CHAPTER XXIII

ONE PART OF THE TRUTH

It was indeed Maud Ellis who entered on the arm of Mr. Hale. She was carefully dressed and, as usual, had made the best of her looks, such as they were. But she appeared to be anxious--to be strung up to fighting-pitch--after the manner of a woman who anticipated that she was not going to get her own way without a battle. On her entrance, she measured the lean lawyer with the eye of an antagonist, and then sat down in the chair which he politely pushed forward. As to Walter Hale, he looked much the same as he always did, cool, polished, and composed. Of course, he was perfectly arrayed in Bond Street taste, and his manners were as irreproachable as was his costume. If Miss Ellis was nervous, Hale assuredly was not. To Jabez, he suggested a bowie-knife--an odd comparison, but one which came unexpectedly into the lawyer's unimaginative brain.

"You know, of course, Mr. Jabez," said Hale when seated, "what I have come to see you about."

The solicitor, who had taken his usual chair before the table, nodded and pointed to Hale's letter which lay on the blotting-paper before him. "To produce the amethyst cross," said he gravely.

"And something more important than the cross. Allow me," Hale stood up to give his words due effect, "to present to you, Miss Katherine Morse----"

"Oh," interrupted Jabez drily, "I understood from you that she died in your Wimbledon house years ago."

"You are thinking of my mother," put in Maud boldly. "She, indeed, is dead; but I am her child and am called after her."

"Even to the name of Morse?"

"Later," said Hale, with dignity, "I can give you the married name of this young lady's mother. Meanwhile, the cross is----"

"Is here," said Maud, and opening a little bag which was swinging on her wrist, she extracted therefrom a red morocco case and handed it to Jabez.

He opened it gravely and beheld the long-lost ornament. "It was my dear mother's," added Miss Ellis with feigned pathos, as though the sight was too much for her tender heart. "My grandfather gave it to her, and----"

"And your mother gave it to you," ended Jabez, seeing with his usual keen gaze that her eyes were dry behind the handkerchief she was holding to them.

"No," she replied, unexpectedly and sadly. "I never set eyes upon it until Mr. Hale saw me a few days ago."

"Permit me to explain," said Hale, as watchful as a cat. "As I told you, Miss Morse----"

"Still no married name," muttered the solicitor ironically.

"That will be told later," remarked Hale, provokingly self-possessed. "I have first to tell my story."

"Go on," Jabez stretched his legs and put his hands in his pockets, "it is sure to be interesting."

"I hope so," rejoined Hale, making a sign to Maud that she should not talk, "and already you know much of it."

"Let me see. Yes, I remember. You told me at Rose Cottage, in the presence of Mrs. Walker, that Miss Morse died at your Wimbledon house in the arms of your wife. She gave the cross to your wife, who afterwards gave it to the nurse, Bridget Burke. She in her turn gave it to your daughter Lesbia, who presented it to young Walker from whom it was stolen. Am I right?"

"Perfectly," said Hale gravely. "So you can see how Miss Morse here, never set eyes on it until I brought it to her."

"And how did you become possessed of it?"

"I shall explain that, when you have heard Miss Morse's story."

Maud put up her veil and wiped her lips. "I am only too anxious to tell it," she declared eagerly, "and----"

Jabez cut her short. "I am sure you are, but before hearing it I should like to remind Mr. Hale that he declared in my presence and in the presence of Mrs. Walker that there was no child."

"Quite so," said Hale promptly. "I am not bound to tell you anything I desire to keep silent."

"I think you will have to do so, if you wish this young lady to get fifty thousand pounds," said Jabez coolly.

"Of course: that is why I am here. But I refer to the interview at my Marlow cottage. Then, I was not bound to speak. I speak now. There was not any child with Miss Morse when she died at my Wimbledon house. But with her last breath she told me where she had left the child--in a poor neighbourhood and with a poor woman."

"Who was very good to me," said Maud, with tenderness very well acted. "Dear Mrs. Tait, shall I ever forget her kindness?"

"Tait. Humph. So that's the name, is it?"

"The name of my foster-mother who brought me up. For years I have been called Maud Ellis, but only when Mr. Hale came to see me bringing the cross did I learn my true name and parentage."

"Why did your foster-mother call you Ellis?" asked Jabez.

"She passed me off to the world as her sister's child," said Maud glibly.

"Why? I cannot see the need."

"Nor I," said Miss Ellis, with a swift glance at Hale. "But who knows the human heart, Mr. Jabez?"

"No one so far as I know. But you were saying----"

"If you will permit me to tell my story I can make everything clear."

"I am quite certain that you can," said the lawyer, politely ironical. "Go on."

"Mrs. Tait kept a lodging-house in Bloomsbury. My mother lived there after leaving her husband--my father, who treated her very badly. I am right," she added turning to Hale, "in saying this?"

"He behaved like a brute," said Hale emphatically, "but then he always was a brute I am sorry to say."

"Dear me," murmured Jabez, "proceed, please."

"My mother left me with Mrs. Tait, as she had very little money and went to seek out my father at Wimbledon one bitterly cold, snowy day. He turned her from his door, and she nearly perished in the snow. Fortunately this good man," Maud glanced pathetically at Hale, who tried not to look too conscious, "took in the starving and chilled woman. My mother died, and I was left to Mrs. Tait's kind care."

"What about the cross?" asked Jabez abruptly, stifling a yawn.

"I can explain that," interposed Hale quickly, "indeed I have already done so. It was given to my wife and----"

"Of course: of course, I remember now. Well," Jabez turned to Maud, "so you remained with Mrs. Tait."

"Until she died. Then her husband adopted me as his niece and with him I lived, retaining my name of Maud Ellis."

"There was a husband then?"

"Yes," said Hale anxiously, "you may know of him, Mr. Michael Tait, the stockbroking philanthropist."

"Oh," drawled the solicitor quietly, "the same man who lost his jewels the other day."

"Yes," admitted Hale, quite ignorant of how much Jabez knew, "the same. He was poor when Miss Morse--or Miss Ellis if you like--came to his wife, and Mrs. Tait kept a boarding-house to help him. Then Tait made a lucky speculation--he was a clerk in the City--and began to grow rich. But before he could make a fortune Mrs. Tait died, and thus never benefited."

"No, poor dear, and she was so very kind," said Maud sweetly, "however, when my uncle grew rich----"

"Your uncle?" queried Jabez.

Maud coloured to the roots of her sandy hair. "I have fallen into the habit of calling my friend Mr. Tait my uncle. And, indeed, until the other day I almost thought that he was my uncle until I knew the truth. But as I was saying, Mr. Jabez, my uncle--for I still call Mr. Tait so--placed a magnificent tombstone over her remains when he grew rich. That is my story."

"A very interesting one," said Jabez politely. "Then I take it that you are the young lady entitled to fifty thousand pounds."

"I am. I understood that when I came and presented that cross," Maud pointed to the ornament on the table, "that the money would be given to me."

"You certainly said as much to me, Jabez," chimed in Hale anxiously.

"Quite right. The cross," Jabez waved his hand, "was only a little attempt of mine to introduce romance into the dry details of the law. Of course it is a means of identification, but it will be necessary for Miss Ellis to produce her certificate of birth, her baptismal certificate and----"

Hale bit his finger with vexation. "I anticipated that objection," he interrupted in hard tones, "and I knew you would make it."

"In the interest of Mrs. Walker I must make it."

"Yes! yes. But the fact is, that only Mrs. Tait, besides the mother, knew where the certificate of birth and that of baptism were to be found. They are both dead, as you have heard, so----"

"So," ended Jabez rising to stand before the fireplace, "so there will be no chance of this young lady getting the money."

"Don't you believe my story?" demanded Maud angrily.

"Oh yes. One has only to look into your face, my dear madam, to be certain that you speak as you believe. But the law is not so tender-hearted as I am. The law requires proofs."

"The amethyst cross----"

"Is one proof, but others are required. Then, you see, the cross was stolen and has not been in your possession all these years. It is not a very strong proof of your identity."

"I can make an affidavit," said Hale sharply, "swearing that the mother me told where the child was to be found."

"Quite so, and doubtless Mr. Tait--then in the Bloomsbury lodging-house kept by his wife--can make another affidavit showing how the mother left the child in his wife's charge."

"Of course," assented Hale readily. "Tait will do anything I ask him."

"And my uncle," said Maud, "for I must call him uncle, will only be too glad to see me come into my kingdom."

"Oh, I am certain of that," said Jabez, trimming his nails rapidly with a little knife, "and to show your gratitude, you will doubtless divide the money with him."

"Oh no. My uncle is too rich to need help," said Maud virtuously.

Jabez shut the knife and restored it to his pocket. "So he made enough by the double deal of the jewels and the insurance fraud to tide over the financial crisis which threatened him," he said deliberately.

Maud turned pale and uttered an exclamation. "I don't understand."

"Do you, Mr. Hale?" asked Jabez.

"No," said the man coldly, "I know nothing of Tait's business."

"Rubbish! rubbish! See here, Hale, and you, young woman, before you came here to try your games on me, you should have made certain that I knew nothing of your doings. As it is, from Mrs. Walker, from her son, and from various other people, I know all that has taken place in connection with that cross from the time Miss Lesbia Hale gave it to her lover, and----"

"You insult Miss Morse," interrupted Hale furiously.

"Miss Maud Ellis you mean," sneered the lawyer, "and--no you don't," he stretched out his long arm, and snatched the cross away, before Hale could lay a finger on it. "That belongs to Mrs. Walker's niece."

"I am Mrs. Walker's niece," panted Maud, standing up with a red and furious face. Since Jabez appeared to know so much, she saw very well that the plotting of herself and Hale had come to an untimely end. Nevertheless, like a woman, she persisted in fighting, even when the game had been irretrievably lost. "She will acknowledge me."

The lawyer slipped the case containing the cross into the pocket of his coat and faced round. "If Mrs. Walker will acknowledge you as her niece," he declared, "I will give you the money."

"What's the use of talking in this way?" cried Hale angrily. "You know well enough that Mrs. Walker wants the money for herself. She will certainly not help this poor girl to gain her rights."

"Girl," echoed Jabez cruelly, and with his eyes on Maud's plain face, which showed elderly lines. "I am no judge of a lady's age, but----"

"Brute! brute," cried Miss Ellis, making for the door. "Hale, come away, I am not going to stand here and be insulted."

"I am coming," said Hale sullenly: then turning to the lawyer: "as to these veiled accusations you bring against me----"

"Oh, you want me to speak clearer. Very well, then. You, Mr. Hale, and you, Miss Maud Ellis, belong to a gang of clever thieves. The police have been trying to break up the gang for years: but hitherto have not succeeded. Now they will lay hands on one and all."

"Oh!" gasped Maud, trembling. "What nonsense you talk."

"The police do not think so. You and Hale had better make yourselves scarce, for one of your gang has given the rest away."

"Canning, blast him!" shouted Hale fiercely.

"Ah!" Jabez turned on him, "you admit then that I speak the truth."

"I admit nothing," muttered Hale, wiping his face.

"As you please," Jabez moved towards the door leading into the inner room where Lord Charvington and George were concealed, "but Canning is now in communication with the police. I learned yesterday that he knew all. I got his address from young Walker, and have seen him. To save his own skin he will turn king's evidence and you and Miss Ellis there, and her dear uncle and Sargent, and a few others, including Mrs. Petty, will be----"

"Damn you," cried Hale, while Maud stood trembling at the outer door, which she had not strength enough to open, "I'll kill you."

With outstretched hand he lunged forward to grip the lawyer. Jabez on the watch dexterously slipped aside and flung open the door. Hale unable to restrain his impetus plunged right through the entrance into the strong arms of George Walker. That young gentleman picked him up like a feather and carrying him into the outer room, flung him into Jabez's chair. Maud uttered a cry of alarm. She did not know Lord Charvington: but she knew George, and guessed that he had overheard the whole wicked plot. Overcome with shame she tore blindly at the door, opened it hurriedly and fled away, pulling down her veil to hide her shameful face. She could not meet the eye of the man, whom she had wronged so deeply, because she loved him too well.

None of the three men followed her, as their attention was taken up with Hale. Over him stood George, righteously indignant. "You confounded blackguard," cried George between his teeth, "if you were not Lesbia's father I would murder you."

"Set your mind at rest on that point, George," said Lord Charvington, who was strangely white, "I am Lesbia's father."

"You!" George recoiled, dazed and startled. "Katherine Morse was my first wife and I am Lesbia's father."

"Now," said George to Hale, "I can choke the wicked life out of you."

But Charvington stopped him. "Leave him to God."