 and pushing back to the next to it, a passage was 
 opened through the barricade. It was not very 
 difficult to make one's way along. But it was slow 
 going, and it only let one man through at a time. 
 It was practically impassable for a woman, if she
 
 200 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 were wearing a skirt. Moreover, one was helpless 
 inside it, since one had to keep one's arms to one's 
 sides, or up above one's head. A man on the flight 
 of stairs above could have shot down any number 
 of men, through the banisters, before the barricade 
 could be forced. He would have been out of sight 
 to any one standing in the hall. It was plainly 
 enough meant to stop an assault in force; and it 
 was an odd find in Garthoyle Gardens. 
 
 I started to get past it and worked my way 
 gingerly through the screens; it was not very diffi- 
 cult and I did not tear my coat. Then I held 
 the lantern to light Brookes through it. He caught 
 his thicker coat once in one of the barbs; but he 
 disentangled it without tearing the cloth. 
 
 We had just come through, when I heard a 
 faint rustle higher up the stairs. I turned the light 
 of the lantern on them, and ten steps up it fell on 
 a snake a snake with a big head reared above its 
 coils. It was so unexpected, and everything was 
 so odd, that it looked to me as big as a ship's 
 hawser. 
 
 I gasped, and I heard Brookes gasp. 
 
 "Over the banisters," I cried. 
 
 Brookes was over them in a jiffy. I threw the
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 201 
 
 lantern at the snake, slipped over them myself, and 
 landed on top of Brookes. 
 
 We did not say anything. We started for the 
 front door, tripping and stumbling over the wire, 
 setting off alarum after alarum, till the whole of 
 the top of the house was one shrill jangling 
 ringing. 
 
 Out in the porch we drew the door to and looked 
 at each other, and wiped our faces with our hand- 
 kerchiefs. 
 
 "Well, that was nice. Snakes in the dark are a 
 trifle thick," I said. 
 
 "They are, m'Lord, It's a daylight job, this is," 
 said Brookes. 
 
 "So that was what the hall and the basket smelt 
 of that snake," I said. 
 
 "That's what it was. It must live in that basket 
 like as if it werje a kennel. It's the queerest 
 watch-dog I ever see likewise the nastiest to 
 tackle," said Brookes. 
 
 I thought for a minute or two, then I said: "I 
 don't believe it is a watch-dog. It would be too 
 difficult to handle. No. It doesn't belong to the 
 house. It's been brought here. I believe it was 
 brought last night in that basket."
 
 202 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "But who'd bring a snake in a basket?" said 
 Brookes. 
 
 "Probably the people you saw come away from 
 the house last night." 
 
 "But what would they bring it for, m'Lord? It 
 ain't a thing to joke with. It looked to me a regular 
 boar-constrictor, like you sees at the Zoo," said 
 Brookes. 
 
 "Burglar alarums and barbed wire are no good 
 against a snake. It can crawl anywhere. It's not 
 a watch-dog. It's just the other thing a what- 
 d'you-call-it? an instrument of destruction," I 
 said. 
 
 "That's a rummy idea," said Brookes. 
 
 "I've seen it in a story called what was it called ? 
 The Black Man's Servant. A snake was used to 
 commit a murder in it. Somebody else has been 
 reading that story," I said. 
 
 "I always says as them detective stories does a 
 lot of 'arm especially to growing boys," said 
 Brookes. "You think as 'ow it's meant for Mr. 
 Vicenti when 'e comes 'ome a kind of unpleasant 
 welcome like?" 
 
 "I don't see any reason to suppose that he has 
 gone away. You don't fortify a house like that and
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 203 
 
 then clear out of it. He may be kept a prisoner in 
 some room by the fear of that snake," I said. 
 
 "Then he'd 'ave called out to us when I called 
 to 'im," said Brookes. 
 
 "It does look bad," I said. 
 
 "This job's too big for you an' me to 'andle, 
 m'Lord," said Brookes. "An' the sooner I lets the 
 inspector know about it the better.'* 
 
 "All right," I said. "I'll go round to the police- 
 station and tell him about it, while you keep watch 
 on the house." 
 
 "Thank you, m'Lord; that will save time," said 
 Brookes. 
 
 I went briskly round to the police-station and 
 told the inspector what we had found at Number 
 1 6. He did not seem greatly astonished, though 
 he said that it was a rum start. Of course, since 
 his work lies in Mayfair, he is used to queer things. 
 
 He put a sergeant in charge of the station and 
 came back with me at once. Brookes had heard 
 no sound in the house while I had been gone. The 
 inspector opened the door a little way and swept 
 the light of his lantern round the hall. We could 
 not see the snake; it had not come down the stairs. 
 Perhaps my throwing the lantern at it had fright-
 
 204 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 ened it up them. After a short conference with 
 Brookes, the inspector also decided that to explore 
 the house in the face of a snake behind the wire 
 entanglements was not a night job. He would wait 
 for the daylight. I offered to help, to bring a gun 
 and shoot the snake for them; and the inspector 
 accepted my offer at once. He decided that four 
 o'clock would be soon enough to start the exami- 
 nation of the house. 
 
 I went back to my house, awoke Mowart, and 
 told him to wake me at half past three and have 
 some coffee ready for me. Then I went to bed. 
 Mowart called me at half past three; and while I 
 had my bath and dressed, took some coffee and 
 biscuits out to the inspector and his men. Then I 
 had some coffee and biscuits myself. I put on a 
 pair of shooting-boots and thick leather gaiters, 
 took a gun, and went round to Number 16. 
 
 I found the inspector, Brookes and two other 
 men ready at the door. I led the way in, with my 
 gun ready. The hall was very dim, but Brookes 
 drew up the blinds; and the light streamed in. It 
 looked in the daylight a very ordinary hall indeed, 
 but for the network of wires that covered the 
 floor. All the creepiness had gone with the dark-
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 205 
 
 ness, but not the smell. There was no snake in it. 
 The inspector examined the basket; and we found 
 that it was not a special make, but just an ordinary 
 basket with a piece cut, rather roughly, out of its 
 lid, and fastened to it with hinges of string to make 
 a little trap-door. 
 
 "I don't think we're going to get anything out 
 of this amatoor work/' said the inspector; and 
 he set the basket down. 
 
 The doors of the rooms opening into the hall 
 were locked, and there were no keys in them. The 
 door leading into the back of the house was also 
 locked ; and there was no key in it. 
 
 We went to the staircase, which was in a good 
 light from the hall window. The snake was not on 
 the bottom flight of stairs. I wormed my way 
 through the barricade; and I was a bit uncom- 
 fortable while I was doing it and glad to get to the 
 other side. If the snake had come at me while I 
 was in the middle of it, I should have been help- 
 less. I could not possibly have used my gun. I 
 walked up to the landing and drew up the blind. 
 There was no snake on the second flight. 
 
 The inspector and the policemen came through 
 the barricade; and we went up to the second floor.
 
 206 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I stood on the top of the stairs, looking about 
 me, when Brookes, who stood just behind me, cried : 
 "There he goes, m'Lord! At the end of the 
 passage!" 
 
 In the dimly-lighted corridor facing me some- 
 thing was moving along the wainscoting. I threw 
 up my gun and put a charge of shot into it. The 
 report of the gun fairly bellowed about the house; 
 and we all stood still for a minute, listening. There 
 wasn't a sound ; yet that bang had been loud enough 
 to wake the dead. 
 
 "There ain't nobody in this 'ouse except us," 
 said one of the policemen. 
 
 "Nobody alive," said I. 
 
 We went along the corridor; and Brookes pulled 
 up the blind of the window at the end of it. The 
 snake was quite dead, fairly riddled with shot. I 
 picked it up and looked at it. 
 
 "I say, this isn't the snake that bolted us last 
 night. It's much smaller, and it hasn't such a big 
 head," I said. 
 
 "It's a lot smaller, m'Lord," said Brookes. 
 
 "Ah, you saw it in*a bad light; and you were 
 startled," said the inspector. 
 
 "No; it is smaller. I'm sure of it," I said; and
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 207 
 
 I thought for a minute. "And after all, why should 
 there be only one snake? That basket would hold 
 a dozen," I added. 
 
 It was not a pleasant thought, and we looked 
 at one another uncomfortably. I slipped another 
 Cartridge into my gun. Fortunately, I had, with- 
 out thinking, put a handful into my pocket. 
 
 We moved cautiously on, and I led the way. 
 The doors of some of the rooms on the first floor 
 were open, and I went into each of them first, with 
 my gun ready. The first two rooms a library and 
 a smoking-room were empty. The third room 
 was a drawing-room, and as I went into it I heard 
 a rustle. The blinds were down and the room was 
 dim. 
 
 "Keep out!" I cried, went to one of the windows 
 and jerked up the blind. 
 
 Ten feet from me, in an easy chair, a big-headed 
 snake was rearing itself up. I blew its head off. 
 At the bang of the gun two smaller snakes came 
 darting out of hiding. 
 
 I shouted, "Shut the door!" and jumped on a 
 chair. 
 
 The door banged to and the snakes darted 
 quickly backward and forward along and across
 
 208 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 the room. I cut one clean in two with the other 
 barrel. Then I reloaded, and when the smoke had 
 cleared a little, I shot the other. Then I waited a 
 while to see if any more came out, but none did. 
 I called out that it was all right and the police- 
 men came in. I had made a mess of the room; 
 I had cut the back of the easy chair to ribbons 
 and spoiled the carpet. 
 
 We examined the dead snakes, and Brookes and 
 I both agreed that the big-headed snake, which 
 I had shot in the easy chair, was the one we had 
 seen on the stairs. Then I went to the middle 
 window, in which was the window-box Frederick 
 had been clipping when he fell, and examined the 
 blind. It was very dusty, and on one side near its 
 e^Sge were finger-prints. Frederick had been right : 
 some one had drawn the blind on one side and 
 looked at him round the edge of it. The house had 
 not been empty. 
 
 There were no more snakes in any of the other 
 rooms on the first floor. When we had made sure 
 of it we went to the staircase of the second floor. 
 There was a barricade at the bottom of it a large 
 mass of barbed wire but it was drawn up close 
 to the ceiling, and could be let down with a rope
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 209 
 
 to fill the whole width of the staircase to- a height 
 of six feet. It was a very clever idea. I led the 
 way up the stairs, and was a few steps up the 
 second flight when a big snake came quickly over 
 the top stair right down at me. I fired from the 
 hip; it gave a jump, pitched down the stairs, 
 hitting my leg as it passed, and fell a squirming, 
 hissing heap on the landing. I fired the other bar- 
 rel into it as the policemen fell tumbling over one 
 another down the lower flight. 
 
 I was beginning to enjoy it; but then I had a 
 gun. The policemen looked uncommonly nervous 
 and shaky. The snake was the biggest one we had 
 come across yet. 
 
 I gave the policemen a little time to pull them- 
 selves together and then we went up to the second 
 floor. The doors of all the rooms were closed, 
 and it did not seem likely that there were any snakes 
 in them. However, we looked through them all 
 they were bedrooms and made sure that there 
 were no snakes in them. Then I led the way, un- 
 der another barbed wire barricade, hung to the 
 ceiling, up the narrow staircase to the third floor. 
 In all the houses in the Gardens the third floor is 
 arranged as servants' quarters, and the rooms are
 
 210 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 small. The doors of all but one of them were 
 open. 
 
 "Here's the end of the search," I said, tapping 
 the closed door; and the inspector opened it. 
 
 The blind was down, but the room was brightly 
 lighted by the burning gas. On the bed lay the 
 body of a swarthy, hook-nosed, black-haired man 
 of about fifty-five. He was dressed in pajamas 
 and a dressing-gown. I saw at the first glance that 
 he was dead. The inspector pointed to his swollen 
 left ankle, in which there were two deep wounds. 
 Plainly he had cut away the flesh round the 
 punctures from the snake's fangs; but it had been 
 no use. A half -smoked cigar had fallen from the 
 fingers of his right hand and burned a hole in the 
 blanket. On the table by the bed was an empty 
 champagne-bottle, and a glass half-full of the wine 
 stood beside it. 
 
 "A cool hand, and tough," said the inspector. 
 "Found that it was all up with him, and died en- 
 joying himself not been dead long, either." 
 
 "Well, if the snakes were brought here the night 
 before last by the people Brookes saw, they've 
 only been in the house thirty hours," I said. "I
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 211 
 
 expect he was going about in the dark in his 
 pajamas and trod on one of them." 
 
 "That's it," said the inspector. "But I wonder 
 that he didn't bolt out to a doctor." 
 
 "He was probably afraid that the people who had 
 brought the snakes were waiting for him, or per- 
 haps he knew the snake, and that it was no use 
 bothering about a doctor. He looks as if he had 
 been well baked in the tropics." 
 
 "Perhaps that's it, m'Lord," said the inspector. 
 
 Hanging on the wall were a magazine rifle and 
 two shotguns with their barrels cut short to spread 
 buck-shot. All along one side of the room were 
 the burglar alarums which the wires in the hall set 
 ringing. 
 
 We came out and explored the other rooms. 
 One was a kitchen with a gas-stove in it, kept very 
 clean; another was a library with shelves and 
 shelves full of French and Spanish novels; another 
 was a bathroom. The room beyond the bathroom 
 was a storeroom full of tinned meats, soups, vege- 
 tables and milks enough to have fed an expedition 
 to the South Pole. The next room was a larder 
 full of hams, sides of bacon, cheeses, dried tongues
 
 212 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 and salt butter. The last room was a cellar full 
 of champagne, burgundy, port and old brandy. 
 
 On the floor of the cellar lay a smashed bottle 
 of burgundy with a little wine still in the bottom 
 of it. It looked to me as if my tenant might have 
 dropped that bottle when the snake bit him. I 
 took one of the long laths on which the rows of 
 bottles lay, from one of the bins, and poked under 
 the bottles, and rapped here and there. Presently 
 I heard a rustle. I stepped back and dropped on 
 one knee. That was no use, and I lay down flat 
 on the floor. The bottom row of bottles was not 
 above six inches from the floor, and it was dark 
 under it. I peered about; presently I fancied 
 I saw something move, and fired at a venture and 
 sprang to my feet. There was a noise of thrash- 
 ing and a snake came squirming out. I fired the 
 other barrel into it and cut it into strips. I have 
 no doubt that it was the snake which had bitten 
 Vicenti. 
 
 There was nothing more I could do and I went 
 home to bed, leaving Number 16 in the hands of the 
 police. I was some time getting to sleep, for I 
 could not help trying to puzzle out the explanation 
 of Vicenti's barricading himself in his house.
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 213 
 
 There was no doubt that with all these provisions 
 he could have stood a two or three years' siege. 
 With those barricades the house could not be car- 
 ried by assault not by fifty men. He could prob- 
 ably have shot as many as that before they got 
 through the first barricade. I wondered and won- 
 dered who his enemies were. I wondered how they 
 had found out that the house was not empty; I 
 wondered what part the pretty girl with the brown 
 velvety eyes had played in the business. I did not 
 think that it was a small one. 
 
 The papers were quiet till the inquest; then they 
 were noisy enough. They found plenty of answers 
 to the questions the case raised. They found too 
 many. Some said that Vicenti had fallen a victim 
 to the vengeance of the Camorra; others of the 
 Mafia; others of the Black Hand; others of the 
 Russian Revolutionaries. Others again suggested 
 that he had had some valuable jewels in the house, 
 and that as soon as his enemies were sure that the 
 snakes had done their work, they would have come 
 in the daytime, killed the snakes, searched the house 
 at their leisure and carried off the jewels. They 
 could not all be right; though they could all be 
 wrong; and all of them were quite sure that a
 
 214 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 mystery that must be known to so many people 
 would soon be solved. It was not. 
 
 The inquest was adjourned, and presently the 
 newspapers let the matter drop and I was no longer 
 pestered by reporters wanting to interview me about 
 how I felt during what the placards called 
 "PEER'S HEROIC SNAKE-HUNT." For weeks 
 my friends called me "Heroic Snake-Hunter." 
 
 The police, however, did not let the matter drop ; 
 they were hunting among the snake-dealers, Jam- 
 rach and the rest, for the man who had bought the 
 snakes. They got on his track easily enough. He 
 was plainly the young Spanish collector who had 
 bought them for his collection, as he put it. But 
 the police did not find the young Spanish collector. 
 The other chance of getting to the bottom of the 
 business was to find the pretty girl who had told 
 me that she was Vicenti's niece. I grew very tired 
 of detectives calling to see me with photographs 
 of all the female scum of Europe and the Americas, 
 on the chance that I might recognize one of them 
 as her. 
 
 It was not the slightest use my telling them 
 that she was quite all right a lady, and not an 
 adventuress at all. The other odd thing was, that
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 215 
 
 though Viceiiti was worth nearly a million, no heirs 
 turned up to claim the money. The police could 
 not discover anything about him, neither who he 
 was nor what his business had been. 
 
 Then I met the pretty girl on the Lawn at 
 Ascot. 
 
 She was wearing a charming frock what they 
 call a confection evidently from Paris; and there 
 wasn't a doubt that she was one of the prettiest 
 women at the meeting. She was talking to a tall, 
 sallow, black-bearded man when my eyes fell on 
 her. I stared at her, very naturally, trying to make 
 up my mind what to do; then she saw me. She 
 looked at me quietly enough and said something 
 to the tall man; he turned and looked at me too. 
 Then she left him, came across the Lawn to me, and 
 held out her hand. 
 
 "How do you do, Lord Garthoyle?" she said, 
 with a charming smile. "I knew that we should 
 meet zooner or later." 
 
 "How do you do?" I said, shaking her hand. 
 "I have been hoping we should meet ever since the 
 evening you called on your uncle in Garthoyle 
 Gardens." 
 
 "Zo have the poleece, I believe," she said, with
 
 216 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 another charming smile, and she led the way out 
 of the crowd to a couple of chairs beside a little 
 table. 
 
 We looked at each other, and she said: "I 
 moost introduce myself. I am the Senora Car- 
 valho. My husband ees ze Colombian Ambas- 
 sador. Was eet not strange about my oncle your 
 tenant of Number 16? He was not my oncle truly. 
 Oh, no. He was El Caballo." 
 
 "Was he?/' said I, though I had never heard of 
 El Caballo in my life. 
 
 "Yes; sometime een Colombia zey call heem ze 
 'Black President'; sometime ze 'Red President.' 
 He was president for four monz. And what a 
 horror! He was a murderer and brigand at first; 
 and when he was president he was vorse oh, mooch 
 vorse. He robbed and murdered and tortured not 
 only hees enemies, but also hees own party." She 
 paused; she was not smiling now; then she added 
 slowly: "He shot my fazer and my brozer a 
 leetle boy of twelve." 
 
 "The hound!" I said. 
 
 "My mozer was zere and I. I was nine years 
 old. My mozer died veree soon. At the end of
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 217 
 
 four monz, he disappeared, ze president suddenly. 
 We zought zat he had been killed quietly and 
 buried, zough eet was strange zat nobody could 
 find ze money he had stolen. People talked about 
 heem for years when I was a child. Zen zey forgot 
 heem. Eight monz ago I recognized heem in 
 Piccadilly. He was veree different oh, yes, veree 
 different. But I knew heem right zere. He did 
 not know me; and I followed heem to hees house 
 een Garthoyle Gardens." 
 
 "I see," I said. 
 
 "Zome of my friends came from Colombia 
 zons of murdered fazers. Zey coom quickly. But 
 zomehow he learned zat zey had coom. We do not 
 know how he learnt eet, but he knew why zey had 
 coom. He shut up hees house; and we zought zat 
 he had gone away. We could not find out where 
 he had gone; but we waited. Always one or ze 
 ozer watch ze house. But he nevaire came. Zen 
 one of my coosins een ze beeg garden een ze meedle, 
 on a hot day, saw a what would you call eet? 
 he saw ze heat twinkle above a chimney. Zo we 
 know zat he was zere. Zen another coosin got into 
 ze house from ze back, and found ze barricade. He
 
 218 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 tooched a wire een ze hall; and ze bell rang. El 
 Caballo fired at heem, and heet heem in ze shoulder, 
 but my coosin got out of ze house. We did not 
 know what to do. Zen I planned ze snakes. I saw 
 zem een a book, an Eengleesh book called Ze Skip- 
 'per*s Wooing, but only one snake was een ze book. 
 We got more snakes, to make sure. My coosin 
 bought zem and went quickly out of England. Zen 
 we poot zem in ze house." 
 
 "I'm jolly glad you got him the hound wanted 
 killing off," I said. 
 
 "Ah, you onderstand," she said, with a little 
 sigh of relief. "And my friends have gone back 
 to Colombia, and my husband he does not know. 
 An Ambassador should not know zese zings." 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "But eet ees strange zat ze police know nozing 
 nozing at all?" she said anxiously. 
 
 "They will never know anything about it, or 
 about any one connected with it. I'm quite sure 
 of that. The brute wanted killing off," I said 
 firmly. 
 
 "Zank you," she said, and she smiled. "I knew 
 zat a gentleman would onderstand." 
 
 I thought for a moment and then I said: "He
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 219 
 
 must have turned pretty cold when you hammered 
 at the door that night." 
 
 "I zought of zat," she said. And she laughed 
 the soft, queer, uncomfortable little laugh. "But 
 coom, let me introduce you to my husband."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 
 
 WE soon found Senor Carvalho; and she 
 introduced me to him. He seemed rather 
 grave and solemn I thought too grave and solemn 
 for her. We had tea together and talked about 
 the racing and the theaters. I came away from 
 the meeting very pleased to have learned the 
 solution of the snake mystery. But I could not 
 expect to let Number 16 for some time, not while 
 the murder was fresh in people's minds. They 
 would always be expecting that if they took it, 
 Vicenti's ghost would walk. However, I had the 
 house painted and the windows cleaned, so that it 
 ceased to be an eyesore; and that was very satis- 
 factory. 
 
 But things always come in battalions, as I believe 
 Shakespeare pointed out ; and presently I had Clipp 
 on my hands. I do not know whether it is part 
 
 220
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 221 
 
 of the duty of the ordinary house-agent to look 
 after the respectability of the houses he lets; but 
 every one seems to expect me to look after the re- 
 spectability of the Gardens. Indeed, the way my 
 tenants worry me with fussy letters generally, makes 
 me inclined to agree with those Socialist beggars 
 who say. that everybody ought to work. I wish 
 my tenants worked I should like to give some of 
 them hard labor, and their wives too. Then they 
 would have something ejse to do but worry me. 
 
 After the way I had dealt with the hieroglyphics 
 in his porch, Sir Marmaduke Ponderbury had 
 stopped his everlasting letters. I think he had 
 grown a bit timid of me. But with tenants it 
 seems to me that when one is down, another comes 
 up. And Sir Nugent Clipp began to make a bigger 
 nuisance of himself than old Ponderbury had ever 
 done. We call him Nugget Clipp, because he is the 
 meanest man in London. 
 
 Most of my tenants kick at spending money on 
 their houses, though they rent them on repairing 
 leases; but it seemed to be Nugget's idea not to 
 spend a single penny on his, but to get me to do 
 all the spending for him. I was always getting 
 letters from him his butler brought them round to
 
 222 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 save the postage calling on me to make some re- 
 pair that was entirely his business. When I re- 
 fused, he would write again and again, repeating 
 the demand. That was annoying enough; but he 
 did not stop at letters. When he saw that it was 
 no use writing he would get the work done and tell 
 the man who did it to send the bill in to me. Then 
 there was a correspondence with the tradesman. I 
 said again and again (Jack Thurman and Miss 
 Wishart must have grown tired of hearing me say 
 it) that what Nugget wanted was his neck wring- 
 ing. Accounts are nuisance enough in all conscience 
 without their being muddled up by tricks like Clipp's. 
 
 Besides, thanks to his stinginess, his house was 
 the worst kept and the dingiest in the Gardens. 
 After I had painted Number 16 I took good care to 
 point this out to him in letter after letter, request- 
 ing him to have it painted, or to have the paint 
 washed, or to have his window-boxes trimmed, or 
 his awnings cleaned. 
 
 One way and another I was not on good terms 
 with him, though I carried on all my correspondence 
 with him through Garth and Thurman; for, in 
 spite of this, he never saw me without trying to get 
 some repair or other out of me. I have seen his
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 223 
 
 whiskers positively bristle with eagerness to touch 
 me for three-and-sixpence. I was always very 
 short and frequently nasty with him not that that 
 stopped him having another try next time he came 
 across me. It was a blessing I could spot him a 
 long way off. He is a short, dapper, whiskered 
 little man, with pale blue eyes, which in some lights 
 are yellow like a cat's; and he has a habit of wearing 
 tweed suits, very badly cut, of a large black-and- 
 white check. No one has ever seen him in any- 
 thing else ; and they have a theory at the Palladium 
 that many years ago he bought a thousand yards of 
 that tweed, cheap, off a bankrupt, and has it made 
 up into suits by a village tailor, when once a year 
 he has braced himself up to spending half-a-sov- 
 ereign on clothes. I have no doubt that that is the 
 fact of the matter; and I am glad of it; often and 
 often, as I bolted round a corner or into a cab, have 
 I blessed his taste in dress, which enabled me to 
 recognize him so far off. 
 
 When I heard that he was going abroad for two 
 months to escape his annual attack of hay-fever, 
 I was pleased. I was in the office when Jack told 
 me; and I shouted with joy and danced something 
 like the Highland fling, much to the surprise of
 
 224 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Miss Wishart, who, I fancy, still believes that peers 
 go in for calm repose. 
 
 I had the good luck to be present at Nugget's 
 departure. He stood on the pavement, having an 
 altercation with the driver of a four-wheeler about 
 the fare to Liverpool Street. It had become an 
 altercation when I came up; and Nugget, who was 
 purple in the face, appealed to me. He said the 
 fare was eighteenpence ; the cabman said it was two 
 shillings. 
 
 I said it was half-a-crown. ' 
 
 Nugget nearly burst all over the pavement. He 
 called me an extravagant waster, told the cabman 
 he would give him two shillings and jumped into 
 the cab. 
 
 I put my head in at the window and said: 
 "Another time you ask me to do you a service, 
 Clipp, I shall simply refuse." 
 
 Nugget stuck his purple face into mine and 
 howled: "Service! Service! A fine service! Six- 
 pence is what asking your opinion has cost me. I 
 don't believe you know anything about it!" 
 
 He was quite right I did not know anything 
 about it; but I was hardly going to lose the chance 
 of brightening Nugget's last hours in England for
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 225 
 
 want of a little expert knowledge. I was pleased 
 to have done it ; but I was a great deal more pleased 
 to have seen the last of him for the next two 
 months. 
 
 I met Brookes on his beat three nights later; 
 and I was not at all surprised to learn from him that 
 Nugget had simply shut up his house and left no 
 caretaker in charge of it. I could have betted that 
 he had economized in that way. Then, only a 
 week later I was disgusted to see the well-known 
 check which covered him in the porch of Number 3. 
 I hoped that it had been a hallucination; but 
 next morning some of the blinds were drawn, and 
 there was no doubt that he had returned to his 
 house and his hay-fever. 
 
 That evening I was strolling past his house when 
 he came down the steps with a kit-bag in his hand. 
 
 "Evening, Nugget sorry to see that your travels 
 have come to an end so soon," I said. 
 
 Nugget sneezed three timeS and said in a splut- 
 tering croak : "Who said they had come to an 
 end? Ah-tish-oo! Ah-tish-oo! Ah-tish-oo !" 
 
 "Well, it's a pity that they have been interrupted 
 for I can see that the hay- fever has got hold of 
 you," said I.
 
 226 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Yes; it has confound it!" croaked Nugget; 
 and he sneezed again. "Bud I'b off agaid next 
 week ged rid of id in Idaly." 
 
 "Well, I hope you'll arrange to have your window- 
 boxes kept clean while you're away." 
 
 "Sha'd spent a penny on them nod a penny," 
 said Nugget. 
 
 "Well, I'll have them kept tidy for you, send 
 you in the bill and sue you for it. Good night," 
 I said cheerfully; and I strolled on, leaving him 
 spluttering and sneezing. 
 
 It seemed likely that a man with such a stiff 
 dose of hay-fever on him would not write any more 
 letters than he was obliged; and Nugget did not. 
 I saw him twice during the next three days, in the 
 evening; and every time he was dragging that kit- 
 bag with him. I wondered if he kept it with him 
 in case he might be able to dash off at a moment's 
 notice to Italy. Hay-fever like that would make 
 any one be prepared to bucket off instantly, if he 
 got the chance, without waiting to go home and 
 pack. 
 
 Then to my intense surprise I found him at one 
 of Scruton's baccarat parties, playing hard. I was
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 227 
 
 not the only surprised one there; two men told 
 me that they had never known Nugget would stake 
 a penny on a game of any kind; and one of them 
 suggested that the hay- fever had flown to his brain. 
 We kept on stopping our play to watch him. He 
 was playing very cautiously; and he sniffed and 
 sneezed steadily without a break; and when he lost 
 he spluttered. 
 
 I played for a good while because the piebald 
 duke, Sir Theobald Walsh, and Le Quesne were 
 sitting around Alice Devine talking to her; and 
 general conversation was not what I wanted. But 
 when they came to the table, I left it and went to 
 her. 
 
 "You seem to have been having a regular con- 
 ference," I said, as I sat down. 
 
 "We've been talking about my uncle's new guest, 
 Sir Nugent Clipp," she said. 
 
 "I'll bet anything they weren't lavishing compli- 
 ments on him," I said. 
 
 "Oh, no; they all said he was the meanest man 
 in London; and they were telling me mean things 
 he had done. Some of them were very funny," 
 said Alice, smiling.
 
 228 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "We all love Clipp," I said. 
 
 "Then I'm sure he doesn't deserve it," she said. 
 "But why does he make up?" 
 
 "Make up?" said I. "Nugget isn't made up." 
 
 "Oh, yes, he is," she said firmly. 
 
 "Then Nugget must be going in for a beauty- 
 show; anything to turn an honest penny. Nugget 
 loves it." 
 
 "I don't know about that," said Alice. "But 
 his face is certainly painted the wrinkles round 
 his eyes would be ever so much deeper if he hadn't 
 partly painted them out." 
 
 "Oh, I must look into this," I said. "Nugget's 
 one of my tenants. I can't have my tenants im- 
 proving nature, though there is a lot of room for it 
 in Nugget's case. Come along, let's go and take 
 a look at him from close to." We rose and went to 
 the table, and pretending to watch the game, sidled 
 up behind Nugget. I looked and looked, but I 
 could not see any make-up. His wrinkles looked 
 real enough to me. We came back to our chairs 
 and sat down. 
 
 "Well?" said Alice. 
 
 "I can't see it," I said. "His wrinkles look 
 natural enough to me. There's no paint."
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 229 
 
 "But there is," said Alice. 
 
 "I tell you what, the wrinkles may look painted 
 because the dear old Nugget has been economizing 
 in the matter of soap," I said. 
 
 "Men do say horrid things about one another," 
 said Alice. 
 
 "Yes; it's jealousy Nugget's pretty whiskers," 
 I said. 
 
 "But it is paint," said Alice obstinately. 
 
 We argued the matter for some time, discussing 
 who had the better eyesight. Then we stopped 
 talking about Nugget and talked of pleasanter 
 things. Then she slipped away to bed. I went 
 back to the card-table and played steadily. 
 
 When the party broke up, Nugget was almost 
 in tears not hay- fever tears, but the other kind 
 tears from the heart. He whined and spluttered, 
 and spluttered and whined, because he had lost 
 eighteen pounds. No one seemed the slightest bit 
 sorry for him. 
 
 The next night I v/as motoring off to a dance at 
 about ten o'clock, when I passed Nugget in a four- 
 wheeler with a big portmanteau on the top of it; 
 and I thought that losing eighteen pounds had been 
 too much for him and driven him off again on
 
 230 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 his travels. But next morning I was again dis- 
 appointed, for I saw that Number 3 was still in- 
 habited. 
 
 That evening I was strolling round the Gardens, 
 smoking a cigar after dinner, when I came upon 
 Brookes and stopped to talk to him. He takes a 
 great interest in the affairs of the inhabitants of 
 the Gardens; and since he is a great favorite with 
 the maids on his beat, he knows a great deal about 
 them. Of course one should not talk to a police- 
 man about one's tenants, but then they were 
 Brookes's only topic of conversation; and I gener- 
 ally pulled him up when his gossip grew scandalous. 
 
 In the middle of our talk he said: "I hear as 
 Sir Nugent Clipp is goin' orf again. An' las' 
 night I seed him drive off, with his portmanteau, 
 in a four-wheeler a four-wheeler always seems to 
 be 'is fancy. I thought 'e'd gorn; but 'e was back 
 there this morninV 
 
 "He's a long time getting started," said I. 
 
 "I do wish, m'Lord, as you'd tell 'im 'e ought ter 
 leave a caretaker in that 'ouse. These big 'ouses 
 can't be properly watched from the outside. There's 
 so many ways of gettin' into 'em," said Brookes 
 rather anxiously.
 
 231 
 
 "If I come across him again before he starts, I 
 will. But I don't think it's much use, because he 
 hates spending money," I said. 
 
 " 'E's an economical gentleman," said Brookes. 
 
 I bade him good night and strolled on. 
 
 It was two days later that the first Clipp scandal, 
 not the great one, occurred ; and it was at Scruton's. 
 Clipp was there again, playing away; and I took 
 it that he had come after his eighteen pounds. I 
 hoped he would not recover them. 
 
 I did not see anything of his play during the 
 earlier part of the evening, though I noticed that 
 his hay-fever made him a perfect nuisance with his 
 sniffing and sneezing to the people near him. I 
 was busy talking to Alice after a little trouble with 
 that hulking brute Sir Theobald Walsh. He tried 
 to monopolize her; and I tried to too I did it. 
 I think she rather enjoyed having us snap at each 
 other about her; and it was very natural a 
 pretty girl does. When she went to bed, I went 
 to the card-table, sat down, and punted gently. 
 
 Nugget was still sniffing and sneezing away, and 
 presently he croaked that he would take the bank; 
 and he took it. The luck had been against it most 
 of the evening; but now it turned. Nugget began
 
 232 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 to win; and he went on winning. Soon, too, most 
 of the 'men were betting heavily, more heavily than 
 usual; all of them were burning to take it out of 
 Nugget. Nugget made them worse; he had a nasty 
 sneering chuckle when he won that would have 
 aggravated a saint into staking his last farthing. 
 He did not aggravate me; for I could not see my- 
 self letting the dear old whiskered chap have my 
 money. I went on punting gently just enough 
 to give me an interest in the game and no more. 
 
 The bank had won about six thousand when Le 
 Quesne, who sat opposite to me, gave me half a 
 wink and shook his head. What Le Quesne doesn't 
 know about cards is not worth knowing. I took it 
 as a notice to stop; and I stopped. Le Quesne 
 got up, went to the side-table and poured himself 
 out a brandy-and-soda. I joined him and did the 
 same. 
 
 "I say, Garthoyle, did it ever strike you that Nug- 
 get wasn't on the square?" he said in a low voice. 
 
 "No I don't know. I never thought about it. 
 Of course he's desperately mean," I said. 
 
 "Yes; that's what I should have said just 
 mean," said Le Quesne.
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 233 
 
 "And mean men don't often stay on the square," 
 I said. "But why? What's the matter?" 
 
 "I swear that I saw his fingers twinkle twice. 
 And I'm as quick at seeing fingers twinkle as most 
 men, for I've played in queer company oftener than 
 most. Of course, I may be wrong. Perhaps it's 
 liver." 
 
 He walked across the room, looked at the whites 
 of his eyes in a mirror, and came back to me. 
 
 "You must be wrong," I said. "It's nonsense 
 to suppose that Nugget has suddenly blossomed into 
 a card-sharper. Why, it takes years of practise." 
 
 "It does. But after all, none of us knows how 
 Nugget spends his time. He doesn't hunt; he 
 doesn't shoot; he doesn't even play golf; and he 
 never goes racing. Of course, he collects things 
 china and so on but that doesn't take up much 
 of a man's time. He may have been spending two 
 or three hours a day for years, preparing this little 
 treat for us." 
 
 "He must spend a deuce of a lot of his time sav- 
 ing money," said I. 
 
 "He may have been spending it getting ready to 
 earn a little off us," said Le Quesne. "Come along
 
 234 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 and have a look yourself. You may see something, 
 and you may not. It takes a practised eye. Every 
 year for a month I hire a* conjurer to do card tricks 
 before me for an hour every day just to keep my 
 eye bright" 
 
 "Then you ought to be able to see fingers 
 twinkle," I said; and we went back to the table. 
 
 I confined myself to betting an occasional 
 sovereign, and I watched with all my eyes. The 
 bank went on winning; but I saw nothing. When 
 it had won about nine thousand, the seasoned 
 punters seemed to make up their minds at about the 
 same time that they were up against a phenomenal 
 run, and they dropped out as far, that is, as serious 
 betting went. Two or three of the younger men 
 went on merrily, and, of course, the piebald duke 
 plunged steadily away. Nugget sniffed and sneezed, 
 and sniggered and sneered, and won and won. The 
 duke dropped two thousands running, and then he 
 seemed to have had enough for the evening. He 
 stopped and the game petered out. Nugget had won 
 nearly twelve thousand on one bank. 
 
 He was gathering up the last lot of notes, and 
 everybody was talking cursing their luck chiefly; 
 Nugget had a sneezing fit, and I saw Le Quesne slide
 
 ,THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 235 
 
 a dozen cards off the table with his left hand and 
 slip them into his trousers pocket. We broke up, 
 discussing the bank's run. 
 
 Next morning I was just finishing my breakfast 
 when Richards ushered in Le Quesne. We greeted 
 each other; he sat down, lighted a cigar and took 
 a handful of playing-cards out of his pocket. 
 
 "I've found out how the good Nugget rooked us 
 last night," said he. 
 
 "It was rooking, was it?" said I. 
 
 "Rather! If you come to think of it, a red-eyed 
 man, with hay-fever on him, couldn't be so lucky as 
 that. Take a look at the corner of these cards 
 through this glass and feel them," he said; and 
 he handed me the cards and a magnify ing-glass. 
 
 It was small, but it was very powerful. I looked 
 at the corner of the cards through it and saw quite 
 plainly two little dints I should think they had 
 been made with the point of a pin in the corner of 
 each eight and nine. I could feel them, too, but not 
 very distinctly. 
 
 "Well, this is thick," I said. 
 
 "Isn't it? Nugget must have been getting ready 
 for us for years dear old Nugget," said Le 
 Quesne.
 
 236 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "But Scruton's parties have only been going on 
 for a few months," I said. 
 
 "Nugget would have found his chance somewhere 
 else, all right," said Le Quesne. "You can see how 
 it was done; the first time he went to Scruton's, he 
 sneaked a pack of Scruton's cards; last night he in- 
 serted his postlche and scooped up twelve thousand. 
 And his patter was so good that sniffing and 
 sneezing would have put any one off the scent." 
 
 "He has a nerve," I said. "I should never have 
 dreamt that dear old Nugget had a nerve like that. 
 It was deucedly lucky that you caught him out first 
 time. He might have touched us for sixty or sev- 
 enty thousand before the rest of us tumbled to it." 
 
 "Yes; and what's to be done now?" said Le 
 Quesne. 
 
 "Make him disgorge, I suppose," I said. 
 
 "I can't see Nugget disgorging sixpence, much 
 less twelve thousand," said Le Quesne. "And we 
 can't show him up; he's related to all of us." 
 
 "Not to me, thank goodness !" I said. 
 
 "Ah, you were born lucky," said Le Quesne. 
 "But he's related to the rest of us." 
 
 "Poor beggars !" said I. 
 
 "It seems to me that the only thing to do is to pass
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 237 
 
 the word round quietly, and he won't get another 
 chance of rooking us, though perhaps you ought to 
 have it out with him," said Le Quesne. 
 
 "Me? Why me?" said I. 
 
 "Well, he's living in one of your houses. You 
 ought not to allow your tenants to cheat at cards/' 
 said Le Quesne. 
 
 "Me look after the morals of my tenants two 
 thousand a year tenants? Not much! It's quite 
 enough to look after their money their rent. Look 
 here, Le Quesne, you must be drunk it's too early 
 in the morning to be mad." 
 
 "Well, you ought. He lives in one of your 
 houses," Le Quesne said obstinately. 
 
 "I'm his landlord not his pastor. Do I look like 
 his pastor? I ask you do I?" I said; and I was 
 getting rather hot about it. 
 
 "No perhaps you don't," said Le Quesne, as if 
 he were not so sure about it. 
 
 "I'm not, anyway," I said. "No; all we can do is 
 to pass the word round quietly to one man at a 
 time. We don't want dear old Nugget falling over 
 us with a libel action. You couldn't make him dis- 
 gorge sixpence you said so yourself." 
 
 Le Quesne shook his head and looked sad.
 
 238 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 We sealed up the cards in an envelope, along with 
 a short statement signed by both of us, that they had 
 been taken from the pack with which Nugget had 
 conducted his bank. Dealing with contracts for 
 work in the Gardens had made me quite good at 
 drawing up statements. Then Le Quesne went 
 away, still sad. 
 
 During the next day or two I told several of the 
 men who played at Scruton's about Le Quesne's 
 discovery, and they all agreed that we could not 
 have an open row. Of course, I did not tell Scrnton 
 himself; he was not related to Nugget he was a 
 millionaire. He would be sure to make a fuss. 
 Millionaires are not used to being done in the eye 
 like we are. 
 
 But though I had told Le Quesne that I was not 
 going to tackle Nugget, it was not quite my idea to 
 lose the chance of getting at him when I had a 
 business like this to hit him with. Two or three 
 days later I met him in the gardens, stopped him, 
 and said to him : "I say, Clipp, the next time you 
 take a bank at baccarat, you should try not to leave 
 your postichc behind you." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean!" he spluttered. 
 
 "Well, don't," I said, and I went on.
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 239 
 
 He did not come to Scruton's next party, and I 
 took it that he had taken the hint. It was broad 
 enough. 
 
 The very next afternoon after that party the great 
 Clipp scandal began. I happened to be talking to 
 Alice Devine in the central garden after lunch, when 
 there came out of Nugget's porch a very odd-looking 
 pair. They looked as if they had got sorted wrong. 
 One of them was a lady in the bluest blue frock I 
 have ever seen; the other was Nugget in the well- 
 known tweed suit. Both of them were bare-headed, 
 and the lady's very golden hair shone in the sun- 
 light like the best brass. Nugget was smoking a 
 cigar with a rich-looking gold band round it; and 
 the lady was smoking a cigarette. 
 
 When they came into the garden, I just turned 
 stiff on the seat. It was a good job I was not stand- 
 ing up; if I had been I should have fallen down 
 right there. From some distance I gathered from 
 her voice that the lady was American, and when 
 they passed me, I recognized Cora Cray, the leading 
 lady in The Buffalo Belle. And oh, she did look 
 out of place in Garthoyle Gardens ! 
 
 "What a curious-looking person," said Alice. 
 
 "Shines nicely," I said faintly; and I gathered
 
 240 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 from her tone how truly Nugget had put the fat in 
 the fire. 
 
 "She seems to have a very odd taste in dress," 
 said Alice, and though it was a blazing hot day, the 
 words fell from her lips like icicles. 
 
 "And hair," said I. 
 
 "Yes; and hair," said Alice. 
 
 "She's Cora Cray; and she acts in that American 
 thing, The Buffalo Belle" 
 
 "Of course, I know now," cried Alice. "She is 
 the 'Buffalo Belle'; and she sings in a voice like 
 breaking coals. But what's she doing here? It's 
 rather funny." 
 
 It might be, but I could not see it. 
 
 "Nugget's American cousin," I said. 
 
 "That's rather funny, too," said Alice. 
 
 I couldn't see the fun of that, either; and as the 
 afternoon wore on, I saw it less and less. The Colo- 
 rado beauty seemed to have a thinning effect on the 
 garden. You can see into it very plainly from the 
 houses; and that more than sky-blue dress caught 
 the eye. Nugget had not the sense to plant the lady 
 in a secluded spot and keep her there. He was 
 rather displaying his prize. As she went about, 
 footmen came hurrying into the garden, and each
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 241 
 
 of them went out of it conducting a nurse, or two 
 nurses, and a set of children to the unspotted home. 
 
 I knew that there would be trouble, and sure 
 enough by the first post of next morning came eleven 
 letters, marked "Private," all of them calling on me 
 to keep Miss Cora Cray out of the central garden 
 and save my tenants' children from contamination. 
 I should say that every single letter was libelous, for 
 there is nothing against Miss Cora Cray except her 
 hair. I wrote in reply to the letters that the matter 
 should receive my attention. I did not think it at 
 all likely that the lady would be lunching with Nug- 
 get again for a long time; he would never bring 
 himself to spend money on another meal for her 
 for months. But it chanced that after I had finished 
 my morning's work in connection with the Gardens, 
 I went out on the balcony, and across the garden 
 I saw something blue. I dashed for my glasses and 
 turned them on it. I nearly fell off the balcony 
 it was Cora Cray. She must be staying at Number 
 3. She was sitting on its balcony beside the broad- 
 checked Nugget, and both of them were smoking. 
 
 They sat there all the rest of the morning, shining 
 and smoking. At intervals drinks were brought out 
 to them, and once the bright-blue Cora raised her
 
 242 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 voice in song and produced the sound of breaking 
 coals. Two or three times a robust female in black 
 came out on the balcony, talked to them for a 
 while and went in again. My glasses showed me 
 that the robust female was what Cora calls her 
 "Mommer" in the touching Colorado way. I had 
 heard her do it at a supper-party with which she 
 had sat at a table next mine at the Savoy one 
 night. 
 
 For about an hour before lunch footmen brought 
 notes to me. My tenants wanted to know how long 
 their delicate eyes were to be offended by the sight 
 of the Colorado beauty. I told Mo wart to pack me 
 clothes for a fortnight in Paris, and he was about 
 half-way through it, when Lady Gargery called. 
 
 I was in for it. Not to put too fine a point on it, 
 Lady Gargery is the terror, the moral terror, of 
 Garthoyle Gardens. She is the widow of Gargery, 
 Blossom and Company, the great butter company; 
 she is on the committee of all the societies and 
 leagues for minding other people's business that ever 
 were; and she is very important indeed among the 
 Anti-Suffragettes. Besides all that, she is said to 
 have the keenest nose for scandal of any woman 
 in London. My tenants call her "Mouser." It is
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 243 
 
 only natural that she should make it her business 
 to keep the Gardens straight. I dare say they are 
 awfully obliged to her. 
 
 When Richards told me she had come to see me, I 
 realized I ought to have run for my life directly I 
 caught sight of that infernal blue dress, and picked 
 up Mowart and my clothes at the station. But it 
 was too late now ; and I went gloomi.ly down to the 
 drawing-room to hear Lady Gargery pour out her 
 righteous indignation. 
 
 There is a kind of richness about Lady Gargery. 
 She has a rich ripe figure, broad, square and thick; 
 and her broad square face is a rich crimson. I don't 
 know whether she tries, but she never seems to be 
 able to find a dress to match it. Also she had a deep 
 rich voice, which so Brookes, who has heard her 
 speak at a demonstration in Hyde Park, told me ' 
 carries very well in the open air. In a room it 
 rather booms. 
 
 "Good morning, Lord Garthoyle," she boomed 
 when I came into the drawing-room. "This is a 
 terrible thing a very terrible thing." 
 
 I had my eye-glass in my eye and my mouth well 
 open defensively, and I drawled: "I suppose you 
 mean Sir Nugent Clipp's little game?"
 
 244 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Little game? 'Little' game, Lord Garthoyle?" 
 she boomed. "If you call flaunting an abandoned 
 Colorado actress before the eyes of a respectable 
 neighborhood like Garthoyle Gardens a 'little' game, 
 your idea of smallness differs very considerably 
 from mine." 
 
 "But Miss Cray isn't abandoned, don't you know ? 
 She's a most respectable young woman. I've been 
 told so again and again," I said. 
 
 "She is an American. That is quite enough for 
 me/' boomed Lady Gargery. 
 
 "Oh, but there are quite decent Americans. I've 
 met them," said I. 
 
 "With that hair?" she boomed. 
 
 "Oh, well, that hair now it's quite common in 
 Colorado hair like that," I said. 
 
 "So I am given to understand is peroxide of brass. 
 There are mines of it there. It is no use your trying 
 to make excuses for this person. I am not to be 
 imposed upon, Lord Garthoyle," she boomed 
 
 "But what she calls her 'Mortimer 5 is also staying 
 at Sir Nugent Clipp's," I said. 
 
 "We know all about that kind of mother hired, 
 Lord Garthoyle hired," Lady Gargery boomed. 
 
 "They're as like as two pins, barring their hair
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 245 
 
 and their ages. They look exactly like mother and 
 daughter," I said 
 
 "It's no use your trying to throw dust in my eyes, 
 Lord Garthoyle. I have had too wide an experience. 
 I am here to do my duty to call on you to do 
 yours," she boomed more richly than ever. "I have 
 come to call upon you to free Garthoyle Gardens 
 from the presence of this person to remove her at 
 once." 
 
 "But hang it all " 
 
 "There is no need to swear act! act!" she in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 "I'm not swearing, but how am I to act? It's not 
 my business to remove her, it's Sir Nugent Clipp's ; 
 I've no control over her, or him." 
 
 "You're his landlord." 
 
 "Yes, but a landlord isn't a spiritual director. I 
 haven't any power over him of any kind," I said. 
 
 "It's your house. Turn her out of it," boomed 
 J-ady Gargery. 
 
 "I can't I haven't the power," I said sharply; 
 for she was beginning to get on my nerves. 
 
 "You can't? You mean you won't, Lord Gar- 
 thoyle. I see what it is I suspected it. You sym- 
 pathize with this libertine. Are you or are you not
 
 246 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 going to purge Gartholye Gardens of this abomi- 
 nable scandal?" she boomed in a perfectly awful 
 voice. 
 
 "I couldn't if I tried, don't you know?" I drawled. 
 "And anyhow it isn't the kind of thing for a young 
 bachelor like me to interfere with. It's a matter for 
 a woman a well-grown woman," I said. 
 
 "Am I to understand that you definitely refuse?" 
 she boomed. 
 
 "Yes, I do. I'm too shy," I said. 
 
 "Very good, Lord Garthoyle very good. I will 
 arrange that all your tenants shall leave in a body as 
 a protest against this disgraceful state of things," 
 she boomed, rising. 
 
 "Well, I shall bear up," I drawjed. "They'll go 
 on paying their rent just the same till their leases 
 are up. And then I shall always get a fresh lot of 
 tenants. All this fuss about a blue frock and yellow 
 hair it's ridiculous." 
 
 "It isn't the hair it's the principle," she boomed; 
 and she sailed out of the room, rustling richly. 
 
 Of course, I was not at all afraid that my tenants 
 would really clear out, though Lady Gargery got 
 furiously to work, and seven of them wrote, threat- 
 ening me that they would go. People don't chuck
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 247 
 
 away two thousand a year for moral reasons. But 
 the Great Clipp Scandal raged; and the Gardens 
 sizzled and sizzled. Lady Gargery went about them 
 in leaps and bounds, exhorting; and I had from 
 thirteen to twenty-two letters of protest every day. 
 I could not understand for the life of me what all 
 the fuss was about. Nugget's Colorado beauty was 
 thickly chaperoned; her "Mommer" was always 
 coming out on the balcony and hovering like a 
 square elephant round the happy pair. If my ten- 
 ants had objected to the Buffalo Belle's habit of 
 breaking coals with her voice, whenever she had a 
 satisfying meal, I could have understood it. But as 
 far as respectability went Nugget had a perfect 
 right to have any musical comedian he liked to stay 
 with him as long as she was properly chaperoned. 
 
 When after a while Lady Gargery and her sup- 
 porters simmered down a little, and merely asked 
 me to remonstrate with Nugget, I refused. I said 
 that if they did not really like the Colorado beauty's 
 hair, they could go and buy themselves some like it. 
 I was not popular for quite a while. But there were 
 at least three of my tenants who adopted my sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 Then Lady Gargery and two unfortunate married
 
 248 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 women she had dragged into it went to Nugget in 
 a lump and remonstrated with him. He more than 
 remonstrated with them; he accused Lady Gargery 
 of having been a persistent suitor for his hand, and 
 of attacking the Colorado beauty a lady of the 
 highest character out of jealousy. The deputation 
 wrote me, calling on me, as their landlord, to horse- 
 whip Nugget. I refused; and the Gardens went on 
 sizzling. 
 
 Then one morning I saw from my balcony that 
 the fair Coloradan had changed frtfm the bright 
 blue frock into a yellow one; and from the notes 
 that were rushed round to me, I gathered that the 
 Gardens were foaming at the mouth. It was quite 
 clear that if the infatuated Nugget did not marry 
 his beauty very soon, I should have to get him shut 
 up in a lunatic asylum. 
 
 The relieving point about this business was that it 
 brightened Scruton's parties enormously; all the men 
 enjoyed their wives' fury so thoroughly. Algernon 
 Hawk made a big book about whether the marriage 
 would come off or not; and the betting was quite 
 interesting. 
 
 Then came the climax; and there were none of 
 those wedding-bells- in it the Gardens expected. I
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 249 
 
 was strolling home to dinner one evening, and as I 
 came to the top of the triangle, Nugget passed me 
 in a taxicab; he waved his hand at me, and grinned 
 as he went by. It was like his cheek, for I had been 
 cutting him ever since his successful evening at 
 baccarat. 
 
 I walked on, confounding his impudence; and at 
 the bottom of the triangle I stopped before crossing 
 the road, to let a four-wheeler go by in the four- 
 wheeler sat Nugget. 
 
 "How how the What the devil?" I mut- 
 tered, quite staggered ; and then in a flash I saw it ; 
 the Nugget who had passed me in the taxicab could 
 not be the Nugget in the four-wheeler. There were 
 two Nuggets. 
 
 The four-wheeler drew up to the curb and 
 stopped; then Nugget's head came out of the win- 
 dow and he bawled: "Garthoyle! Garthoyle!" 
 
 I turned back and went to him. 
 
 "What's this? What's this I hear about some 
 one impersonating me, Garthoyle?" he howled. 
 "Carew met me in Venice and told me that I was 
 in London, and had been in London. But I was 
 in Venice; and I have been in Venice nearly a 
 month."
 
 250 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I stepped close to the cab, thinking of Nugget's 
 little letter-writing ways; and I said gently but 
 firmly: "No, Nugget; you have not been in Venice. 
 You have been here in Garthoyle Gardens, raising 
 every kind of Cain." 
 
 "But I tell you I haven't," he howled. 
 
 "It's no use your telling me you haven't, because 
 you have. You've been here; and you have been 
 caught cheating at baccarat," I said more firmly still. 
 
 "But there are forty people who can swear I have 
 been in Venice!" howled Nugget. 
 
 "There are five hundred and forty who can swear 
 that you've been in Garthoyle Gardens, whiskers, 
 checks and all, outraging our deepest feelings by 
 flaunting a peroxide Colorado beauty in blue and 
 yellow before our chaste eyes from your balcony. 
 We never dreamed you were such a rip." 
 
 "Baccarat? Colorado beauty?" gasped Nugget. 
 
 "Yes; and then you go and tell me that you've 
 been in Venice for nearly a month. Rats ! Nugget ; 
 rats!" 
 
 "I have! I swear I have ! I've plenty of evidence 
 of it heaps! I've been impersonated! Oh, come 
 along with me, and help me look into it," he wailed.
 
 L THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 251 
 
 I jumped into the cab; and we rattled up to Num- 
 ber 3. He paid the cabman what he asked without 
 a word; he let himself into the house with a latch- 
 key. It was very still, there seemed to be no one 
 in it. We went into the dining-room. The lunch 
 had not been cleared from the table. 
 
 "The '92 Pol Roger! Three bottles of it! My 
 best Cabanas! And the Sevres vases! Where are 
 the Sevres vases ?" howled Nugget ; and he dropped 
 into a chair. 
 
 The sham Nugget had had the thought fulness to 
 leave a bottle of old brandy on the table. I poured 
 out half a tumberful and pressed it on the real one. 
 He did not want much pressing; and down it went. 
 
 When it had strengthened him we made a tour 
 of the house. There were gaps on the walls where 
 pictures had been his best pictures. There were 
 gaps in his china-cabinets where china had been 
 his best china; his portfolio of Meryon etchings had 
 gone; so had his old silver the best of it. The 
 sham Nugget may have had a weakness for cheating 
 at cards and for Colorado beauties; he may have 
 had no taste in music; but in the matter of the arts 
 he was a connoisseur.
 
 252 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Nugget was in tears before we reached the first 
 floor. When he saw that his Fragonards had gone 
 from the drawing-room wall, he collapsed. 
 
 I sent for a doctor and the police. The doctor 
 was useful ; he put Nugget to bed. But what could 
 the police do ? The thief had had more than three 
 weeks in which to plunder the house. He had 
 taken his time about it and done it thoroughly. 
 
 We found he had sold his loot always as Sir 
 Nugent Clipp in person ; and he had sold it, not only 
 to dealers, but also to leading collectors, and at top 
 prices. But the police only discovered the where- 
 abouts of about one-sixth of it. The memories of 
 a good many collectors must have been shocking; 
 short as the time was since the transactions, their 
 dealings with the sham Nugget had slipped entirely 
 but of their minds. 
 
 The police hunted for that great connoisseur high 
 and low; and they are hunting still. It seems as if 
 he had worked without an accomplice. The servants 
 he had employed had all come on a temporary en- 
 gagement from the same registry-office. The cab- 
 men who had driven him from Number 3 with his 
 trunk or kit-bag, loaded with spoil, had always 
 driven him to a railway-station and there lost him,
 
 THE GREAT CLIPP SCANDAL 253 
 
 so that there was no finding out half the addresses 
 to which he had carried his spoil. The fair Colo- 
 radan and her "Mommer," while praising his fasci- 
 nating manners so unlike those of the real Nug- 
 get and lavish hospitality, could throw no light on 
 him. They had met him at a supper-party and ac- 
 cepted his invitation to stay with him. They dis- 
 played no sympathy with the real Nugget. They 
 were too much annoyed by the fact that the mar- 
 riage which the fair Coloradan's "Mommer" had 
 arranged between her daughter and the sham Nug- 
 get had fallen through. 
 
 I do not think that any of us will recognize the 
 sham Nugget if we meet him. The real Nugget 
 looks like a caricature, and so did the sham one; 
 
 and the hay- fever made him look more of a carica- 
 
 
 
 ture than ever. It also let him disguise his voice. 
 He is probably a simple, ordinary man with a mus- 
 tache; and we may be seeing him every day. All 
 that the police have got to go on is, that he must 
 have known a great deal about the real Nugget. He 
 must have studied him, but then they discovered 
 that thirty-three valets, butlers and footmen had 
 been discharged, or left situations in the Gardens, 
 during the last three years only. So that is not
 
 254 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 much help. He may have been one of these, or he 
 may not. 
 
 Nugget gets very little sympathy in his loss. All 
 the women insist on reckoning him responsible for 
 the shock of the visit of the fair Coloradan to the 
 Gardens. I say that it serves him right ; a man who 
 wears those whiskers and that broad-checked tweed 
 suit, is a walking temptation to people to imper- 
 sonate him. He ought to get his whiskers shaved 
 and go to a decent tailor.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 
 
 THE Gardens were again at peace. The chil- 
 dren and the nursemaids filled the central 
 garden without fear of being suddenly put to flight 
 by the presence of a fair but bright-blue Coloradan ; 
 and all was well. 
 
 Now the central garden, like the Gardens them- 
 selves, is in the shape of a triangle. There is a 
 gate in the middle of each of the three sides of it, 
 and at each gate is a notice-board informing people 
 that only residents in the Gardens, their families and 
 friends are allowed in it. The gardeners have strict 
 orders to turn strangers out. 
 
 But my Uncle Algernon, though he was a bachelor 
 himself, had a soft place in his heart for young 
 people in love with each other; and he had given 
 instructions to the gardeners not to interfere with 
 pairs of lovers who happened to stray into the gar- 
 den. I let these instructions of his stand, because 
 
 255
 
 256 ALICE DEVINH 
 
 the garden looks more as if it had been laid out for 
 the purpose of love-making than any other place of 
 its kind in London. There are a good many little 
 lawns enclosed by shrubberies in it; and there are 
 nooks in the shrubberies with benches in them. In- 
 deed, I think that on a summer's evening it would 
 look rather incomplete wasted, as- it were without 
 some pairs of lovers in it Pairs of lovers seemed 
 to think the same; and I am bound to say that I have 
 never found it looking incomplete. 
 
 I have never used it for love-making myself. 
 About the only girl I ever talked to in the garden 
 was Alice Devine; and I stuck very firmly to my 
 intention of not letting myself fall in love with her, 
 because of the ghost trick. All the same, I went on 
 finding her prettier and prettier and more and more 
 delightful to talk to. Indeed, I was never able to 
 understand how she came to help Scruton in that 
 little game; for it was quite unlike everything else 
 in her. But she had; and so even if I wanted to 
 make love to her, it made it quite out of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 On the Friday night after the return of Nugget 
 to his looted house, I had arranged to go to a Covent 
 Garden ball. I dined at home, rather late, read a
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 257 
 
 book for an hour, and then went out into the central 
 garden to take a little fresh air, for it was a very 
 hot night. The garden never grows stale, like the 
 rest of London, in the summer, because it is always 
 being watered ; in dry weather, all night long there 
 is a gentle patter of falling water from two or three 
 revolving standards on most of the lawns; and if 
 the moon is shining the sprays sparkle very prettily. 
 
 As I crossed the road to the gate of the garden, 
 which is nearly in front of my own house, I saw a 
 pair of lovers going up the central path of it. At 
 least, I took them for lovers, though perhaps they 
 were walking rather too quickly for people engaged 
 in that occupation. But perhaps they were walking 
 quickly to one of those secluded nooks. The girl 
 was in evening dress, for I saw her shoulders white 
 in the moonlight, and she had a scarf twisted round 
 her head. The man was wearing tweeds and a 
 straw hat. 
 
 At the same time I noticed a man in evening dress 
 coming along the pavement on my left, in a rather 
 slinking way, in the shadow of the trees which hang 
 over the railings on the edge of the garden. I went 
 through the gate and up the central path ; and I had 
 gone thirty or forty yards up it, when I heard his
 
 258 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 feet crunch on the gravel by the garden gate. I 
 looked back to see if it was any one I knew, but a 
 little cloud was passing over the moon and in the 
 dimness he was too far off to recognize. He turned 
 sharply off to the right and passed into a shrubbery 
 out of sight. 
 
 I went on a few yards and sat down on a seat, 
 and lighted a cigarette. I had been sitting there 
 two or three minutes when a woman came through 
 the gate. She came along at a smart pace, and I 
 saw that she was wearing a feathered hat. I could 
 not see her face, for it was in the shadow of the 
 hat, and was further hidden by a veil. She did not 
 look like the wife or daughter of one of my tenants ; 
 she looked like a lady's-maid, and she did not walk 
 like an Englishwoman. I doubted that she had any 
 right to be in the garden, but I was not going to tell 
 her so; that was the business of the gardeners. I 
 never see any point in doing my own barking when 
 I keep a dog. She went straight up the central path 
 into the central ring of shrubberies, out of sight. 
 
 Presently I grew tired of sitting still, got up from 
 the bench and strolled up the central path. Just 
 before I came to the middle of the garden, I met 
 Alice Devine. We did not often meet in the garden
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 259 
 
 in the evening generally it was in the afternoon. 
 We shook hands; she turned round, and we went 
 on to the middle of the garden. She was wearing 
 an evening gown, with a light filmy kind of wrap 
 round her shoulders; and in the moonlight she 
 looked, if anything, prettier than in the daylight. 
 I thought that her eyes shone like stars. 
 
 The pair of lovers and the woman in the feath- 
 ered hat were nowhere in sight. 
 
 Alice said that she, too, had found the house 
 stifling, and had come out into the garden for fresh 
 air. We both agreed that, if it only could be done, 
 it would be much nicer to sleep in the garden on a 
 night like that than in a stuffy room. 
 
 We came to the middle of the garden, which is 
 set with a ring of shrubberies in the shape of a 
 wheel. The hub is a circular clump of shrubs; the 
 spokes are narrow shrubberies running from it ; and 
 the tire is a ring of shrubs about fifteen feet thick. 
 In between the shrubberies which form the spokes 
 are little lawns. Each of these lawns has a narrow 
 entrance a break in the tire of the wheel. 
 
 We turned into the nearest of these little lawns 
 and went to the seat at the end of it, which was right 
 up against the hub of the wheel, and well sheltered.
 
 2<5o ALICE DEVINE 
 
 We sat down and began to talk. We always had 
 plenty to talk about; there were the poor children 
 whom Alice was in the habit of collecting in the 
 Park. She had always plenty to tell me about them, 
 and I always found it interesting to hear. They are 
 such rum little beggars. As we talked I heard the 
 sound of voices, very faint, on the lawn on the other 
 side of the shrubbery on our left. I just noticed it, 
 and no more. I was giving my attention to Alice. 
 
 We had been talking for about ten minutes, when 
 there came the loud startling bang of a revolver 
 from the lawn on our left, and then a woman's 
 scream. 
 
 Alice sprang up with a little cry of fright, and I 
 got up more slowly. There was a crashing in the 
 shrubbery on our left and a man in evening dress 
 burst out of it, bolted across the lawn and out of 
 the entrance. He went too quickly for me to recog- 
 nize him, and I only got a three-quarter back view 
 of him. 
 
 "Come on!" I cried to Alice. "We must look into 
 this!" 
 
 "No, no! Be careful! Oh, do be careful!" she 
 cried, and she clutched my arm with both hands. 
 
 "It's all right!" I said. "They won't hurt me.
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 261 
 
 [You wait here for a minute or two and I'll come 
 back. You'll be quite safe," I said, and I tried to 
 loosen the grip of her hands. 
 
 "No, no; you'll get hurt!" she cried, holding my 
 arm still more tightly. 
 
 "But I must go I must really," I said. 
 
 "Then I'm coming, too," she said. 
 
 "Very well; only don't be frightened. I'll see 
 that you don't come to any harm," I said; and I 
 slipped my arm round her waist to keep her courage 
 up. 
 
 We hurried out of the entrance of the lawn and 
 I saw at once that we had lost time. The man in 
 evening dress was already out of sight, and there 
 was no saying which way he had gone. But in the 
 open garden to our left, the girl in evening dress 
 was hurrying down a path that led to the left-hand 
 gate. 
 
 She was a good way off, but I shouted to her: 
 "What's happened?" 
 
 She did not answer ; she did not even look round, 
 she hurried on. 
 
 Then, beyond her, on another path also leading 
 to the left-hand gate, I caught a short glimpse of 
 the woman in the feathered hat as she passed a gap
 
 262 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 between two shrubberies. She, too, was hurrying 
 fast, as if the sound of the shot had frightened her 
 badly. 
 
 I hesitated a moment; if Alice had not been with 
 me I should probably have rushed after the girl in 
 evening dress. Alone I could have caught her be- 
 fore she got out of the garden, but with Alice it was 
 hopeless to try; the girl had far too long a start. 
 Then I hurried Alice to the entrance of the lawn 
 from which the sound of the shot had come. In the 
 middle of it lay a man, fallen on his face, with his 
 arms outspread. Alice stopped short at the sight; 
 I went quickly to him, dropped on one knee, and 
 turned him gently over on his back. He looked 
 to be a foreigner, a man of about thirty, and he 
 smelt of garlic. His face was very pale, his eyes 
 were half closed and his mouth was open. I felt 
 his wrist, but I could not feel any pulse. I was 
 quite sure he was dead. 
 
 Alice burst into a frightened sobbing. 
 
 I could do nothing. It was a matter for the police 
 and a doctor. I rose and said : "Come on, we must 
 go and tell the police at once." 
 
 I slipped her arm into mine; she was very pale 
 and looked very scared ; but she hurried along beside
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 263 
 
 me at a good pace, and before we had gone fifty 
 yards she had stopped sobbing. 
 
 We took the path to the left-hand gate. When 
 we came out of it, neither of the two women was 
 in sight. That side of the gardens was empty. 
 
 It seemed to me that the best thing I could do 
 was to save Alice all I could. She would have to 
 give evidence at the inquest, and that would be try- 
 ing enough. I took her straight to Scruton's house, 
 telling her not to be too much distressed about the 
 business, and saw her let herself in with her latch- 
 key. Then I ran, to the top of the gardens and 
 down the other side. At the bottom I found Brookes 
 and told him what had happened, and then, on his 
 suggestion, we hurried round to my house and told 
 Richards to telephone the news of the murder to the 
 police-station. Then Brookes and I ran to the lawn 
 where the murdered man was lying. 
 
 He was lying just as I had left him. Brookes 
 knelt down and examined him. Then he shook his 
 head and said : "He's quite dead, m'Lord." 
 
 Then he rose and began to look about the lawn, 
 holding his lantern about two feet from the ground 
 and searching it carefully. About six feet from the 
 dead man he found three envelopes, lying close to-
 
 264 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 gether. They were empty, but all three were ad- 
 dressed to Sir Theobald Walsh. The addresses 
 were typewritten. Knowing Walsh, I was able to 
 assure Brookes that the dead man was not he, and 
 he went on searching. The dead man's straw hat 
 was lying quite ten yards from the body, close to the 
 left-hand shrubbery, as if it had pitched off his head 
 and rolled along when he fell. On the other side 
 of the lawn, behind the dead man, half-way between 
 his body and the right-hand shrubbery, Brookes 
 picked up a small revolver. It was stuck sidewise 
 in the turf, which, since it had been lately watered, 
 was soft By the light of the lantern we saw that 
 the name of the maker was French, and that the top 
 of the barrel was choked with earth. 
 
 "Now, why on earth was it stuck in the turf ?" I 
 said. "It couldn't have merely been dropped, be- 
 cause it's not heavy enough to 1 stick into the turf of 
 itself." 
 
 "It do seem odd, m'Lord," said Brookes. 
 
 "Of course, when people are excited they do odd 
 things," I said. 
 
 But I was puzzled. It seemed so very odd that 
 after shooting the man, the murderer should have
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 265 
 
 stuck the revolver in the ground. There seemed no 
 purpose in it. 
 
 Brookes said we had better not trample the lawn 
 too much, and we came out of it and waited at the 
 entrance, discussing the crime. It was quite plain 
 to us, that either the girl in evening dress or the man 
 who had bolted out of the shrubbery had fired the 
 shot. It seemed more likely to be the man than the 
 girl, for she had screamed after the shot had been 
 fired. But what they were doing with this seedy 
 foreigner in Garthoyle Gardens passed guessing. 
 
 We had only waited a few minutes when an in- 
 spector of police, a doctor and a man in a gray 
 tweed suit came hurrying up. They were followed 
 by two policemen, wheeling an ambulance. I gath- 
 ered that the man in the tweed suit was a detective 
 and that his name was Pardoe. He seemed to have 
 been at the station when Richards telephoned. He 
 was tall and thin and hook-nosed, with bushy eye- 
 brows and thin lips. He looked like a hawk, as one 
 expects a detective to look. Most of them don't. 
 
 He took charge of the affair and gave the orders. 
 As soon as the two policemen came with the ambu- 
 lance, he sent them off to search the gardens for
 
 266 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 people who had heard the shot fired, or seen either 
 of the people likely to have fired it the lady or the 
 man in evening dress. Then he and the doctor went 
 on to the lawn to the body. 
 
 The doctor knelt down beside it and presently 
 I heard him say: "Cervical vertebras smashed. 
 Must have been killed instantly. The bullet is em- 
 bedded in the neck. You can take him straight 
 along to the mortuary, Pardoe." 
 
 Pardoe himself fetched the ambulance, lifted the 
 body on to it, and wheeled it out of the lawn. Then, 
 by the light of the lanterns of Brookes and the in- 
 spector he searched the dead man's pockets. In the 
 breast pocket of the jacket was a good-sized bag of 
 money. He opened it and took out a handful of 
 coins. They were all sovereigns. There was a 
 handful of loose silver and coppers in one of the 
 trousers pockets; and in one of the side pockets of 
 the jacket was an ugly-looking sheath-knife, such 
 as sailors carry, and very sharp. In the other side 
 pocket of the jacket was a packet of Caporal tobacco 
 and a packet of cigarette-papers. In one of the 
 waistcoat pockets was a cheap black American 
 watch ; and in the other were four visiting-cards on 
 which was printed the name "Etjenne Bechut."
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 267 
 
 When he read the name on the visiting-card, Pardoe 
 took a lantern and again looked at the dead man's 
 face closely. 
 
 "I thought I knew him. A bad lot. Soho," he 
 said in quick jerky sentences. 
 
 "Well, if you know him, we shan't be long finding 
 out all about him," said the inspector in a tone of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Then Brookes handed Pardoe the revolver and 
 the typewritten envelopes addressed to Sir Theobald 
 Walsh. Pardoe studied them for a minute or two, 
 then he questioned me closely and at length about 
 what I had seen and heard. 
 
 I told him that I had seen a man in a tweed suit 
 and straw hat, like those the murdered man was 
 wearing, walk up the central path of the garden, 
 with a lady in evening dress with a scarf round her 
 head, that I was pretty sure that he was the mur- 
 dered man. I also told him that I had seen the man 
 in evening dress come into the garden and go up the 
 right-hand path parallel to the central path, and that 
 a woman, veiled, and wearing a big feathered hat, 
 had gone up the central path about fifty yards be- 
 hind the lady and the murdered man, and that I had 
 strolled up that path myself, met Alice Devine, and
 
 268 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 gone with her into the lawn on the left; and that we 
 had heard a revolver shot and a scream, and seen 
 the man in evening dress bolt. 
 
 "Did you recognize him?" said Pardoe. 
 
 "No, I didn't. I only saw a little bit of his face. 
 He bolted with his back to me," I said. 
 
 "Would you know him if you saw him again?" 
 said Pardoe. 
 
 "No, I shouldn't," I said. 
 
 "Would the young lady know him?" inquired 
 Pardoe. 
 
 "I don't think there's a chance of it," I said. 
 "She got just the same view of him that I did and 
 she was very much startled by the shot and the 
 scream." 
 
 "That's a pity," said Pardoe. He paused and 
 added : "Did you see the lady in the evening frock 
 plain enough to recognize her again ?" 
 
 "No; she was a good way in front of me up the 
 path. But I got an impression that she was all 
 right a lady, don't you know?" said I. 
 
 "This foreigner hardly looks the kind of man a 
 lady would be walking with at this hour, here," said 
 the doctor. 
 
 "You're right there, Doctor Brandon," said Par-
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 269 
 
 doe slowly. "But then there's this bag of sover- 
 eigns." 
 
 "Blackmail?" said Doctor Brandon. 
 
 "Looks very like it," said Pardoe. 
 
 "But why should she shoot him? She's got the 
 letters," I said. 
 
 "We don't know that, m'Lord," said Pardoe. 
 "She may have got them after he was shot" 
 
 "But then she'd have carried them off, envelopes 
 and all. She wouldn't have waited to make sure 
 that they were the right letters and dropped the 
 envelopes," I said. 
 
 "That's so," said Pardoe. 
 
 "She may have wanted to make sure that he did 
 not blackmail her again, and shot him as the best 
 way of doing it," said Doctor Brandon. 
 
 "We don't know that it was her who did shoot 
 him," said Pardoe. 
 
 He began to question me again about the man in 
 evening dress, about his figure, his height and 
 breadth, whether he walked like a gentleman or not. 
 
 I told him what I could remember of it; but it 
 was not much. When the man came into the gar- 
 den, I had not been particularly interested in him; 
 and that little cloud had made the moonlight dim.
 
 2;o ALICE DEVINE 
 
 Then he asked in what position the murdered 
 man had been lying when I first came on the lawn. 
 I told him that he had been lying on his face, and 
 that he had fallen with his face toward the left-hand 
 shrubbery out of which the man in evening dress had 
 bolted. He asked Doctor Brandon whether a man 
 with that wound would fall straight forward. Bran- 
 don said that he might pitch forward on his face, 
 or he might spin round and then fall. 
 
 "Well, the way he lay doesn't clear the man in 
 evening dress from the shooting; it leaves the place 
 where the shot came from quite open," said Pardoe. 
 
 Then he questioned Brookes about the finding of 
 the revolver. He, too, seemed puzzled by the fact 
 that the barrel of it had been sticking in the turf; 
 and I pointed out that it was lying half-way between 
 the body and the right-hand shrubbery, so that if the 
 man in evening dress had fired it, he must have 
 bolted right across the lawn past the woman. Par- 
 doe went on to question Brookes about the people 
 he had seen in the Gardens while on his beat that 
 evening. Brookes had seen none of the actors in 
 the tragedy. 
 
 Then the two policernen who had been scouring 
 the garden for some one who had heard the sound
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 271 
 
 of the shot, or seen the lady or the man in evening 
 dress as they came into the garden or fled out of it, 
 came back with the tidings that they had not found 
 any one who could give any information. They had 
 found four pairs of lovers, but each pair had been 
 so absorbed in each other's society that they had 
 seen and heard nothing. 
 
 Pardoe stood quiet, frowning and thinking; then 
 he told the inspector that he was going straight off 
 to Soho to try and find something at Bechut's lodg- 
 ing that might throw some light on the matter, 
 and that he would come back at half past three, 
 when there would be light enough to search the lawn 
 and the shrubberies thoroughly. 
 
 Leaving the inspector and Brookes in charge of 
 the lawn, Pardoe, the doctor and I came out of the 
 garden, followed by the two policemen wheeling the 
 ambulance with the dead man on it. I bade them 
 good night, and went home. 
 
 I had an engagement to meet a party at the Covent 
 Garden ball ; but I did not feel in the least like keep- 
 ing it. The murder had cleared away any wish for 
 a dance. I went up to the library, sat down in an 
 easy chair, and tried to work out the murder 
 whether the lady or the man had shot the black-
 
 272 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 mailer. It was hard to decide. Also I could not 
 think who either of them could be, though it was 
 very likely that they were both tenants of mine. I 
 did not think it likely that Alice could throw any 
 light on the matter; she had seen less of them than 
 I had. The man who could throw light on it was 
 Sir Theobald Walsh. He would know the sender 
 of the letters that had been in the envelopes. 
 
 At twelve o'clock I had some supper; and after it 
 I smoked and read a novel. I kept stopping my 
 reading again and again to puzzle over the crime. I 
 read till half past three; then I went back to the 
 garden and found Pardoe and the inspector just 
 about to begin their examination of the lawn. 
 
 At the very entrance Pardoe made a discovery. 
 Hanging from the projecting bough of a shrub was 
 a black lace scarf. It was surely the scarf the girl 
 in evening dress had been wearing when first I saw 
 her in the garden ; and it had been caught from her 
 head by the branch as she ran out of the lawn. It 
 was an expensive scarf, but not very uncommon. 
 
 On the lawn itself they found nothing fresh; but 
 Pardoe questioned me carefully about the exact 
 position in which the murdered man had been lymg 
 before I turned his body over. Then he examined
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 273 
 
 the little hole in the turf which the barrel of the 
 revolver had made. Then they searched the left- 
 hand shrubbery, from which the man in evening 
 dress had bolted. In that they found nothing; not 
 so much as a single footprint, for the soil was hard. 
 They went on to search the shrubberies at the back 
 of the lawn, that is to say, the central clump, the 
 hub of the wheel, and then the shrubbery on the 
 right of the lawn. In that they found one of those 
 leather wrist-bags in which women carry their hand- 
 kerchiefs, powder-puffs and purses. It was old 
 and worn and shabby. It might have been thrown 
 away by a housemaid. It smelt strongly of some 
 coarse violet scent; but in the dry weather we had 
 been having, it might have lain there for a day or 
 two and still kept the scent. 
 
 There was nothing more to be done ; and I went 
 off to bed. I breakfasted early, and went round to 
 Scruton's house directly after it. I wanted to talk 
 the matter over with Alice and prepare her for 
 Pardoe's visit, which might frighten her if she were 
 not prepared for it. I found that she had, very nat- 
 urally, ha'd a bad night, and was looking pale. She 
 was rather relieved to hear that the murdered man 
 was not a person on whom one need waste much
 
 274 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 sympathy. She could throw no light on the iden- 
 tity either of the man in evening dress or of the 
 woman, for she had seen the man no more clearly 
 than I had ; and the woman she had not seen at all, 
 save for that distant glimpse. Pardoe game, and the 
 three of us discussed the matter together. 
 
 I was surprised to find no mention of the matter 
 in the evening papers; plainly the police were keep- 
 ing their own counsel. Pardoe paid me a visit in 
 the afternoon to coach me in my evidence at the 
 inquest; and I learned from him that Sir Theobald 
 Walsh had declared himself quite unable to identify 
 the three envelopes. That enabled me to assure him 
 that there was no chance whatever of his getting 
 any information from that quarter; having once said 
 a thing, Walsh would stick to it till all was blue; he 
 is as stubborn as an ox. For my part I did not 
 blame him in the slightest for refusing to give the 
 woman away. In any case he could not have done 
 that; and since it was a matter of this Soho for- 
 eigner, probably a blackmailer (in fact, Walsh must 
 know that he was a blackmailer), it made his course 
 all the plainer. 
 
 The inquest brought no new facts to light, if any- 
 thing made it plainer that the crime was a really
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY, 275 
 
 complicated affair. It made it quite clear that the 
 revolver had most likely been fired from the right- 
 hand shrubbery; and the coroner brought out the 
 fact that it was very unlikely that it had been fired 
 by the girl in evening dress, since she had screamed 
 after the shot had been fired, and not before it. It 
 certainly looked as if the report had frightened and 
 surprised her. 
 
 The coroner had a great struggle with Walsh, 
 trying to get information from him about the en- 
 velopes. Walsh stuck to his guns; he said that he 
 did not identify the envelopes; that all three of them 
 were different; and that in the last month he had 
 had hundreds of typewritten envelopes from trades- 
 men, charitable institutions, his solicitors and so on. 
 
 There were not many people at the inquest But 
 among them I noticed the piebald duke; and I saw 
 that he was taking a great interest in the evidence. 
 I was a good deal surprised to see him there; for I 
 had not known that he was one of those people who 
 are keen on crimes and trials. Indeed, he had never 
 struck me as being at all morbid. 
 
 But I was a good deal more surprised by the fact 
 that there was no newspaper storm. I had expected 
 that there would be columns and columns about the
 
 276 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 business in the evening papers. I could find no 
 report of the inquest in any single one of them, nor 
 in the morning papers. Some one had done a lot 
 of squaring. This certainly deepened the mystery. 
 
 Now, Walsh had the key of it He must know 
 who the girl' in evening dress was ; and he probably 
 knew, or could guess, who the man who had bolted 
 was. In the case of any other man but Walsh, it 
 svould have been possible to guess the lady. In the 
 case of Walsh it was practically impossible there 
 were too many of them. There were three at any 
 rate in Garthoyle Gardens; and half a dozen more 
 lived within half a mile of them, I have never been 
 able to understand why that hulking brute had such 
 an attraction for women; but there it was. I could 
 riot fix on any one of them as the woman I had seen. 
 
 It was curious, how after the inquest nothing 
 seemed to happen. The affair fell dead. Yet I 
 know that the police went on hunting, for I saw 
 Pardoe about the Gardens frequently; and three or 
 four times he came to see me to talk about little 
 clues he had found. They were not of any value. 
 I had an idea that he believed that I, like Walsh, 
 knew more about the business than I said; that I 
 could have told him who the girl in evening dress
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 277 
 
 and the man who had bolted were. He was always 
 trying to trip me up by sudden questions. 
 
 One day I said to him : "Look here, Pardoe, it's 
 not a bit of good your trying to catch me out, be- 
 cause I don't know. I don't say that if I did, I'd tell 
 you. Very probably I shouldn't. But I don't 
 know." 
 
 "You people do hang together so, my Lord," said 
 Pardoe grumpily. 
 
 "Why don't you get it out of Walsh?" I said. 
 
 Pardoe shook his head. 
 
 It was clear to me that the police were balked. 
 They had not traced the black lace scarf to any one ; 
 and they could not find the woman in the feathered 
 hat. She had bolted after the revolver had been 
 fired; and it seemed likely that she could throw 
 some light on the matter. I suggested to Pardoe 
 that they should advertise for her. Pardoe only 
 shook his head and said that if she were a foreigner, 
 as my description of her suggested, it was any odds 
 that she would not read the English papers, and the 
 advertisement would be wasted. But after all he 
 did advertise for her; for I saw the advertisement 
 in the agony column of the Daily Mail. 
 
 In the meantime I went on making quiet inquiries
 
 278 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 myself. If I had discovered anything, I had no 
 great intention of informing the police of it. I 
 meant to exercise my discretion. I was not going 
 to get any of my friends, or even my tenants, into 
 the mess of a lifetime on account of a wretched, 
 blackmailing foreigner. I made the inquiries en- 
 tirely on my own account. The murder had excited 
 my curiosity as nothing else in my life had ever 
 excited it; and I wanted to satisfy it. 
 
 Everything turned on the question, who was the 
 woman in the evening frock? If I could find her, 
 I could find the man who had bolted from the shrub- 
 bery. I had no doubt that one or the other of them 
 had shot the blackmailer. 
 
 It was most likely that she was one of my tenants, 
 or rather a wife, or daughter, of one of my tenants. 
 She plainly knew the central garden well. Also she 
 was one of the ladies who was, or had been, attached 
 to Walsh. There were three of these ladies in Gar- 
 thoyle Gardens; and the girl I had seen walking 
 with the blackmailer might have been any one of 
 the three. Two of them, indeed, were dark and one 
 fair; but since th girl in the garden had had her 
 hair wrapped in a scarf I had not been able to tell 
 whether she was dark or fair, while as regards
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 279 
 
 figure, the three ladies who loved, or had loved 
 Walsh, were about the same height and breadth. 
 The girl I had seen might be any one of the three. 
 
 I set about trying to find out what these three 
 ladies were doing on the night of the murder, mak- 
 ing my inquiries as quietly as possible. I found 
 them very difficult inquiries to make ; it was so hard 
 to make any reason for wanting to know such a 
 fact. I came to the conclusion that the only way to 
 make such inquiries was to be a policeman. Then 
 you go straight to the person whom you want the 
 information about and say straight out: "What 
 were you doing on such and such a night ?" 
 
 I inquired and inquired, and I did not get the 
 information. I saw two of the ladies several times 
 in the gardens, or at other people's houses. If 
 either of them had committed the murder, they were 
 very good actresses, or very sure of not being found 
 out ; and shooting a blackmailer did not weigh at all 
 heavily on their minds. But I did not come across 
 the third lady anywhere, though I had been meeting 
 her about often enough before the murder; and I 
 began to fancy that she was keeping out of sight. 
 Then, coming into the Palladium late one night, I 
 found her husband in the smoking-room; and I saw
 
 280 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 at once that he was looking very much off color. I 
 kept my eye on him, wondering; and I saw that he 
 was fidgety and restless, and very nervous. He had 
 a way of looking at the door, whenever it opened, 
 with a frightened stare that made me think he was 
 expecting to see a policeman come in at any mo- 
 ment and collar him. After that I only tried to find 
 out what he and his wife had been doing on the 
 night of the murder. I thought I was getting warm. 
 
 Then one night about a week later, when I was 
 playing baccarat at Scruton's, I noticed that the pie- 
 bald duke kept looking at me in a rather odd way. 
 The interest he was taking in me must have put 
 him off his usual game, for he actually won over 
 four thousand. 
 
 As usual the party broke up about half past three ; 
 and just as I was going out of the house, the duke 
 called to me: "Half a minute, Garthoyle, I'll stroll 
 along with you." 
 
 We came out of the house together; and at the 
 bottom of the steps he said: "Are you in a hurry 
 to go to bed?" 
 
 "Not a bit," said I. "After a long gamble like 
 that I'm often quite a time getting to sleep; and 
 a quiet stroll and some fresh air are soothing."
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 281 
 
 "Have you got the key of that middle garden of 
 yours on you?" he said. "I want to talk to you; 
 and the air in the garden will be fresher and less 
 dusty than here." 
 
 I had a key on me; and we went into the garden. 
 
 "You might take me to the lawn where that 
 foreign blackguard got shot," said the duke. 
 
 The words "foreign blackguard" were rather 
 an eye-opener. I saw that the duke knew some- 
 thing about the matter; more, in fact, than I did. I 
 took him straight to the lawn. 
 
 He looked slowly round it and said : "It's about 
 that murder that I want to talk to you. I know 
 who the lady was who was blackmailed; and I 
 know who the man was who bolted out of this 
 shrubbery past you." 
 
 "The deuce you do!" said I. 
 
 "Yes," said the duke. "They came to me and 
 put themselves into my hands in the matter. If 
 you go on much further with these inquiries you're 
 making, you'll find out who they were yourself. 
 That wouldn't matter much, because you would 
 very probably keep your discoveries quiet. But it's 
 your inquiries that are dangerous. In enlighten- 
 ing yourself you will very likely enlighten the peo-
 
 282 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 pie who, if they got the information, would do a lot 
 of harm in the way of causing an infernal scan- 
 dal. Now, I want to give you my assurance that 
 I am absolutely convinced that neither of these two 
 had anything to do with the shooting. Both of 
 them were as much surprised by the report of that 
 revolver as you were yourself; and, as you say, 
 both of them bolted. They bolted in a hurry of 
 course ; but I believe that it was the very best thing 
 they could have done under the circumstances, for 
 they were very awkward. Now, I don't know 
 whether you care to accept my assurance that 
 those two are innocent; but after what they told 
 me, and after testing their story, I am absolutely 
 convinced of their innocence." 
 
 "Of course I'll take your assurance," I said 
 quickly. "I'd sooner take your judgment in a 
 matter like this than anybody's." 
 
 "Thank you. I thought you would," he said; 
 and he sighed as if I had taken a weight off his 
 mind. 
 
 Then he walked to the middle of the lawn and 
 stopped and said: "There are one or two points 
 which support my judgment. The man lay 
 here" he tapped the turf with his foot "and
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 283 
 
 the revolver lay here, half-way between the man 
 and the right-hand shrubbery. The man who 
 bolted, bolted from the left-hand shrubbery on the 
 other side of the body. My opinion is that the 
 shot was fired from the right-hand shrubbery." 
 
 "Yes," I said. "I noticed that; and it does 
 rather complicate the matter. It lets the man out 
 pretty well; but it rather makes it look as if the 
 woman fired the shot" 
 
 "Yes ; but you yourself brought out the fact quite 
 clearly that she screamed after the shot was fired. 
 I am quite sure that she told me the truth when 
 she said that she screamed because the shot sur- 
 prised and frightened her. Besides, she had already 
 got the letters; why should she shoot the black- 
 guard?" 
 
 "Well, but if neither of those two fired the shot, 
 who on earth did?" said I. 
 
 "Well, I think that the police did not attach 
 enough importance to the wrist-bag they found in 
 the right-hand shrubbery, and to the fact that the 
 revolver was of French make. Those seem to me 
 to be the real clues," said the duke. 
 
 "Then who do you think the murderer was?" 
 said I.
 
 284 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "The woman in the feathered hat," said the 
 duke. 
 
 "The deuce you do !" said I. 
 
 "Yes, I do," said the duke, in a tone of absolute 
 certainty. "You say the woman walked like a 
 foreigner. The man was a foreigner. She was 
 veiled. I believe she was following this black- 
 mailing scoundrel and the lady; that she followed 
 them right to the lawn where "he handed over the 
 letters, and slipped into the right-hand shrubbery 
 to watch them. After the shot was fired, you saw 
 her running away. She has disappeared entirely, 
 though the police made every effort to find her, in 
 case she could throw some light on the affair. She 
 never answered their advertisement. Why is she 
 hiding?" 
 
 "These are pretty awkward facts," I said. "I 
 shall have to work it out afresh from this new 
 point of view. Didn't either the lady or her hus- 
 band I take it that it was her husband see this 
 woman ?" 
 
 "No; they only saw the flash of the revolver, 
 and both of them declared it came from the right- 
 hand shrubbery," said the duke. 
 
 "These are certainly new facts," said I.
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 285 
 
 "And you might put them to that infernal de- 
 tective who is always nosing about Pardoe. He 
 comes to see you. Working on his present lines, 
 it's just possible he might discover these two in- 
 nocent people and make a great deal of trouble. 
 It doesn't seem likely; and I've seen to it that the 
 police are not being encouraged to show too much 
 zeal in the matter. If you could put them on the 
 right track, the trail of the woman in the feathered 
 hat it would be a great relief; and they may show 
 as much zeal as ever they like." 
 
 "I'll try my best to put them on it," said I. 
 
 "Thank you," said the duke. 
 
 We turned and walked to the bottom of the gar- 
 den. As we came out of the gate I said: "I sup- 
 pose, whether the police come into it or not, this 
 business has smashed up those two people's lives 
 pretty badly?" 
 
 "No, I don't think so," said the duke slowly. "I 
 think that it will be rather the other way about. 
 They were drifting apart, but this business being 
 in this mess together is rather drawing them to- 
 gether again." 
 
 "That's all right," I said. 
 
 After considering the matter, I thought I had
 
 286 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 better lose no time putting the police on the trail 
 of the woman in the feathered hat. If I waited 
 till Pardoe's next visit, he might in the meantime 
 light on the two unfortunates whom the duke 
 wished to save from the scandal. I therefore sen 
 a wire to the detective asking him to look me up in 
 the afternoon, and at three o'clock he turned up, 
 looking rather eager, as if he expected to learn 
 something from me. 
 
 I gave him a whisky-and-soda and a cigar; and 
 when he settled down comfortably I said: 
 
 "Well, Mr. Pardoe, at last I have discovered 
 who murdered Etienne Bechut. It was neither the 
 lady he was blackmailing nor the man in evening 
 dress. They do not, very naturally, want to appear 
 in this matter; and they have put themselves into 
 the hands of a third person and told him all they 
 know about it." 
 
 "They have, have they?" said Pardoe quickly. 
 
 "They have; and I am absolutely convinced that 
 they had nothing to do with shooting that black- 
 mailing scoundrel." 
 
 Pardoe scratched his head and looked at me very 
 keenly; then he said: "You'll excuse me asking
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 287 
 
 you, m'Lord, but do you really, honestly and truly 
 believe that?" 
 
 "I give you my word that I believe them to be 
 absolutely innocent," said I. 
 
 He hesitated for a few seconds and then he said : 
 "I take it, m'Lord, that you're the person they put 
 themselves into the hands of?" 
 
 I said nothing. 
 
 "Well, my Lord, what are your new facts?" he 
 said. 
 
 "The shot was fired from the right-hand shrub- 
 bery by the woman in the feathered hat," I said. 
 
 He frowned thoughtfully and said: "I've 
 thought about her a good many times. It was odd 
 that she bolted in such a hurry and never came 
 forward, even when we advertised. We ought 
 to have been able to find out something about her 
 we tried hard enough but we didn't." 
 
 "Well, <my theory is, that she was following 
 Bechut for some reason or other, carrying with 
 her the revolver, in the wrist-bag you found in 
 the right-hand shrubbery. She saw him meet the 
 lady and followed them right to the lawn, and 
 slipped into the right-hand shrubbery, watched
 
 288 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 them, took the revolver out of the bag, dropped the 
 bag, shot Bechut and threw the revolver on the 
 lawn so that it stuck in the turf. It's just the kind 
 of thing an excited woman would do after firing 
 it. Then she bolted." 
 
 Pardoe sat very still, frowning, then he said : 
 "There may be something in this. The facts fit 
 in all right. I'll look for her in Soho." 
 
 "And mind you let me know if you find her," 
 said I. 
 
 "I will, my Lord," said Pardoe. 
 
 He asked me a good many questions about the 
 woman in the feathered hat; her height, her 
 breadth, the color of her hair, the color and shape 
 of her dress, the shape of the feathers in her hat, 
 and the color of her boots. I answered his ques- 
 tions as well as I could remember the details. 
 Then he finished his whisky-and-soda, wished me 
 good afternoon and went away. 
 
 During the next three days I wondered how he 
 was getting on. Then on the fourth morning he 
 came again. I went up to him in the library, and 
 when we were settled down he said : 
 
 "Well, m'Lord, I've found the woman in the 
 feathered hat or, to be exact, I've got on her
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 289 
 
 track. This man Bechut was mixed up in half a 
 dozen shady games white slave traffic and black- 
 mailing and this woman, Cesarine Thibaudier, 
 helped him. She seems to have been infatuated 
 with him, and just as jealous as could be. She was 
 always quarreling with him about other women, and 
 half a dozen times different people heard her 
 threaten to murder him if ever she caught him 
 carrying on with any one. He must have got jolly 
 well tired of it all, for I found out long ago that 
 he had arranged to slip quietly away to France as 
 soon as he got the money for the letters. He was 
 just running away from her. She found out this 
 plan of his and rowed him about it; for she'd made 
 up her mind that he was going off with another 
 woman. After that she must have watched him 
 and followed him." 
 
 "It seems to look very promising," I said. 
 
 "Yes, it does fit in," said Pardoe. "And then, 
 without a word to anybody, she went off at six 
 o'clock on the morning after the murder and has 
 not been seen since. Probably she's in Paris." 
 
 "Well, you ought to be able to catch her without 
 much difficulty," I said. "Will you go over to Paris 
 yourself ?"
 
 2 9 o ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Wait a bit wait a bit, my Lord," said Pardoe, 
 smiling. "Where's our evidence? I've not been 
 able to find any one who saw Cesarine Thibaudier 
 nearer Garthoyle Gardens than Soho. It's true I 
 found two of her friends who declare that the 
 wrist-bag we found is the very image of one that 
 belonged to her; but it's a very common pattern. 
 In fact, I counted nine women in Soho carrying the 
 identical wrist-bag, in the course of one morning. 
 Also, Cesarine Thibaudier used the scent of violets, 
 of which the bag smelt. But the two women who 
 told me so smelt of it themselves. I have not been 
 able to trace the revolver to her; and I shouldn't 
 wonder if it belonged to Bechut himself, and she 
 stole it. Again, neither the lady who was black- 
 mailed, nor the man who bolted, saw anything of 
 the person who fired the shot; or, I take it, they 
 would have told you about it. Unless this woman 
 chooses to confess and she doesn't seem the kind 
 who confess we haven't enough evidence to hang 
 a cat on." 
 
 I got up and walked up and down the room. It 
 sounded extremely annoying. I certainly had no 
 particular feelings for the blackmailer himself, but
 
 THE BECHUT MYSTERY 291 
 
 ne has a feeling that when a murder has been 
 committed, somebody ought to be hanged. 
 
 "All the same, I am quite convinced that this 
 woman followed Bechut to Garthoyle Gardens, 
 carrying that revolver in the wrist-bag, and shot 
 him from the shrubbery/' I said. 
 
 "I'm inclined to think it was so myself," said 
 Pardoe. 
 
 "Well, I'm quite sure of it," I said. "I think 
 she ought to be tried." 
 
 Pardoe took a long pull at his whisky-and-soda ; 
 then he said : "Ah, my Lord, if we were to arrest 
 all the people we're sure have Committed murder 
 we could keep the Central Criminal Court going 
 with murder trials for the next six months. But 
 I don't suppose we'd get one in ten of them hanged. 
 Murder's one thing, and evidence is another." 
 
 "It's very cheery hearing," I said. 
 
 He finished his whisky-and-soda and went away. 
 He has not been to see me since, nor have I heard 
 that the police have arrested Cesarine Thibaudier.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 
 
 IT was a blessing to have the Bechut affair 
 cleared up without any severe scandal, such as 
 might very well have arisen from it. Over it I 
 had grown friendlier than ever with Alice Devine, 
 for there was so much in it which we had to dis- 
 cuss together. But I had never grown quite com- 
 fortable in mind about her uncle. Now and then 
 fresh evidence turned up that Scruton was really a 
 millionaire; and the clearer that grew, the more 
 difficult it was to understand why he had tricked 
 my uncle, and tried to trick me, into letting him 
 have his house rent-free by setting Alice to play 
 that ghost trick on us. I might have thought that 
 it was his idea of a joke, if he had ever shown any 
 other signs of a humorous disposition; but he did 
 not. I never came across anybody more serious. 
 Besides, he had never paid the quarter's rent out of 
 which he had tricked my Uncle Algernon, as he 
 
 292
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 293 
 
 should have done if it was a joke. But, of course, 
 his being a millionaire would explain that. Mil- 
 lionaires never part 
 
 I had quite made up my mind that his baccarat 
 parties were on the square. Too many of the 
 keenest gamblers in London, men who could not 
 be cheated for any length of time, played at them 
 regularly, week after week. The only time that 
 there had been anything wrong at them was when 
 the sham Nugget rooked us of twelve thousand, 
 and I was quite sure that Scruton was not standing 
 in with him. I could not understand, however, 
 why he gave these parties so often, for though he 
 played most of the time himself, he did not seem at 
 all a keen gambler, and not once did I see him 
 plunge heavily. Again, he did not use those parties 
 as a means of rising in the social scale. He seemed 
 to have no ambition that way. I came to the con- 
 clusion that my idea, that it was his hobby to have 
 the severest gambling in London at his house, was 
 the right one. I always noticed that he kept a 
 close eye on our winnings and losings; and at the 
 end of each party he would rub his hands together, 
 and say gleefully that twenty-five or thirty thou- 
 sand pounds had changed hands in the course of
 
 294 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 the evening; and then he always added: "Fine 
 gambling first-class gambling! Eh? What!" 
 
 But it did seem to me a trifle thick that he should 
 use Alice as an attraction to bring men to his 
 parties, if they were merely his hobby. It would 
 have been more excusable if he had been playing 
 some shady game with them. But there, million- 
 aires are queer fish. 
 
 I went to most of his parties, .and every time I 
 went I was annoyed afresh to find Alice being used 
 as a decoy. It was really no business of mine, 
 except that she and I were growing more and more 
 friendly. In fact, I liked to go to them chiefly 
 because I could keep an eye on her and see that 
 she was not annoyed by any of her uncle's guests. 
 I felt that that was rather my business, since, by 
 helping Freddy Gage to carry off and marry Kitty 
 Maynard, I had robbed Alice of her chief support. 
 If Kitty Maynard had also been used by Scruton 
 as a decoy, none the less she had been a support to 
 Alice. New guests who did not know the ropes 
 were apt to be familiar and needed checking. I 
 did it 
 
 One night, some one who ought to have known 
 better I think it was Alperton brought with
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 295 
 
 him a bubbling young stock-broker. I suppose 
 the stock-broker had, put him on to a good thing in 
 oil or rubber. They had done themselves not wisely 
 but too well at dinner, and the young stock-broker 
 was in very high feather at finding himself among 
 what he called "the nobility." He seemed also 
 to be considered a fascinating fellow in his circle 
 and he set himself to fascinate Alice in what I 
 suppose is the stock-brokerly way. Alice snubbed 
 him with a quiet straightforwardness that would 
 have shut up any decent sort of chap, and I told 
 him quite plainly to hold his tongue. It did not 
 seem to have any effect. Alice rose and went to 
 the door; he followed her, apologizing. I opened 
 the door for her; she went out and he went out 
 after her, still apologizing. Then, on the empty 
 landing, I was on him like a knife. I got him 
 comfortably by the scruff of the neck, ran him down 
 the stairs, along the hall to the front door. The 
 butler opened it smartly, and I kicked my young 
 friend heartily down the steps. He did not come 
 back for his hat. 
 
 I came quietly back up the stairs and found 
 Alice leaning over the banisters of the landing, 
 from which she had watched the young cad's de-
 
 296 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 parture. There was a very fine flush on her face 
 and her eyes were sparkling quite fiercely. 
 
 "Oh, I'm 3o much obliged to you," she said. "I 
 wonder how that cad got into the house?" 
 
 "Must have sneaked in at the back door," I said. 
 
 "Well, I don't think he will come again," she 
 said. 
 
 "I don't know about that. He only got what he 
 was asking for. Perhaps he likes it and will come 
 back for more," said I. 
 
 "I am so much obliged to you," she said again; 
 and she moved toward the stairs to the second floor. 
 
 "Don't let him drive you off to bed," I said. 
 "It's quite early yet." 
 
 She hesitated a moment; and then she came back 
 into the baccarat room with me. We went on to 
 the balcony and had a very pleasant half -hour's 
 talk. 
 
 That bubbling young stock-broker was only a 
 passing nuisance as it were; Sir Theobald Walsh 
 was a nuisance every time. He had been a guest 
 at Scruton's parties since the beginning, long be- 
 fore I had ever come to one. He seemed to think, 
 or at any rate he pretended to think, that that gave 
 him some kind of a claim on Alice, and unless
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 297 
 
 something prevented him, he always spent a good 
 deal of the evening hanging over her and talking 
 to her with a proprietary air. 
 
 Now, as I have said, Walsh is not at all the kind 
 of man one likes to see hanging about a nice girl. 
 Married women are all very well, but a young girl 
 is different. Besides, it wasn't only Walsh's ways, 
 and what we all know about him among ourselves, 
 but his bad character was notorious. He had not 
 only appeared in the Divorce Court as co-respondent 
 in the Cumberly scandal; but at the inquest on the 
 unfortunate Mrs. Bulkeley it came out that she had 
 committed suicide owing to the blackguardly way in 
 which he treated her. Also I happened to know of 
 the orgies they were really orgies which he held 
 at The Cedars, his country house near Pinner. 
 Naturally he was not the kind of man who could 
 hang about a girl without harming her reputation, 
 and whenever I saw him hanging about Alice I 
 interrupted. 
 
 He hated to be interrupted, but I never missed 
 a chance of doing it. I joined in their talk, or 
 rather I joined in his talk for Alice had very 
 little to say to him firmly; and every time we were 
 soon snapping freely. I would sneer at things he
 
 298 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 said, and he would sneer at tilings I said, till our 
 conversation grew rather cheery. Nearly always 
 before ten minutes were up, I got him rabid and 
 snarling, and generally at the end of half an hour 
 I drove him off to the card-table. He must have 
 lost quite a lot of money from playing baccarat in 
 a bad temper. Sometimes, however, he would 
 stick it out till Alice went off to bed. 
 
 Alice enjoyed our little bickerings up to a certain 
 point; when Walsh began really to snarl it made 
 her uncomfortable. I scored because she was al- 
 ways on my side. In fact, as far as Walsh's getting 
 encouragement from her went, there should have 
 been no need for me to interfere at all. She snub- 
 bed him straight and steadily all the time. But he 
 could get on without any encouragement. She 
 might have snubbed him ninety-nine evenings run- 
 ning, and the hundredth he would have turned up 
 scowling, driven away any one except me, who 
 happened to be talking to her, and then leaned over 
 her and talked to her for an hour, in a low con- 
 fidential voice, with his air of a proprietor. 
 
 One night we had grown quite friendly enough 
 I said to her: "I say, I wish you would keep 
 away from these gambling parties. I know it's
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 399 
 
 pretty dull for you, and they make an amusing 
 break. But all the same, they're not quite the 
 thing for you, don't you know ?" 
 
 She frowned a little and said slowly: "Oh, I 
 'don't come to them because they break the dulness, 
 but because my uncle makes a point of it." 
 
 "I shouldn't take any notice of that, if I were 
 you," said I. 
 
 "Oh, but I must," she said. "Here I am living 
 in his house, practically dependent on him; and 
 I must do what he asks me. And what forces 
 me to do it more than anything else is that it's 
 the only thing he does ask me." 
 
 "Well, if that's so, I must keep on being sociable 
 with Walsh," said I. 
 
 "You do annoy him," she said; and she laughed 
 softly. 
 
 "I do it for his good," said I. 
 
 I kept on being good to Walsh, and at last I 
 worked him up to a state of first-class fury. When- 
 ever he saw me his eyes began to sparkle, and his 
 usual amiable scowl grew blacker and blacker. 
 
 Then one night I had been particularly bland 
 with him, and though we came out of Number 9 in 
 a nice bright morning light, and he should have
 
 300 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 had time to cool, since Alice had been in bed this 
 four hours, it seemed that he was boiling still. 
 
 I went down the steps first and walked toward 
 my house, expecting him to keep his distance behind 
 me, for outside Scruton's I always cut him. 
 
 But he caught me up at once and said: "Look 
 here, Garthoyle: we've got to come to some ar- 
 rangement about that girl of Scruton's." 
 
 "That's a pretty way of speaking of Miss De- 
 vine," I said. 
 
 "I'm not in a punctilious temper to-night," he 
 said savagely. "I'm in earnest. I'm going to have 
 the matter settled up here and now." 
 
 I looked at his working face and saw that he 
 was indeed serious. 
 
 "Don't be an ass," I exclaimed. "How can you 
 settle it? ^The woman always settles this kind of 
 thing." 
 
 "It's no good your shuffling. You know she 
 can't settle it," he snarled. "You won't let her. 
 You keep diverting her attention from it." 
 
 "From 3*ou, you mean," said I. 
 
 "Yes, from me. You're always trying to set her 
 against me, And it isn't as though you meant 
 anything yourself. .You don't, You're just play-
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 301 
 
 ing the dog in the manger. You'd never marry 
 her," he said. 
 
 "Would you?" said I. 
 
 "Yes, I would I will," he cried. 
 
 "Poor girl," said I. 
 
 He stormed and cursed at me m a growling roar. 
 
 "Don't make so much noise, you'll wake my ten- 
 ants," I said. 
 
 He made more noise. 
 
 I waited till he had run out of breath. It gave 
 me more time to think. Then I said. "No; you 
 shan't marry her not if I can stop it. You're not 
 fit to come near a decent girl, much less marry her. 
 I'll stop it if I can; and I think I can." 
 
 "You think you can, do you? You infernal 
 prig!" he cried. "Well, I'll show you all about 
 that, and inside of a month, too." 
 
 With that he went off down Carisbrooke Street 
 and I turned off to my house. He had given me 
 plenty to think about and I was uneasy. I did not 
 see what he could do ; but I did know that he would 
 stick at nothing where a woman was concerned. 
 r At the same time I was a good deal surprised to 
 learn that he was carrying le bon motif concealed 
 about his person.
 
 302 ALICE DEVINE, 
 
 On consideration, I did not believe in it ; certainly 
 he would not marry Alice, he had no intention of 
 marrying her. Well, I must look after her more 
 carefully than ever when he was about. 
 
 But that was where he put a spoke in my wheel. 
 Three mornings later, Herbert Polkington came to 
 see me. I hadn't seen him for some time; not since 
 I had congratulated him on having been saved from 
 marrying Kitty Maynard by Freddy Gage. He 
 came looking his most portentous more like a fun- 
 eral than a human being and I braced myself. 
 
 He sat down, crossed his legs and looked at me 
 in what he believes to be an impressive way. It 
 makes him look like an excited codfish; then he 
 cleared his throat and said : 
 
 "I've come to see you about a serious matter, 
 Rupert a very serious matter indeed." 
 
 "You generally do," I said, without any show 
 of gratitude at all. "What is it? Fire away and 
 try to put it plainly." 
 
 Herbert frowned. "It's about Miss Devine," he 
 said. "I have been assured that you propose to 
 contract an alliance with that young woman, the 
 niece of that more than suspect New Zealander, 
 Scruton."
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 303 
 
 "Well, you've been assured wrong," I said. 
 "But suppose I did? Miss Devine is a very; nice 
 girl quite charming." 
 
 "I wish I had been misinformed," said Herbert 
 gloomily, shaking his large head. "But my in- 
 formant " 
 
 "Who is your informant?" I said quickly. 
 
 Herbert hesitated, then he said: "Sir Theobald 
 Walsh." 
 
 "The biggest blackguard in London. You 
 Liberals do keep nice company," I said. 
 
 "I met him quite by accident," Herbert half 
 apologized. 
 
 "We all know all about those accidents," I said. 
 "And now I come to think of it, it was you who 
 first took me to gamble at Scruton's. You Lib- 
 erals do lead lives !" I said. 
 
 "As a matter of fact, I met* him at one of your 
 clubs the Palladium," said Herbert, his round 
 face beginning to grow purplish. "And in a case 
 like this, I would as soon take the opinion of Sir 
 Theobald Walsh as anybody's. His intrigues have 
 made him an expert, and he is convinced that you 
 are infatuated with this girl infatuated. But it 
 won't do, Rupert. With your name and money,
 
 304 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 you can't marry a girl who is merely a decoy in a 
 gambling-hell. That's what Scruton's house is." 
 
 "I like this, from you," I said. "It's exactly 
 what you wanted to do yourself. You wanted to 
 marry Kitty Gage, and she was just as much and 
 just as little a decoy as Miss Devine is. In fact, I 
 think that Kitty Gage was a great deal more 
 aware of the part she was playing than ever Miss 
 Devine was." 
 
 "Yes; I did want to marry Kitty Maynard, and 
 I have learned that you saved me from the mar- 
 riage " 
 
 "Saved her, my good chap saved her," I inter- 
 rupted in a kind voice. 
 
 " by helping Freddy Gage to carry her off and 
 marry her," Herbert went on without heeding the 
 interruption. "I am grateful to you now, though 
 I was very much annoyed at the time. It was an 
 unfortunate fascination, and I had a lucky escape." 
 
 "She had, at any rate," said I, keeping up the 
 kind voice. 
 
 "I could not let you fall into the very pit out of 
 which you helped me, without a word of protest 
 and warning," Herbert went on. "And this mar-
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 305 
 
 riage wouldn't do. Walsh is very shrewd, and we 
 both agreed that it wouldn't do." 
 
 "I'm devilishly obliged to both of you for your 
 interference," I said. "But I've never dreamt of 
 marrying Miss Devine; and I'm quite sure she's 
 never dreamt of marrying me." 
 
 "Oh, hasn't she?" said Herbert. "It's no use 
 telling that kind of thing to a man of the world like 
 me. Of course, she's had your thirty thousand a 
 year in mind all the time." 
 
 I stood up rather suddenly. 
 
 "You'd better go, Herbert," I said quickly. "I 
 should hate to kick a cousin out of my house." 
 
 Herbert rose suddenly, too, and he went, protest- 
 ing that that was not the way to receive a well-meant 
 remonstrance. But he went quickly. 
 
 I was really angry. Alice was the last girl in the 
 world to think about my thirty thousand a year 
 the very last. He had no right, moreover, to talk 
 about my marrying her. We were not at all on that 
 kind of footing. We were just good friends, and 
 nothing more. 
 
 I was glad that Herbert went quickly; on second 
 thoughts I should have certainly kicked him out of
 
 3 o6 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 the house. At any rate, I had checked his inter- 
 fering and I thought no more about him. I had 
 two or three of my usual talks with Alice, in the 
 central garden or at her uncle's parties. Then for 
 two days she did not come into the garden once at 
 any rate, while I was in it. I began to wonder what 
 kept her away, and I was quite surprised to find 
 how much I missed her. When I first caught sight 
 of her at her uncle's next party, my heart gave quite 
 a funny little jump. 
 
 But something had gone wrong. She did not 
 smile when I shook hands with her, she looked at 
 me in quite a different way. There was no friendli- 
 ness in her eyes. She only said " L Yes" and "No" to 
 everything I said to her. 
 
 Presently I left her, thinking I would talk to her 
 when she was not so busy with her uncle's guests, 
 and went to the card-table. I wondered a little what 
 had upset her. Then Walsh came, and she was very 
 different with him. She smiled and talked to him 
 quite cheerfully. They seemed all of a sudden to 
 have become quite friends. I was a good deal an- 
 noyed. An hour later, when Walsh was playing 
 baccarat, and no one else was with her, I went to
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 307 
 
 her and tried to talk to her again. It was no use. 
 She looked at me with no expression at all in her 
 face, and had nothing whatever to say to me. 
 
 All that week she did not come into the central 
 garden at any rate while I was there. During 
 Scruton's next party I left her alone and she seemed 
 more friendly than ever with Walsh. It was very 
 annoying. I wondered whether it was that he had 
 made it plain that his intentions were on the square, 
 and she was consequently trying to have less to do 
 with me to please him. I did not think it was so, 
 for she seemed really offended with me, not merely 
 cold. 
 
 At the party after that, I made my effort. I 
 tried to get her to tell me what I had done to offend 
 her. She said she did not know what I meant, and 
 pretended I had no reason at all to fancy that I had 
 offended her. Then she let Walsh talk to her for 
 more than an hour and seemed to enjoy it thor- 
 oughly. She was bright and cheerful with him all 
 the time. It was very annoying. 
 
 I saw that some of the other men noticed her new 
 friendliness with Walsh, and I saw that they did not 
 like it, for they were friends of hers. Then I was
 
 308 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 helping myself to a drink at the side-table when the 
 piebald duke came to it and began to mix a brandy" 
 and-soda. 
 
 He looked at me in a rather hesitating way, then 
 he said: "I say, Garthoyle, that little girl Scru- 
 ton's niece she's a friend of yours, isn't she?" 
 
 "Yes," I said, wondering what was coming. 
 
 He paused and looked at the cheerful pair on the 
 sofa, then he said : "That hound Walsh seems to be 
 getting very friendly with her. Doesn't it want 
 checking? You know what Walsh is with women. 
 And she seems a nice child simple. She has no 
 business to be at these parties at all, don't you know ? 
 Couldn't you play a little less and keep her amused 
 keep Walsh away?" 
 
 "I might try," I said. "Not that she will take any 
 harm from Walsh she's not the kind." 
 
 "Yes, yes; of course. But she's very young. No 
 use taking any risks. You know what women are 
 silly." 
 
 "Well, I'll do what I can," I said. "But I don't 
 think I can do much at present. Either I've offended 
 Miss Devine, or Walsh has been telling her lies about 
 me."
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 309 
 
 He looked at Walsh not at all as if he liked or 
 admired him. 
 
 "I should think it's that Walsh has been lying," 
 he said. 
 
 "Well, anyhow, I'm afraid I shall have to play a 
 waiting game," I said. 
 
 "It would be an awfully good thing, if you could 
 find a reasonable excuse for blacking both his eyes 
 and keeping him at home for a while," said the duke 
 almost viciously. 
 
 "He wouldn't give me the chance. He knows too 
 much about me," I said. "If a middle-weight ama- 
 teur champion wants a scrap, he has to find a perfect 
 stranger to oblige him. As a matter of fact, I gave 
 Walsh a fair chance a few nights ago. I told him 
 several unpleasant things about himself. But he 
 didn't take it." 
 
 We finished our drinks and went back to the table. 
 I was a good deal surprised by the duke's speaking 
 to me. I had not thought that he could keep his 
 attention off the game long enough to notice such a 
 thing as the friendliness between Alice and Walsh. 
 His warning made the matter much more serious. 
 A duke is naturally an expert in women; they run
 
 3 io ALICE DEVINE 
 
 after him so. He must be thinking that things were 
 getting pretty dangerous. I knew that Walsh was 
 in dead earnest; and now there was no relying on 
 Alice's dislike of him. He seemed to have worn it 
 down. It was very annoying. 
 
 If only I could find out how I had offended her, 
 and set that right, it would be a different matter; 
 for, if she and I were friends again I thought I 
 could queer Walsh's game. But I could not think 
 what on earth I had done, or what she had been told 
 I had done, though I thought of every possible 
 thing. 
 
 Then Walsh himself gave me the hint. At Scru- 
 ton's next party he was sitting by Alice talking to 
 her when I came in. 
 
 "Ah, the gay abductor!" he said in his sneering 
 way. 
 
 Then I tumbled to it. He was friendly enough 
 with Herbert to learn from him how I had helped 
 Gage carry off Kitty Maynard. I might take it as 
 pretty certain that Herbert had also told him that I 
 had said that I never dreamed of marrying Alice. 
 Walsh had told Alice this with embellishments. He 
 had made it seem absolutely offensive. No wonder
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 311 
 
 she was angry with me. I could have wrung his 
 neck cheerfully. 
 
 When I came to consider the matter I found my- 
 self no better off now that I had guessed why she 
 was furious with me than I was before. I could not 
 go to her and say: "Look here; you've been told 
 that I've been saying that I should never dream of 
 marrying you. I didn't say it the way you think I 
 did." 
 
 It was absurd. I did want to wring Walsh's neck. 
 
 Well, I could only sit tight and keep my temper. 
 I did. I took Alice's snubbings like a lamb, a cheer- 
 ful lamb. But once or twice when Walsh chipped 
 in, I was pleased to get the chance of showing that 
 the lambness was only skin-deep. Certainly I gave 
 him every excuse to punch my head. I only wished 
 he would. But to Alice I tried to make it plain that 
 whatever she might say, I was still her friend. Yet 
 it was hard work to see her playing with fire, and 
 keep quiet. If I had not been so tied up, if I could 
 have let myself go, and made up my mind to marry 
 her, and ask her to marry me, I thought I could get 
 into a position to set things right. But I could not. 
 The ghost trick stuck in my mind.
 
 3 i2 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 All the while she went on growing friendlier and 
 friendlier with Walsh. I found that she was even 
 letting him help her take her waifs into the country 
 for afternoon outings. He spoke to her about it 
 before me just to annoy me. He took them in his 
 motor-car, just as I had taken the anarchists; and 
 she went with them to look after them. I must say 
 that that did annoy me worse than anything. I 
 could only hope that her old distrust of him was 
 still alive under this new friendliness; and I had 
 an idea that she showed herself far more friendly; 
 with him when I was present, hearing their talk, 
 than when I was not. He tried to be quite insuffer- 
 able with his triumphant airs; they did not get at 
 me much. I took it that he was only putting them 
 on just to annoy me. 
 
 Naturally I was delighted to see, one evening at 
 Scruton's, that Walsh had received a set-back. Alice 
 had plainly quarreled with him; she would have 
 nothing to do with him. He kept leaving the bac- 
 carat-table and coming to her and talking. But 
 from his face I gathered that she was snubbing him 
 worse than she snubbed me. He was a blackish 
 purple. At the same time she showed herself no 
 friendlier with me; she did not use me to annoy
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 313 
 
 Walsh. Then I thought that she looked rather un- 
 happy ; and it spoilt my pleasure in her quarrel with 
 Walsh. It looked as if she were feeling unhappy 
 because she had quarreled with him. 
 
 I was taking her coldness in my usual cheerful 
 way ; and I could not help saying : "I'm glad to see 
 you've found Walsh out. I thought he was pretty 
 sure to give himself away. He's not the sort cf 
 man that it's safe for a woman to be decent to at 
 all." 
 
 She was sitting stiffly enough; but she drew her- 
 self up even more stiffly; and her pretty eyes spar- 
 kled, and she said : "I I don't see anything what- 
 ever to choose between Sir Theobald Walsh and 
 Lord Garthoyle." 
 
 "Oh, but there is lots," I said. 
 
 She said a little breathlessly: "Oh, you have 
 you have a a " 
 
 "Cheek ? Yes ; I have. I was born with it," said 
 I, stroking it. "But all the same it's true. And 
 honestly, where Walsh is concerned, you have to be 
 careful you do really. Yo,u can tell him I said so, 
 too." 
 
 She looked at me as though she did not know 
 quite what unpleasant thing to say as if I was too
 
 3H ALICE DEVINE 
 
 aggravating for words. She opened her lips; then 
 she shut them and said nothing. 
 
 Of course, it was cheek; but I was glad to have 
 given her the warning. I suppose, however, that 
 that was why she let Walsh make peace with her, 
 and seemed more friendly with him than ever. It 
 really looked as if he would win out and marry her. 
 It would be a great pity; she was far too delicate 
 and sensitive to be the wife of that scowling scoun- 
 drel. She might be happy with him for a couple of 
 months at the outside; then it would be the usual 
 neglect and other women. 
 
 It was very annoying. It worried me and made 
 me restless. Things grew so tasteless polo, and 
 motoring, and even being the complete house-agent, 
 and running Garthoyle Gardens. Baccarat was 
 rather better; though I had to be careful to play sit- 
 ting with my back to Alice, that I might not see her 
 and Walsh together. I felt so helpless to prevent 
 her making a mess of things. Yet somehow I could 
 not get it out of my head that she did not really care 
 for Walsh, that she was just friendly with him and 
 no more. I wondered how he would take it when 
 he found out that it was so. I was afraid he might 
 make himself violently unpleasant. I could only
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 315 
 
 hope that I might be at hand when he did; for I 
 did not think that, even if she went to Scruton, he 
 would be of much help to her. The whole business 
 was very annoying. 
 
 Then, one evening I noticed that they had had 
 another quarrel; for Walsh came scowling to the 
 baccarat-table, and did not go near her for an hour ; 
 then they seemed to make it up. 
 
 The next afternoon I went down to Wembly 
 Park for some polo practise. As I motored into the 
 Gardens, on my return, I saw a small and rather 
 ragged boy hurrying along the pavement, and I 
 recognized Alice's protege, Robespierre Briggs, the 
 anarchist. I stopped the car and called to him. 
 
 He came running up and cried : "Mr. Garth, it's 
 Miss Alice! She's bin carried awye!" 
 
 "Carried away! What do you mean?" I said. 
 
 "It's Sir Theerbald Walsh 'im what's a baronit. 
 'E an' Miss Alice took us to Chipperfield Common 
 in 'is moter, the syme as you did. An' we got outer 
 the car, an' 'e shoves a 'andful of money silver 
 inter my 'and, an' catches 'old of Miss Alice an' 
 pulls 'er back inter the car. An' she tells 'im ter let 
 'er go ; and 'e says 'e ain't never goin' ter let 'er go. 
 An' she calls out ter me : 'Go to Mr. Scruton, Gar-
 
 316 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 thoyle Gardens, Robbie, an' tell 'im!' An* the car 
 goes orf an' leaves us there. An' I gives Cherlie 
 most of the money, an' I run most of the wye to 
 King's Langley stytion, an' a tryne to London come 
 in, an' I come by it to Euston, an' got 'ere in a bus ; 
 an' there ain't a copper abart, an' I can't find which 
 is Mr. Scruton's 'ouse!" 
 
 He was white and breathless and ready to cry. I 
 bade him jump into the car, and ran round the tri- 
 angle to Scruton's. 
 
 We were taken straight to him in his smoking- 
 room, and found him sleeping peacefully in an easy 
 chair. 
 
 Our entrance woke him, and I said: "I've nice 
 news for you, Scruton. That blackguard Walsh 
 has kidnaped Miss Devine." 
 
 "Kidnaped? What the deuce are you talking 
 about?" he cried, waking up thoroughly. 
 
 I told him Robespierre's story of the abduction. 
 
 "I wouldn't have had this happen for fifty thou- 
 sand pounds!" he cried. "Alice's all the kith and 
 kin I've got in the world! How are we to find 
 them? How are we to get at the swine?" 
 
 He was growing if anything blacker than Walsh 
 was after I had said a few kind words to him.
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 317 
 
 "Well, there's just a chance," I said. "Walsh has 
 a house near Pinner, and I happen to know that he 
 uses it in his love-affairs. Now, Pinner's on the 
 way between Chipperfield and London. It's any 
 odds that he's taken her there. He doesn't know 
 that I know anything about it. We might try it on 
 the chance. My car's at the door." 
 
 "By jove ! It's a chance ! Quite a good chance !" 
 cried Scruton. 
 
 He ran across the room to a bureau, opened a 
 drawer, took a revolver from it, and thrust it into 
 his hip pocket, saying: "I always feel more com- 
 fortable carrying a gun when there's trouble about." 
 
 I gathered that he had not spent all his life in 
 quiet New Zealand. We hurried out to the car; I 
 gave Robespierre a tenner for his promptitude; and 
 Scruton and I jumped into the tonneau. When I 
 want the best got out of it, I leave it to Gaston; I 
 do not drive it myself then. I told him to get to 
 Pinner as fast as he could ; and he set her going as 
 we settled back in our seats. 
 
 Then Scruton turned to me and said: "What 
 does Walsh mean by it? What the devil does he 
 mean by it?" 
 
 "He sticks at nothing where a woman is con-
 
 3i8 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 cerned. I should have thought you knew that," I 
 said. 
 
 "Does he think that I'm the kind of man to have 
 my womankind kidnaped? If any harm has come 
 to Alice, I'll throttle him !" 
 
 "If he's taken her to The Cedars, we shall be in 
 plenty of time. She won't have come to any harm," 
 I said. "But Walsh is very sidey; he thinks that, 
 where a commoner like you is concerned, a British 
 baronet can do anything he chooses." 
 
 I thought it as well to get Scruton furious. Be- 
 sides, it was true. 
 
 "Oh, he does, does he? Well, I'll teach him to 
 play a scoundrelly trick on a young girl ! I'll wring 
 his neck for him all right all right!" he roared. 
 "And the duke did give me a hint to keep my eye 
 on him. But I didn't give heed to it, for I knew 
 that Alice was all right. I never dreamed that 
 Walsh would play this game on me." 
 
 "Walsh is just the man to do it, you see. He 
 doesn't give a damn for a man like you," I said. 
 
 "I'll teach him all about that," roared Scruton. 
 
 I saw no point in telling him that Walsh had told 
 me that he wanted to marry Alice, and was not up
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 319 
 
 to serious mischief, but merely trying to force her 
 to marry him by compromising her in exactly the 
 same way as Freddy Gage had forced Kitty May- 
 nard to marry him to save her from Herbert. In 
 fact, Walsh had cribbed the idea from me; and the 
 one abduction had led to the other. 
 
 At the same time I was infernally uneasy. There 
 was no trusting Walsh; and if we did not find Alice 
 at The Cedars, I should be frightened out of my 
 life. 
 
 Scruton was properly furious. All the way he 
 was either growling or raging at Walsh ; and I did 
 hope to goodness he would get the chance of dealing 
 with the hound. 
 
 Gaston made short work of the road to Pinner. 
 But oh, it was a devilishly uncomfortable journey! 
 I was so frightened lest Walsh should have taken 
 Alice somewhere else. 
 
 I did not let Gaston drive the car to the front 
 gates of The Cedars. I told him to turn down a 
 side lane half a mile on the London side of it; and 
 we came to a gate in a little wood. I knew of this 
 entrance from Carrie Delamere. I had taken her 
 out in my car one afternoon ; and she had suggested
 
 320 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 that we should have a picnic tea in the little wood. 
 After tea she had taken me along a path through it 
 which had brought us to the garden of The Cedars. 
 
 Scruton and I hurried through the wood to the 
 gate of the garden. It was locked; but we lifted it 
 off its hinges and slipped into the covert of a shrub- 
 bery which ran right up to the house. I was pleased 
 to see that several of the windows were open, and a 
 glass door leading from the house to the garden. 
 
 "Somebody's living here, at any rate," said 
 Scruton. 
 
 We came under covert to within ten yards of the 
 house; then we heard a murmur of voices from an 
 open window in the left side of it on the ground 
 floor. As we worked our way noiselessly toward 
 it, I heard the tones of Alice's voice; and my heart 
 gave a little jump of relief. 
 
 When we faced the window, there was Walsh 
 sitting with his back to us, right in the window-seat, 
 with one elbow sticking out over the sill. Beyond 
 him, sitting at a little table with tea on it, was Alice. 
 I saw that her face was pale; and I saw that she was 
 looking at Walsh with an extraordinary expression 
 of contempt and dislike. 
 
 "For the hundredth time, I tell you there's no
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 321 
 
 way out of it you've got to marry me," said Walsh, 
 in a lazy aggravating drawl. 
 
 "If you were the only man in the world I wouldn't 
 after to-day," said Alice. 
 
 She spoke quite calmly, without any temper, but 
 as if she were thoroughly in earnest, and her voice 
 was as full of dislike and contempt as her eyes. 
 
 "After to-day after this visit you're paying me, 
 I'm the only man left in the world who will marry 
 you," said Walsh in a taunting tone. 
 
 "That makes no difference you detestable cad !" 
 said Alice slowly. 
 
 "What a way to speak of your future husband! 
 On your wedding-day, too," said Walsh, and he 
 laughed quietly, as if he were enjoying himself 
 thoroughly. "And do bear in mind that it's only 
 out of natural nobility of nature that I'm marrying 
 you at all. It isn't really necessary." 
 
 He laughed again a laugh that made the very 
 toes of my boots itch to kick him. 
 
 While he laughed, in three noiseless strides Scru- 
 ton crossed the turf, leaned in at the window, and 
 his arm shot round Walsh's neck, scragging him. 
 Then with furious jerks and tugs he began to drag 
 him out of the window.
 
 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Mind his neck!" I cried. 
 
 "Damn his neck! Come put, will you?" cried 
 Scruton. 
 
 And Walsh came out, all waving arms and legs, 
 grunting, black in the face with fury and being 
 throttled. 
 
 "Get Alice away !" said Scruton. 
 
 She was already at the window; I caught hold of 
 her, lifted her through it and carried her into the 
 shrubbery. It seemed the natural thing to do. 
 
 "Put me down ! Put me down !" she cried, trying 
 to twist out of my arms. 
 
 "Very good," I said. "But we've got to hurry." 
 
 I put her down, but kept an arm round her as I 
 hurried her along. She tried, not very violently, to 
 push it away. But it seemed all right where it was 
 to me and I kept it there. She might have tripped 
 and fallen on the rough ground of the shrubbery. 
 
 "Oh, I was so frightened. I am so glad you 
 came," she said in a shaky voice. 
 
 "And I was frightened, too awfully frightened. 
 I know that blackguard Walsh. It was the luckiest 
 thing in the world that I lighted on Robespierre." 
 
 "Oh, it was lucky !" she cried.
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 323 
 
 We were nearly at the bottom of the shrubbery 
 when Walsh began to shout. I pushed through it, 
 out into the open and looked back. He and Scruton 
 were going at it hammer and tongs on the lawn in 
 front of the house. I had no fear for Scruton; he 
 was the heavier man and as hard as nails, while 
 Walsh was soft and on the puffy side. He was 
 howling for servants. While I looked he went 
 down heavily, and he did not get up. I hurried 
 lAlice out of the garden. 
 
 In the wood I loosed her not that I wanted to 
 and we went through it more slowly. 
 
 "Oh, I was glad to see you !" she said. "How did 
 you come to learn about it? Where did you see 
 Robespierre ?" 
 
 "I found him wandering about the Gardens, look- 
 ing for your uncle's house, and he told me that 
 Walsh had carried you off." 
 
 "I knew he'd find my uncle, I was sure of it," said 
 Alice. "But I didn't see how my uncle could find 
 me, how he would know where that horrible brute 
 had taken me. I thought it might be days and days 
 before he found out, and oh! I was frightened!" 
 
 "Well, I knew of that lair of Walsh's, and we
 
 324 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 drew it on the chance. It was lucky that he brought 
 you here. If he hadn't it might have been days and 
 days before we found you." 
 
 She shivered and we hurried a few steps without 
 speaking. 
 
 Then she said: "It does seem strange that it 
 should always be you who helps me when I'm in a 
 difficulty." And she looked at me with thankful 
 eyes. 
 
 "No one would think it if they saw the brutal 
 way you treat me," I said quickly. 
 
 "Oh, that," she said, blushing. "Well, you you 
 deserved it." 
 
 "No, I didn't. I did nothing to make you jump 
 on me for weeks. And you wouldn't tell me what 
 I'd done to offend you. What was it ?" I said, jump- 
 ing at the chance of clearing things up. 
 
 She shook her head and blushed again. "I'm not 
 going to tell you," she said. 
 
 "I know quite well that Walsh told you some lie 
 about me," I said. 
 
 "Perhaps it was," she said. 
 
 "Of course it was. And I don't think it was at 
 all friendly to believe it ; at least you ought to have 
 given me a chance of clearing it up."
 
 WALSH INTERVENES 325 
 
 "Perhaps I ought. But it seerned to be the truth. 
 He wasn't the only one to say it," said she. 
 
 It had been that ass Herbert. 
 
 "I don't believe that you believed it really. You 
 just made it an excuse to jump on me," I said. 
 
 "Oh, no no ! I didn't want to be unfriendly. I 
 did believe it truly!" she cried. 
 
 "Well, it was very wrong of you," I said. "But 
 we're friends again now ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; we're friends again now," she said. 
 And I thought that her eyes shone so brightly be- 
 cause there were tears in them. 
 
 Scruton came running round the corner of the 
 path behind us, carrying a broom-handle. 
 
 "Hurry up! I've drawn a whole swarm!" he 
 cried. 
 
 I slipped my arm round Alice again and we ran 
 through the wood. As we reached the car we heard 
 the clumping of thick boots and grunting voices 
 behind us. We scrambled into the tonneau and I 
 told Gaston to let the car go. 
 
 "I laid him out all right all right !" said Scruton 
 cheerfully. "And then I lammed him with this 
 broom-handle. It was all I could find. I wasn't 
 half through with him when a gardener and chauf-
 
 326 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 feur husky fellows came bustling round the 
 house, and as they came they shouted to some one 
 else. So I gave Walsh three last souvenirs, and 
 faded." 
 
 "Fm so glad you thrashed him," said Alice. 
 
 "Yes, missie ; but for the future you cut out Tno- 
 toring with British baronets," said Scruton. 
 
 "Yes; stick to peers they're far safer," said I.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 
 
 I DINED at Scruton's that night, and a very 
 pleasant dinner it was, since he had to go off to 
 a bridge-party at ten o'clock and leave me and Alice 
 together. I tried very hard to learn from her why 
 she had insisted on quarreling with me, so severely 
 and for so long, but though I teased her about it 
 most of the evening, I could not get her to tell me. 
 I was pretty sure, in fact I was quite sure, that she 
 had been set against me by some idle lie of Walsh's, 
 probably backed up by that idiot Herbert. 
 
 I was a long time getting to sleep that night. The 
 whole of this Walsh business the way his making 
 love to Alice had worried me, the fright I had had 
 when I learned that he had carried her off in his 
 motor-car, that anxious journey to Pinner, and the 
 enormous relief I had felt when I heard her voice 
 through the open window had opened my eyes as 
 wide as they could be opened. It was quite plain to 
 
 327
 
 328 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 me that my friendship for her was a good deal more 
 than friendship. 
 
 Of course, it would be delightful to marry her; 
 she was charming, and thoroughly nice, and as pretty 
 as a girl could be. I, at any rate, could not remem- 
 ber ever having known or seen half so pretty a girl. 
 If she would marry me (and I thought she would in 
 time, if I were patient), she would make a perfectly 
 ripping wife. But that confounded ghost trick stuck 
 in my throat. There was no getting over the fact 
 that she had helped Scruton to trick my Uncle Alger- 
 non, and to try to trick me out of a quarter's rent. 
 
 That trick was like nothing else in her ; it did not 
 fit in with the rest of her at all. In fact, there was 
 no explaining it by any other single thing I had ever 
 seen in her. It did seem likely that there was some 
 simple explanation of it, but, worry as I might, I 
 could not hit on it. I might, of course, have gone 
 straight to her and asked her about it. But I did 
 not like to. In fact, I dare not. There was that 
 awkward fact that when I had caught her playing 
 the ghost, I had kissed her. I remembered that kiss 
 quite well, but I also remembered her fury at it, and 
 the slap, with all the righteous indignation behind 
 it, which she gave me. I was quite sure that she
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 329 
 
 had taken that kiss very seriously indeed; probably 
 she had been awfully cut up about it. Very likely 
 she detested the unknown man who had kissed her. 
 I knew that she never dreamt that I was he. If she 
 did learn that I was the offender, judging from the 
 way she had treated me over that silly lie of Walsh's, 
 she would probably have no more to do with me. 
 
 Of course, it was very unreasonable to take a 
 snatched kiss seriously. It might happen to any- 
 body. But Alice was like that; of course, women 
 never are reasonable about that kind of thing. 
 
 It was a very difficult business, and for the next 
 few days I worried and worried over it. I could 
 not make up my mind what to do. Then the Walsh 
 affair, too, had changed Alice. She had grown 
 rather shy with me. It was all right after we had 
 been talking a while, but she was shy when she met 
 me, and if I came on her suddenly, she blushed 
 faintly, but quite distinctly. It always made me 
 want to pick her up and kiss her, and tell her that 
 she was the only girl in the world for me. After 
 a while I could not think of that kiss I gave her, 
 when I caught her playing the ghost, without want- 
 ing to kiss her again. At least, it was more than 
 wanting it was a kind of burning to do it
 
 330 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 I kept on getting more and more worried, and I 
 quite realized that I was in the mess of a lifetime. 
 
 At last I made up my mind that the only thing 
 to do was to bolt, and be quick about it. A course 
 of foreign travel was the only chance of curing my- 
 self, and the sooner I took it, the less painful I 
 should find it. I saw plainly that it was not a case 
 for big game shooting. If I got away to the loneli- 
 ness of the woods and hills, I should only be worse. 
 I should want Alice worse than ever. A good dose 
 of racketing about the capitals of Europe was what 
 I wanted. 
 
 I saw this quite clearly, but then I could not drag 
 myself away from London. I could not bear the 
 idea of leaving Alice. I had to struggle like any- 
 thing to get myself to go, but at last I went off to 
 Paris. I did not tell Alice I was going ; I dared not. 
 She might look hurt at the thought of it, and then, 
 ghost trick or no ghost trick, I should pick her up 
 and kiss her. I knew I should. 
 
 I put in three days at Paris, with lots of wild 
 hilarity in them. Then the whole place seemed to 
 turn sour, and after lunch on the fourth day, I told 
 Mowart to pack my things and take ticket for Ber- 
 lin, a much more amusing town, when you know the
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 331 
 
 ropes, than people will admit. I could only stand it 
 for a day. I was restless, and bored beyond relief. 
 At six in the evening I told Mowart to pack and 
 came straight back to Garthoyle Gardens. 
 
 I was no sooner in my own house, within three 
 hundred yards of Alice, than the restlessness left 
 me. I wanted to see her as soon as possible, of 
 course, but I could wait an hour or two without an 
 effort. 
 
 I dined at home, with a much better appetite than 
 I had had in Paris or Berlin; and then I went out 
 into the central garden. It was late, for I had dined 
 late it must have been nearly half past ten. There 
 was not much chance of finding Alice, for she did 
 not often come into the garden at night. But there 
 was a chance, and I strolled all round it, looking for 
 her. I did *not find her. I had made a circuit of the 
 garden and come back to the gate opposite my own 
 house; I turned and went up the broad path which 
 runs to the middle of the garden. 
 
 I was about fifty yards from the ring of shrub- 
 beries which forms the center of the garden, when 
 a figure burst out of one of the lawns in the ring 
 and came running toward me. I saw that it was 
 a woman; then I saw that it was a girl, and then I
 
 332 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 saw that it was Alice herself. When she was ten 
 yards from me I saw that she was as white as a sheet 
 and was panting and sobbing. She almost ran into 
 me before she saw me, and then, pulling up, fairly 
 tumbled into my arms. 
 
 "Whatever is it ?" I cried, holding her up. 
 
 "Oh, I've been so frightened !" she gasped. 
 
 She was as cold as ice, and trembling as I have 
 never seen any one tremble before. I half carried, 
 half dragged her to the nearest bench, and sat down 
 on it with her in my arms. 
 
 "Gently, gently you're quite safe now you 
 needn't be frightened any longer," I said; and I 
 kissed her. 
 
 It was rather taking advantage of her terror, but 
 I was startled and did not think of that; and it 
 seemed the natural thing to do just as one would 
 kiss a frightened child. She did not seem to mind 
 it and I kissed her again. 
 
 She sobbed and choked and panted for two or 
 three minutes, then she recovered enough to say : 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad you came. I should never have 
 got as far as the gate never !" 
 
 She looked up the path with terrified* eyes -and 
 shrank closer to me.
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 333 
 
 "Who, was it? Who frightened you? Was it 
 that brute Walsh?" I said, beginning to get angry; 
 and I half rose with the idea of going and smashing 
 him. 
 
 "No no it was no one. It was the straw hat," 
 she panted. 
 
 "The what?" I cried. 
 
 "It was the straw hat," she said. 
 
 "What straw hat? Tell me all about it, please," 
 said I; and I kissed her again, to give her confi- 
 dence. 
 
 She pulled herself together with an effort that 
 shook her ; then she went on in a steadier voice : "I 
 was coming toward the center of the garden and I 
 thought I saw a man a man in a straw hat go into 
 the lawn the lawn in which Etienne Bechut was 
 murdered. He was very indistinct, and it was odd 
 and it puzzled me. So when I got to the lawn I 
 went half-way through the entrance and peeped; 
 and I saw his straw hat lying on the lawn just where 
 it was when we found his body. And I knew that 
 his body was lying there, too, just out of sight round 
 the corner. But I didn't stop to look; it frightened 
 me so. And I ran and ran; and the farther I ran 
 the more frightened I grew. I felt as if he were
 
 334 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 after me. And I couldn't have run much farther 
 when I met you ; I should have dropped." 
 
 "Why, you poor child!" I said; and I kissed her 
 again. "You imagined it all. You frightened your- 
 self. There wasn't really any hat there. It was 
 fancy pure fancy or perhaps it was the light fall- 
 ing through the trees in a white patch that looked 
 like a hat." 
 
 "No; there was no white patch. There were no 
 shadows to make them. The moon was shining full 
 on the lawn, and the hat was lying full in the moon- 
 light," she said. 
 
 I hesitated . . . she was so sure ... I did not 
 know what to do. Then I said : "When you've 
 recovered a bit more, we'll go to that lawn and make 
 sure." 
 
 "No! No ! I won't go near the dreadful place !" 
 she cried. 
 
 "All right," I said. "I'll take you home ; and then 
 I'll come back and look into it." 
 
 "No, no; you mustn't. I won't have it. It's 
 dreadfully dangerous. I'm sure it is," she cried, and 
 she caught hold of my arm with both hands, and 
 held on to it as if she meant to keep me there. 
 
 I kissed her again; and then suddenly she flushed,
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 335 
 
 as if she had just noticed the kisses for the first time, 
 and tried to slip off my knee. 
 
 I held her tight and said : "No ; you're more com- 
 fortable where you are; and you feel so much safer." 
 
 I drew her closer to me and kissed her again. She 
 was quite still. 
 
 We sat on that bench for a long time I had it 
 taken away to Garth Royal later; and it is in the 
 rose-garden there, under a stone canopy. We did 
 not say very much, because there did not seem to be 
 anything to say. It seemed to be quite enough to be 
 sitting there together. At last she said that she must 
 be going, or the house would be locked up, and she 
 would have to ring up a servant to let her in. 
 
 I rose very unwillingly, set her down and said: 
 "Well, if you must, you must. As we go by it, we'll 
 just take a look at that lawn. It will never do for 
 you to be afraid to come into this garden at night, 
 now." 
 
 "Oh, it will be horrid!" she cried, clutching my 
 arm. "And there isn't any need there isn't really. 
 I shan't be frightened to-morrow at all." 
 
 I felt her quivering a little with a fresh terror. 
 
 "You'd better come along. You'll be ever so 
 much less frightened about this, if you actually knew
 
 336 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 that there's no hat on that lawn and no body either," 
 I said in a coaxing tone. 
 
 She did not refuse any longer; but she did not 
 come at all readily; and when we came near the 
 lawn, her feet seemed to drag rather in spite of her- 
 self. As we went into the narrow entrance I held 
 her very light to reassure her. 
 
 The lawn was quite bright in the moonlight. 
 There was no straw hat lying on it, nor any body of 
 the murdered blackmailer. 
 
 Alice breathed a quick sigh of relief, and said 
 softly : "Thank goodness !" 
 
 I kissed her and said : "I tell you what, it's pos- 
 sible that you fancied .you saw a straw hat be- 
 cause you noticed it so strongly on the night we 
 found the body; and the sight of the lawn again 
 suggested it so vividly to you that you actually saw 
 it." 
 
 "No; I saw it too distinctly much too distinctly 
 for it to be any fancy," she said firmly. 
 
 "Well, perhaps there was a real straw hat," I said. 
 "It's a hot night; and very likely somebody did come 
 on to the lawn and threw his hat down before he sat 
 down himself. If you had looked further on the 
 lawn, you'd have seen him sitting or lying on the
 
 THE COURSE OF. TRUE LOVE 337 
 
 ground, and probably smoking a quite harmless 
 real man." 
 
 "And where is he ?" she said. 
 
 "He has had plenty of time to go away," said I. 
 
 She shook her head as if that did not satisfy her, 
 either; and we went a few steps farther on the 
 lawn. 
 
 All at once I had an odd feeling, quite strong, 
 that there was something wrong with the lawn. I 
 thought that I must have caught some of Alice's 
 fright; and just as I felt it she shivered. 
 
 I did not say anything; I turned quietly round, 
 and we walked off the lawn. It took rather an effort 
 not to jump out of it at the entrance; a chill ran 
 down my back, and I had a horrid feeling that some- 
 thing, something beastly, was behind me coming 
 after me. Alice gasped and gripped my arm hard. 
 
 Once we were clear of the entrance, the feeling 
 stopped, as though the thing, whatever it was, came 
 no farther than the lawn. But we walked away 
 from it pretty quickly. 
 
 We had gone about twenty yards, when Alice said 
 in a voice that had gone shaky again: "There is 
 something wrong about that lawn. I am sure of it. 
 I felt it oh, ever so distinctly."
 
 338 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "Well, it's natural that you should find a place 
 creepy where you suddenly come upon the body of 
 a murdered man. But you saw for yourself that 
 the lawn was absolutely empty," said I. 
 
 I did not see that anything was to be gained by 
 telling her that I had caught some of her fright, and 
 found tne lawn creepy, too. If I did, she'd never 
 come into the garden at night without feeling un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 "Yes; I saw that it was empty," she said, after a 
 pause; but she did not say it as if she found that 
 fact at all satisfying. 
 
 We walked on out of the garden, going more 
 slowly the nearer we came to the gate ; and then we 
 were some time in her uncle's porch before she rang 
 the bell. 
 
 I walked back to my house in a quite contented 
 frame of mind. Alice's fright had forced my hand 
 and settled things for us. It had for the time being 
 put the ghost trick out of my mind. In fact, one 
 ghost had laid the other ; and I was very glad that it 
 had. In spite of the fact that I had spent the night 
 before traveling across Europe, I was a long while 
 getting to sleep. I had to think about Alice. 
 
 When, blushing and smiling, she met me in the
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 339 
 
 garden next morning, she looked perfectly adorable. 
 We lost no time in finding a secluded corner; and 
 we were very happy in it. 
 
 We had plenty of things to talk about; but our 
 talk was rather jerky and interrupted. It must have 
 been nearly an hour before we got to the subject 
 of her fright the night before. She was still quite 
 sure that she had seen a straw hat lying on the lawn, 
 and that it was not a real straw hat. 
 
 r At last I said carelessly, without thinking : "Then 
 I tell you what it was. It was a judgment on you." 
 
 "A judgment ?" she said, looking puzzled. 
 
 "Yes ; a judgment on you for the fright you gave 
 me." 
 
 "Me ? Give you a fright ?" she ,said, looking more 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Yes ; when you played the ghost the night I slept 
 at Number 9," I said. 
 
 She happened to be sitting on my knee. She 
 jumped up and stared at me, blinking, as if she 
 couldn't believe her ears. 
 
 "You you was it you?" she stammered; and 
 there was a fine flush on her face ; and her eyes began 
 to sparkle. 
 
 "It was, indeed," I said.
 
 340 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "You you were that that horrid cad?" she 
 cried. 
 
 "Oh, come," I said, rather taken aback. "What 
 did you expect me to do ? I catch a pretty girl play- 
 ing a trick like that on me to get her uncle out of 
 paying his rent, and of course I kiss her a la guerre 
 comme a la guerre. I couldn't beat you for the hor- 
 rid fright, you'd given me, could I ?" 
 
 "My uncle's rent? What do you mean?" she 
 cried. 
 
 My heart jumped joyfully. I had been right; 
 she had not known her uncle's little game. I had 
 always been sure of it really. 
 
 "Why, didn't you know ? Your uncle was trying 
 to get his house rent-free on the ground that Num- 
 ber 9 was haunted," I blurted out like a born idiot. 
 
 She stood quite still, staring at me, and wringing 
 her hands : "So that was his joke," she said, "And 
 and what you must have been thinking of me all 
 this time! Oh " 
 
 "I thought that your uncle had told you that it 
 was just a joke he was playing on a friend," I said 
 quickly. 
 
 "You did not !" she cried. 
 
 "I did!" cried I.
 
 34i 
 
 "You did not! You thought oh, you thought 
 that I was a party to the trick." 
 
 "I did not never. I knew you couldn't be," I 
 said stoutly. 
 
 "You did you did. Oh, I understand now the 
 things that puzzled me the way you've looked at 
 me sometimes. And that kiss oh, how I've hated 
 you for that kiss!" 
 
 "It couldn't have been me you hated for it, because 
 you didn't know it was me. Besides, the other kisses 
 have wiped it away," I said. 
 
 She rubbed her lips; and her eyes blazed at me. 
 
 "I'll never never speak to you again," she cried. 
 "Not for the kiss so much, but for thinking that of 
 me. It was it was shameful! And oh I did 
 think so much of you !" Her-voice broke a little. 
 
 "But I tell you, I didn't think it !" I cried. 
 
 "You did. I know you did," she said. And she 
 turned and went quickly out of the lawn, not 
 straight, but wavering, as if she did not quite see 
 where she was going. 
 
 I sat still; and if I looked as big a fool as I felt, 
 I must have looked a congenital idiot. I did not 
 follow her. At the moment I did not quite see what 
 to do. I thought I had better give her time to get
 
 342 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 over it a little. It was a mess : it was not only that 
 she believed me to have been thinking badly of her, 
 I was also the person she had been detesting for that 
 kiss. I thought that she would get over the kiss 
 pretty soon ; for as I told her, there were those other 
 kisses. But she would be some time getting over 
 my having believed that she had been a party to her 
 uncle's little game. I was sure that that would hurt 
 her horribly. I wondered how I could ever have 
 been such a fool as to think it. Then I told myself, 
 with details, what I thought of myself for letting 
 her learn that I had thought it. 
 
 It eased my mind a little ; and I settled down again 
 to decide what I should do. I first made up my 
 mind to give her a week to get over it somewhat. 
 Then I considered how horribly hurt she would be 
 feeling all that time, and how wretched it would 
 make her. I could not stand it. It must be stopped 
 at once, somehow. But I could not think how. It 
 was beyond my brains to find a way. At last I had 
 an idea; there was just a chance that she might be 
 bullied out of her wretchedness at once, while she 
 was still upset. 
 
 It was worth trying; in fact, it was the only thing 
 to try if I would not wait. I walked quickly to
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 343 
 
 Number 9; and on the way it occurred to me that 
 her uncle had got us into the mess, and the least he 
 could do was to help us out of it. He might have 
 a great deal of influence with her; she might even 
 be frightened of him. It would be so much better 
 that she should have one unpleasant quarter of an 
 hour than that she should be miserable for a week. 
 Besides, I should probably find it very difficult, if 
 not quite impossible, to get an interview with her on 
 my own account ; he might at least try to work that 
 for me. 
 
 I made up my mind to try it, and rang the bell. 
 The butler said that Mr. Scruton was at home, left 
 me in the drawing-room for a gouple of minutes 
 and then took me to the smoking-room. Scruton 
 was sitting in a big armchair, smoking a cigar, with 
 a novel on his knee. When I came into the room 
 he jumped up to greet me with such a bright face 
 that I fancied that novel-reading was not one of his 
 strong points. 
 
 We greeted each other; he gave me a cigarette; 
 and we sat down facing each other. 
 
 "I've come to see you on an important matter," 
 I said. "I want to marry your niece." 
 
 Scruton rose, came slowly to me with a solemn
 
 344 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 air, held out an enormous hand and said : "Shake, 
 Lord Garthoyle." 
 
 I shook the enormous hand; and he said sol- 
 emnly: "She is yours." 
 
 "That's just what she isn't; and it's your fault," 
 I said. 
 
 Scruton's face fell; and he said anxiously: "My 
 fault?" 
 
 "Yes. I had fixed the matter up, and I was just 
 thinking of beginning to discuss the date of our 
 marriage, when I stopped to say something about 
 the ghost trick you set her to play on me." 
 
 "She didn't know why she was playing it; she 
 thought it was just a joke," said Scruton quickly. 
 
 "Yes ; but when she found out that I was the man 
 she had played it on, she refused to have anything 
 more to do with me. You see, when I jumped out 
 of bed and caught her, I kissed her." 
 
 "That was not the way to treat a lady," said 
 Scruton gloomily. "Any lady would resent it." 
 
 "Well, that's your fault; it was you that put her 
 into the false position. It couldn't have happened 
 if you hadn't," I said. "But that isn't the worst of 
 it. I let out that I thought she knew that you were 
 trying to get off paying your rent."
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 345 
 
 "But you ought to have known for certain that 
 she didn't know anything about it. A girl like Alice 
 wouldn't have a thing to say to a bluff like that," 
 said Scruton. 
 
 "Of course, I know that now," I said shortly. 
 "But how on earth was I to know that she was a 
 girl like that at the time? It's so confusing to catch 
 a girl in a woolen dressing-gown, walking up and 
 down one's bedroom at one o'clock in the morning, 
 and sighing like a woman who committed suicide 
 in it." 
 
 "I thought that a man of your birth and social 
 training could tell a lady at once, under any circum- 
 stances," said Scruton, with a kind of solemn sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "In a nearly dark room? How possibly could 
 I?" I asked. 
 
 "By instinct," said Scruton. 
 
 I stared at him. I thought he was pulling my leg. 
 But he was quite serious . 
 
 "You must be mad," I said. 
 
 He shook his head, looked sad and said : "I'm 
 an old-fashioned Tory, and I've a great admiration 
 for the House of Lords. I certainly expect a peer 
 of the realm to know a thing like that by instinct."
 
 346 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 "But how the devil is instinct to get a show in a 
 dark room?" I said rather loudly. 
 
 "It's a sixth sense," said Scruton. 
 
 "Sixth sense be damned !" I said louder still. 
 
 "It's no good getting- heated about it. If you 
 haven't got it, you haven't," said Scruton; and he 
 looked at me in a disappointed kind of way. 
 
 It was no good getting heated about it, and I said 
 nothing for a minute or two. Scruton said nothing 
 either; he seemed to be thinking it out. 
 
 "Well ?" I said at last, rather grumpily. 
 
 "Well, it will be a great disappointment to me if 
 this match falls through," he said slowly. "I have 
 always expected Alice to marry well, but this this 
 surpasses my most sanguine expectation. Though I 
 must say that it is rather a disappointment to find 
 you lacking in an instinct like that. I shall settle a 
 hundred thousand pounds on her, if she marries you, 
 Lord Garthoyle." 
 
 "That's very handsome of you ; but as things are 
 at present she won't marry me. She's dead set 
 against it," I said gloomily. 
 
 "But she'll forgive you; you must persuade her; 
 she must listen to reason. Surely something can be 
 done," he said, frowning.
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 347 
 
 \ 
 
 "Something has got to be done. Your infernal 
 thriftiness in the matter of house-rent has got us 
 into this mess; and I think it's up to you to get us 
 out of it," I said firmly. 
 
 "Well, I'll see what I can do," he said slowly, evi- 
 dently trying to think of a plan. "I'm not a ladies' 
 man, of course ; but I'm not unused to women. I've 
 been married several times." 
 
 "Several times!" I howled. 
 
 "Yes ; when I was in business on the Pacific slope 
 married and divorced. Oh, it's very common 
 out there, you know. But am I to understand that 
 before you let this out, Alice had definitely accepted 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; quite definitely," I said. 
 
 "Well, an acceptance of a proposal of marriage 
 is a very serious thing, and I shall have to speak to 
 her seriously about it," he said solemnly, and he rang 
 the bell. 
 
 The butler came, and Scruton told him to tell 
 Alice that he wanted to speak to her in the smoking- 
 room. We waited two or three minutes, and then 
 the butler came back and said that Miss Devine had 
 a headache and was staying in her room. I won- 
 dered whether she had guessed that I had followed
 
 348 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 her home. Of course, she might have seen me come 
 to the house from her window. 
 
 "Tell her that, headache or no headache, I want to 
 speak to her at once," said Scruton impatiently; and 
 the butler went. 
 
 "Look here, you're not going to be harsh with 
 her. She's a good deal upset," I said, beginning to 
 repent a little at having brought him into it. 
 
 "I shall do what the circumstances require no 
 more and no less," said Scruton; and I wondered if 
 he had learnt to speak like a copy-book on the Pacific 
 slope. 
 
 He took up his stand on the hearthrug and kept 
 pulling at his beard. We waited for nearly five min- 
 utes, without saying much to each other. Then 
 the door opened, and Alice came in. 
 
 She was pale; and she looked as if she had been 
 crying her eyes out. But at the sight of me her face 
 flamed red enough, and she stopped short. 
 
 "What is it you want, Uncle ?" she said defiantly ; 
 and it looked as if Scruton was going to find it a 
 difficult job. 
 
 "Lord Garthoyle has come to me with a com- 
 plaint a very serious complaint about you," said 
 Scruton in a very solemn tone.
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 349 
 
 "Lord Garthoyle a complaint about me?" said 
 Alice, rather as if the idea had taken her breath 
 away. 
 
 "Yes, a complaint; he tells me that he did you 
 the honor to make you a proposal of marriage. Is 
 that so?" Scruton went on in the same solemn 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes, he did. But " said Alice. 
 
 "And he also tells me that you accepted it; and 
 then you suddenly changed your mind, and rejected 
 him." 
 
 "Did he tell you why ?" cried Alice. 
 
 "Let us keep to the facts," said Scruton, with a 
 lordly wave of his hand. "The Scrutons and the 
 Devines have always been scrupulously honorable 
 people" he paused, and added quickly "in their 
 matrimonial affairs. It has always been the tradi- 
 tion of the family both families. And I'm shocked 
 yes, shocked beyond measure to find that you 
 have been playing fast and loose with this er er 
 amiable young man." 
 
 "Fast and loose amiable?" said Alice in a stupe- 
 fied sort of voice. 
 
 "Fast and loose," said Scruton; and he reminded 
 me of a talking steam-roller. "You accepted his
 
 350 ALICE DEVINE 
 
 proposal of marriage, and in in how long was 
 it?" He turned to me. 
 
 "About ten hours," I said. 
 
 "As short a time as that! Monstrous!" cried 
 Scruton very indignantly. "In ten hours you chuck 
 you er er reject him. It's shocking, this 
 coquetry !" 
 
 "Coquetry?" said Alice, with a gasp. 
 
 "Yes, coquetry heartless coquetry !" roared Scru- 
 ton. "I say it's shocking! Why, dash it all! It's 
 bad form! Well, I have sent for you to tell you 
 that I will not have it!" He was fairly bellowing 
 now. "I will not have a niece of mine behaving in 
 this disgraceful way. You will marry Lord Gar- 
 thoyle in a month from now " 
 
 "But, Uncle " cried Alice, looking a little 
 
 stunned. 
 
 "Not a word! Not a word!" bellowed Scruton. 
 "You marry Lord Garthoyle in a month from now, 
 and that's all there is to it. I'm going straight to 
 my lawyers to instruct them to draw up the settle- 
 ments." 
 
 He walked to the door rather quickly, and was 
 out of the room before Alice could recover herself. 
 
 She turned on me furiously, with blazing eyes,
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 351 
 
 and cried : "To come to my uncle ; Oh, you have 
 you have a a- " 
 
 "Cheek yes I was born with it. I've told you 
 so before," I said, walking quietly across the room. 
 "But, after all, there was no one else to go to. 
 Surely your uncle's the proper person. He's your 
 guardian, and all that sort of thing, don't you know. 
 And, after all, you can't deny that he has settled 
 the matter in a thoroughly satisfactory way." 
 
 "Settled it! You think he's settled it? It isn't 
 settled at all!" she cried, if anything more furiously. 
 
 "You heard what your uncle said. Of course, it's 
 settled." 
 
 "It isn't settled !" she cried. 
 
 "Come, come. It's no good kicking against the 
 pricks," I said gently. "Come and sit on my knee, 
 and we'll settle next where we'll spend our honey- 
 moon." 
 
 "Oh, you how dare you?" she cried; and she 
 made a dash for the door. 
 
 It was just what I was expecting, and I was ready. 
 She dashed right into my arms, and I picked her up. 
 
 "Rupert, don't!" she cried. 
 
 The "Rupert" was all I wanted; so I did. 
 
 THE END
 
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