Part 14

To all outward appearances, the little bird-fancier's shop in Gray's Inn Road was innocent enough, and no doubt the police would have given the tenant of the shop a good character if they had been asked about his antecedents. The proprietor was a born naturalist and was too much devoted to his studies to make his business a success. He was a dried-up little man who lived behind the shop where he did entirely for himself, for he had a morbid horror of everything in the shape of woman. He cared little or nothing for the litter and confusion which marked his sitting-room, and as long as he could pay his rent was satisfied to pass a monotonous existence. It was, therefore, a stroke of luck for Mr. Giles when a somewhat obese foreigner walked into his shop one day and asked if he had a couple of rooms to spare. Giles had the rooms to spare, but there was no furniture in them, and he could not depart from his rule that no woman should ever set foot on the premises. Instead of regarding these statements as drawbacks, the would-be lodger affected to receive them with every demonstration of approval.

"Ah, my friend," he said, "this is just what I want. I am an old traveller. I have seen a great deal of the world and have always been accustomed to do for myself. If I pay ten shillings a week for these rooms and bring my own furniture, will that satisfy you, eh? I will not interfere with you and you will not interfere with me. I will cook my own food and do my own cleaning and everything. What I want is quiet, for I am writing a book on my travels, and must not be interrupted."

There was only one reply to such an offer, and that was to close with it with alacrity. Ten shillings a week would make all the difference between affluence and poverty to the naturalist. It would pay his rent and enable him to buy such books as his soul coveted. Within a week Jansen was established in his new quarters. It was no empty boast that his landlord and he would see little of one another, for weeks passed at a time without their exchanging a word.

Meanwhile, Jansen was conquering a certain shyness with which he had been afflicted during the earlier part of his tenancy. At first he hardly left the house except at night, but now he walked in and out, whistling blithely to himself as if he had no care or trouble in the world.

So far as his sitting-room was concerned, there was no reason to disregard his statement that he was writing a book. One or two tables were littered with papers, but maps and strange-looking plans which could have only been properly understood by an engineer were most in evidence.

One night, Jansen had cooked his frugal supper over a spirit-lamp, and then put his cooking utensils on one side and lighted a big Dutch pipe. From time to time he glanced at the noisy little clock on the mantel-piece as if anxious he should not forget some important appointment. He drew from his pocket a bundle of letters which he spread out on his ample knee. The contents of the letters appeared to give him satisfaction, for he chuckled again and again as he read them.

"Strange what mistakes clever men make sometimes," he muttered. "There is Flower, who thinks he has deceived everybody. Well, he has not hoodwinked me. Ah, it is true that, as the philosopher says, everything comes to him who knows how to wait, and my three years have not been wasted. Within a few weeks there will no longer be either Samuel Flower nor Cotter to stand in the way. And all I shall have to do is to go down to Maldon Grange and help myself, and spend the rest of my life in ease and pleasure."

Jansen glanced at the clock again, which now indicated the half hour after nine. He rose from his seat and walked on tip-toe towards the door. Despite his great weight he made no more noise than a cat. He could hear his landlord bustling about in the back of the shop as he crept down the stairs and opened the front door. He stood there just a moment with the light of the gas behind him, looking up and down the street as if searching for some one. Then, presently, out of the shadows emerged a slight figure wearing a long overcoat and tall silk hat. As the figure passed Jansen the latter held out a detaining hand.

"All right, my friend," he said. "I am waiting for you. Come this way."

The figure made no demur; no remark whatever crossed his lips. He followed Jansen quietly upstairs into the sitting-room, the door of which was then carefully closed. No word was spoken till Jansen produced the materials for the filling and smoking of an opium pipe which he handed to his companion. The latter had discarded his hat and overcoat. He looked out of place in his European costume as he squatted on the floor with the pipe between his lips.

"You know why you are here?" Jansen asked.

"I know very well," the Oriental said stolidly. "I come because you are willing to help me. You will tell me how, and when it is all over you are going to show me that which I can take back to my country whence your countryman stole it. That is why I am here to-night."

"Quite right," Jansen said cheerfully. "But you are moving too fast. We don't do things so rapidly in this country. Do you know that your man has gone again? Do you know that he left London to-night?"

The Eastern looked up and his beady eyes gleamed like stars. Cold-blooded man of the world as he was Jansen shuddered as he noticed the glance.

"What I am telling you is the truth," he went on. "He has gone. They have spirited him away, and no doubt they fancy he is out of harm's reach."

"He is not," the Malay said unconcernedly. "Were he at the end of the world he would not be safe from us. Have we not waited and watched and travelled all these years, and did not the star of luck shine upon us at last? You know whether it is true that that man is safe."

"Oh, we know," Jansen said cheerfully. "But the point is this, my friend; you are in a civilized country where the police have peculiar ideas. If they can lay hands upon you they won't care a rap about your religious scruples. You will find yourself within the walls of an English gaol and the two of you will be hanged to a certainty. What about your revenge then? Your prey will escape you, secure in the knowledge that he has no longer anybody to fear. He will be able to enjoy his ill-gotten gains with a light heart. You are taking this thing too easily. Now suppose I can show you a way----"

Once more the Oriental's eyes glistened.

"You are bound to show us a way," he said. "You are pledged to it. Are you not one of us? Have you not taken the sacred vows? And if you should dare to play us false----"

"Come, come, don't talk like that," Jansen said in an injured tone. "Do be reasonable. Didn't I ask you here to-night on purpose to show you a way. But it will be useless unless I can see both of you together. If you are not going to trust me, you had better go your own way and there will be an end of it."

Jansen shrugged his shoulders as if he washed his hands of the whole transaction. Out of the corners of his narrow eyes the man squatting on the floor watched him intently. By and by he laid down his pipe with a sigh and produced from his pocket a flimsy bit of paper on which he proceeded to scribble something with a charcoal pencil. Even then he hesitated before he handed it over to Jansen. The latter assumed an attitude of indifference which he was very far from feeling.

"There," the Malay said, "that is where you will find him at twelve of the clock to-night. I have trusted everything into your hands, and if you fail us--but you will not fail us. You must see him and bring him here so that we may talk this matter over."

Jansen thrust the paper carelessly into his pocket as if it were of no importance. He began to talk of other matters likely to interest the Oriental. He spoke of the latter's country and people whilst the little man nodded drowsily over the opium pipes which his host was preparing for him. Finally his head fell back upon the carpet and he lay in the deep sleep which the drug produces.

"Good," Jansen muttered. "It is better luck than I anticipated. I did not expect to get two birds with one stone. And now to sweep the other into the net."

*CHAPTER XXXVII*

*A RESPITE*

Wilfrid stood gazing at the handful of scattered fragments intently, fearful lest he might have made a mistake. The first feeling in his mind was one of passionate triumph. He had forgotten that he still owed this money to Samuel Flower. He had forgotten everything else in the knowledge that, for the time being at any rate, he was free. Doubtless Flower would ultimately be able to prove the debt, but days or weeks must elapse before that came about, and meanwhile, Wilfrid would be justified in asking for proofs of any assertion Cotter might make. This was what Vardon would advise, anything to gain time, and in the eyes of a lawyer the advice would only be business-like. Before Flower could prove that the destroyed document had existed, Wilfrid would be able to place his affairs in order.

All the same, he was not without his doubts. Was it not his duty to restore these fragments of paper to their owner? There was no excuse for not doing so, seeing that Wilfrid knew what they represented. And, besides, he had had the money. It was not as if, having signed the document, he had afterwards been defrauded of his due.

"What does it mean?" Beatrice asked.

"I can explain in a very few words," Wilfrid said. "I borrowed a sum of money to enable me to set up housekeeping here on the understanding that I should pay it back within a certain period. The legal time was three months, but I was distinctly promised that if I could not repay the money then these people would wait a little longer. Mind you, I had nothing but their word for it, and I knew that, if they changed their minds, I must find the money at the end of three months or lose everything. I don't doubt that I could have had this respite if your uncle had not interfered. But as soon as he found out who I was he set to work to ruin me, or rather, he set Cotter to work, which is much the same thing. I dare say Flower guessed how I found the means to furnish a house in Oldborough and the rest was easy. At all events, by buying that acceptance of mine, he became my creditor himself, and in the ordinary course I should have found myself without a home to-night. We may take it for granted that Cotter was going to Castlebridge to-night to put the law in operation when something interrupted him."

"But it must have been some friend of yours," Beatrice exclaimed. "It must have been somebody who knew what Cotter was going to do. Of course, I don't understand much about these things, but you would seem to be free for the moment. Do you think anything will be gained in the long run by violence of this kind?"

"I am indebted to no friend for this," Wilfrid said emphatically. "Besides, there are letters and documents lying on the grass which refer to other matters besides mine. It was only by the merest accident that I recognized this scrap of my own handwriting. Whoever waylaid Cotter was looking for something else of which we know nothing. Don't you see that things must take their course, Beatrice, and that I must wait and see what is going to happen? There is something almost Providential in this business. However, I will do the right thing. I will gather up these fragments and give them back to Cotter if you think I should."

"Oh, I don't know what to say," Beatrice replied. "It is so hard for me to put myself in your place. Don't you think you had better consult some solicitor?"

Wilfrid pondered the matter. Perhaps Beatrice was right.

"I think I'll take your advice," he said. "I'll walk with you as far as Maldon Grange and then come back for you after I have seen Vardon. In the circumstances, there is nothing else to be done. All I want you to do is to believe that I am acting for the best."

"I am certain of it," Beatrice said warmly. "No, there is no reason why you should come with me any farther. I suppose you will return before dark. You will not be afraid of trouble at home for the next few days. Oh, what a tangled coil it all is!"

Wilfrid strode to Oldborough in search of Vardon whom he was lucky enough to find still in his office. The latter shook hands and motioned Wilfrid to a seat.

"I have been expecting to see you all day," Vardon said. "I am sorry I was not successful in this business of yours, but, as I told you before, my client is cautious and refused to take the risk. Is there anything else I can do short of lending you the money?"

"Well, you can answer me a question or two," Wilfrid replied. "As I understand it, Flower had no legal claim upon me till after twelve o'clock to-day. Now, can you tell me what he is in a position to do at the present moment?"

Vardon shook his head gravely.

"Pretty well anything he likes," he said. "You see, you had failed in payment, so you are entirely in his hands. All he would have to do would be to send Cotter into Castlebridge to make a declaration that you were a defaulter, and the sheriff would then take possession. You are, however, probably safe till Saturday morning."

"But wait a bit," Wilfrid said eagerly. "We can put Flower out of the question for the moment, seeing that he is too ill to attend to business himself. Before Cotter made the declaration you speak of wouldn't he have to produce the original bill?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Because the original bill is in my hands," Wilfrid said grimly. "It is a most extraordinary story and I hardly expect you to believe it, though fortunately, I have a witness who will be ready to prove what I say. Look at this."

Wilfrid took the torn scraps of blue paper from his pocket and began to arrange them on Vardon's desk. The latter watched the proceedings as one follows some new and intricate puzzle. Naturally enough, the thing was roughly arranged, but by and by it took shape, and Vardon could read without trouble.

"What on earth does this mean?" he demanded. "I suppose this is the original bill you gave to Darton?"

"Make your mind easy on that score," Wilfrid said. "That is the original bill and no other. And as to the rest, I found it just as you see it now in the wood this side of Maldon Grange. I also found a revolver and a cap, to say nothing of other documents in the same tattered condition, which I left there as they were no business of mine. It was only by a lucky chance that I recognized my own handwriting, and there and then I explained to my companion, Miss Galloway, exactly what had taken place. Now let us have a clear understanding, Vardon. If I throw these scraps into the fire, I shall be able to snap my fingers at Samuel Flower and all his works?"

"Not the slightest doubt about that," Vardon said emphatically. "All the same, mind you, it isn't exactly the right thing to do. Still, it will give you time, and you must be the best judge how far that will help you. You see, if the thing got into court and it came out that you suppressed this document, a lot of awkward questions might be asked. But there is a way in which you can gain time and put yourself right in the eyes of outsiders."

"I should like to know what it is," Wilfrid murmured.

"My dear fellow, the thing is simple. You are justified in ignoring everybody in the transaction except Flower himself. Fortunately for you, he is in no position to deal with business matters and, were I in your place, I should simply seal those scraps up in an envelope and make Flower a present of them when he is fit to attend to business. By that time you will probably have met your obligation and you can use your own discretion as to whether you tell Flower your opinion of him or not. One thing is certain. So long as the torn bill remains in your keeping you need not have the slightest anxiety about your home. Flower is powerless to act and his subordinates are in a still more helpless condition."

"You won't take these scraps?" Wilfrid asked.

"Not I, indeed," Vardon protested. "As a matter of fact, I am sorry you told me anything about it. There are certain matters no client ought ever to tell his solicitor, and this is one of them. Go home and lock these pieces up securely and do nothing till Flower is ready for business. That is the best advice I can give you."

Wilfrid could only do as Vardon suggested and wait the turn of events. The trouble seemed to lift from Wilfrid's shoulders as he walked along.

*CHAPTER XXXVIII*

*A SINKING SHIP*

Wilfrid was free for the present. The words kept rising to his mind as he made his way back to Maldon Grange. He could turn his attention now to the mystery which surrounded that strange household. He wondered what had become of Uzali and Russell and why he had not heard from either of them. He did not suppose that they had been idle in London. He would not have been surprised had either turned up. His chief concern was with Beatrice. It was good to know that she was likely to have a cheerful home over her head for a few days longer. It was like an intervention of Providence that he had happened upon those scraps of paper in the wood. And what was going to be the next act in the drama? Events had been proceeding fast lately. The situation was full of darkness and terror, but the real tragedy was as vague and intangible as ever. Two attempts had been made on the life of Samuel Flower without the slightest clue to the miscreants, and in his heart of hearts Wilfrid did not believe that further attack would be abandoned.

Was it wise, he wondered, for Flower to return to Maldon Grange? Surely, the ship-owner would have been safer in London than in that vast and solitary mansion. Those mysterious men were likely to come back at any moment, and perhaps the third time would recoup them for all their trouble.

Wilfrid was still turning these things over in his mind as he crossed the fields towards the Grange. The spot was lonely, for few people went that way, and Wilfrid gave a side glance of curiosity as he passed a stranger who was carrying a small Gladstone bag in his hand. The stranger was short and enormously stout, and his eyes twinkled behind large silver-rimmed spectacles. He was evidently a foreigner, an impression which was confirmed when the stranger took off his hat with a flourish.

"You will pardon me," he said, "but I am afraid that I have lost my way. Can you direct me to Maldon Grange?"

"I am going that way," Wilfrid explained. "As a matter of fact, that is my destination. If you have any business there----"

"Not at all," the stranger hastened to say. "Maldon Grange is only the landmark which they gave me in the village. I am going to a farmhouse a little way beyond to look at a picture for a client of mine. That is my occupation--an expert in oil-paintings. Perhaps you know the name of the farm. It is called 'Giletto'----"

"There is such a place," Wilfrid said. "I know where you want to go. From the field in front of Maldon Grange one can see the house. You had better come with me."

But the self-possessed stranger evinced all at once a desire for his own society. He had been loquacious at first, but now he touched the brim of his hat and hung behind as if he held himself unworthy of his temporary companion. There was something about his looks which by no means prejudiced Wilfrid in his favour, and he was full enough of suspicions now. The events of the past two or three days had taught him to regard even the passing shadow as possibly sinister.

"Oh, but you must not lose your way again," he said. "Come with me and I will see that you take the right path. I suppose you are a stranger."

"I have never been here before," the fat man said with unnecessary energy. "This part of the country is unknown to me. So that is Maldon Grange? I recognize the dormer window which----"

The stranger paused and muttered something in confusion. Then he immediately proceeded to descant on the beauty of the landscape. There was nothing about the man to suggest criminal intent, but Wilfrid disliked him more and more. Beyond all doubt he was no stranger in this quarter. As Wilfrid turned down one field-path to another, the man turned with him without hesitation and by the time they had emerged into the fields in front of Maldon Grange, Mercer was satisfied that the stranger knew his way about better than he did himself.

"I am going to stop here," he said. "If you will follow that laurel track you will come to a gate leading to the road, and a few hundred yards farther down is the farm you speak of."

The stranger was profuse in his thanks. Once more he raised his hat with a flourish and went rapidly down the laurel path. After a moment's hesitation Wilfrid turned on his heel and followed. He knew the path twisted and wound along the edge of the plantation. He had only to make a detour and then, by looking through the bushes, he could see what the stranger was after. Cautiously making his way along, by and by he peeped through the bushes and saw the stranger nearly opposite him with a broad smile on his face and a look of amusement in his eyes. Face to face with the intruder was Cotter. The latter's features had acquired a dull green hue and his jaw dropped. He was a picture of abject terror.

"Ah, so you had not expected me," the stranger said. "You thought you were done with me. That was a mistake. When Dr. Jansen makes up his mind to a thing he is not easily discouraged. I have been waiting years for the right time and it has come at last. But you need not be afraid. Come, what have you to fear? Believe me, yonder ship is sinking. Oh, it is a magnificent vessel, and the owner is a fortunate man, but she will founder all the same. It may go down this very night. Come, friend Cotter, am I not speaking the truth?"

The last few words came with a muttered ferocity which contrasted grimly with Jansen's previously jocular humour. Cotter made no reply. He stood rubbing his hands together as if the palms were wet and he could find no way to dry them.

"It may be now," Jansen went on. "It may have happened for all you know to the contrary since you left the house. A clever man like you makes few blunders. The only mistake you have ever made was to think you could escape the vengeance and had seen the last of me. And what have I come for, friend Cotter? I have come to see the end and you know it as well as I do."

"What are you talking about?" Cotter stammered.

"Oh, you know--perfectly well," Jansen sneered. "Take my advice. Leave the sinking ship and throw in your lot with me. But make no error; keep nothing from me, for I know everything. Strange that with your knowledge of the world you should cling to Samuel Flower when his life is not worth an hour's purchase. Think it over, my good Cotter. I am not coming to Maldon Grange but I will not be far away. I find the country good for my health and have rooms at that farmhouse down the road. It may be that I shall do nothing for a fortnight. It may be that I shall strike at once. It is for you to say whether you will be on the winning side or not. But I waste my time with you. Why should I worry over a creature like you? You are not worth it."

Jansen turned away with a contemptuous gesture and picked up his portmanteau. Without another word he trudged sturdily along the path until he was lost to sight. Cotter watched him till the stout figure disappeared. Then he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

"Good Lord!" he muttered. "Fancy seeing him again! And I thought--goodness knows what I thought. This is no place for me. I'll get away while I can."