Chapter VI: Part 6

Dr. Shelton stripped off his coat and turned up his shirt sleeves. For a long time he bent over the bed, but at last he stood upright drawing a long breath.

"Most extraordinary," he murmured. "Everything points to severe concussion of the brain, and yet there is not the slightest trace of violence; there is no suggestion of a blow, or fall, or anything of that kind. We must wait till the patient comes to himself as he will before long."

"He is not dead, then?" Wilfrid asked.

"No. It is a case of suspended animation. That the brain is seriously injured the congestion of the eyes proves beyond demonstration. But, surely, you can throw some light on this mystery. How came you to be called in?"

Wilfrid had been dreading the question for some time. He hardly knew how to explain matters to this polished man of the world whose lines had probably always fallen in conventional places.

"Well, it was like this," he began. "I have lately started a practice in Oldborough and Mr. Flower has a country house close by. I was called in to attend him for a trifling injury, and when I got to the house I discovered that Miss Galloway, Mr. Flower's niece, was an old friend; in fact, we had met in London some months ago. Miss Galloway had been under the impression that some one was trying to get into the house, but perhaps I had better tell you at length what really happened."

Wilfrid proceeded with his statement, purposely, however, saying nothing as to the mysteriously-knotted string, or the strange incantations which he had watched on the part of the Malays. These matters seemed to have nothing to do with the case, nor could they influence the opinion of Dr. Shelton. He told his story straightforwardly, how he had got into this house and what sort of reception had met him. Shelton raised his eyebrows incredulously.

"So you think this is a case of burglary?" he asked. "Mr. Flower has something in the house which these villains were after. You say you saw them in this room when you entered by the balcony?"

"I did," Wilfrid replied. He was feeling on safer ground now. "I suppose my presence frightened them and, you see, I had other things to think of. It is very singular that these fellows did Mr. Flower no violence."

"No violence whatever," Shelton said emphatically. "They hadn't gone as far as that, though their intentions might have been murderous. It seems to me, Dr. Mercer, that this is a case as much for the police as for the medical man. At any rate, I frankly own that I am as puzzled as yourself. It will be a great favour to me if you will remain here while I go to Harley Street, as I should like another opinion besides my own. If you stay in the house it will be sufficient. It will be some time before Mr. Flower regains consciousness."

Wilfrid expressed his willingness to do whatever was necessary and Dr. Shelton bustled away. The servants were moving about the house now. Wilfrid heard the clock strike the hour of eight, then; presently, an appetizing odour of cooking stole over the room. It was nearly an hour later before Beatrice came and asked the latest news. There was no change, for Flower lay as he had done three hours before.

"I have told the servants nothing," Beatrice whispered. "They have merely been informed that my uncle has had a slight seizure and that the house must be kept very quiet. But won't you come downstairs and have breakfast? It is ready in the dining-room. And if you could manage to stay here till Dr. Shelton returns----"

Wilfrid explained that he had already promised to do so. Despite the thrilling adventure of the night before, he was hungry and did ample justice to his meal. At the same time he could not forget his own affairs. It might be a security to feel that Flower lay upstairs beyond the reach of mischief, but Flower was not alone in this business. Beyond doubt the man Cotter had received his instructions. Beyond doubt the law was already in motion which was to deprive Wilfrid of his good name and his means of living. It was hard he should have to stay there doing nothing and keep watch and ward over a man who was intending to ruin him through another; but of this he could say nothing to Beatrice.

She sat at the foot of the table playing with a cup of tea and some toast; recent events had shaken her terribly. For some time she kept silent.

"I must speak to you, Wilfrid," she said presently. "I want to know if you have found out anything. I want to know if you have discovered anything that has been hidden from me. Tell me truthfully, is this the first attack of the kind which has been made upon my uncle? Didn't a very similar thing happen the night you were at Maldon Grange?"

"I am sorry you asked me that," Wilfrid said quietly, "because I cannot look you in the face and tell you a lie. Of course I can't say yet whether I was successful last night, but under Providence I most assuredly saved Samuel Flower's life on the occasion you speak of. Please don't ask me more. Try to be brave and patient, and all will be well."

Beatrice said no more, but it was evident she was putting a great strain upon her curiosity.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

*A MESSAGE*

The morning dragged slowly and Wilfrid began to think that Shelton had forgotten about his patient. It was maddening to wander about the house wasting precious time, when perhaps the blow had already fallen at Oldborough. More than once Wilfrid was tempted to make his way to the City where he could discuss his affairs with Russell and Uzali.

And what had happened to the latter? How was he getting on after his cruel treatment of the previous evening? And what was Russell doing all this time? Wilfrid was debating the matter seriously when, about midday, a motor car drove up and Dr. Shelton, accompanied by a colleague, got out. Shelton raised his brows interrogatively at Wilfrid, who shook his head.

"No change," the latter murmured. "He is just as you left him, hovering between life and death. I don't wish to be inconvenient but I shall be very glad if you will release me as soon as possible. I have urgent business in the City which is going to rack and ruin without me."

"Give us half an hour," Shelton said. "We are going to try an experiment--a desperate one I admit--but there seems nothing else to do in the circumstances. But, if you can get back by two o'clock to keep an eye upon things till the nurse I have written for arrives, I shall be greatly obliged."

Wilfrid yielded with as good grace as possible. He began to feel reckless and desperate. He paced up and down outside the house smoking one cigarette after another until Shelton appeared again.

"I don't think we need detain you any longer," the latter said. "Our operation has been partially successful and I am leaving Mr. Flower with my colleague at present. There has been serious brain trouble, and I very much doubt if my patient will ever be the same again. If you can manage to return by two o'clock for an hour, I think I shall then be able to dispense with your services."

Wilfrid waited to hear no more. He had already laid his plans. In the first place, he would call upon Fowler & Co., who had written regarding the bill, which threatened destruction to his home and future. He might perhaps obtain some information from them, though time was growing short and there remained barely a day and a half in which to satisfy these blood-suckers and breathe freely once more. A reference to the _Post Office Directory_ gave Wilfrid the information he was in need of, and a hansom conveyed him to London Wall where the offices of Fowler & Co. were situated. The place was dingy, the office small and dirty. For a moment Wilfrid hesitated whether to go in or not, when he suddenly paused and looked into a shop-window as if fearful of being seen, for on the steps of the office stood Cotter in close conversation with a small, slight man, whose keen dark eyes bespoke a foreign origin. It was plain enough to Wilfrid now. Cotter had come down on business connected with the very security which was likely to be Wilfrid's ruin. The two men parted by and by and Wilfrid crossed the road, his mind fully made up what to do.

A shabby-looking clerk in the outer office announced the fact that Mr. Fowler was not engaged. Without waiting for any reply Wilfrid crossed to the inner office and opened the door. Surely enough, seated at a desk, was the little man with whom Cotter had been talking so earnestly a few minutes before.

"My name is Dr. Mercer," Wilfrid said bluntly. "You are Mr. Fowler, I understand. I came to see you in regard to a security which I gave to a firm called Darton & Co. for one hundred and seventy-five pounds. This security will fall due to-morrow and I am anxious to get it renewed."

The man shrugged his shoulders and took up his pen.

"My dear sir, I am very busy this morning," he said. "If you cannot meet the security, why, there is an end of it. I am sorry, but business is business, and of course you know the consequences if the bill is not taken up to-morrow."

"I am aware of that," Wilfrid said impatiently. "But what I want to know is, where do you come in? What connexion have you with Darton & Co.? And why should they turn over my liability to you? These are simple questions."

They _were_ simple but Mr. Fowler had some difficulty in answering them. He changed colour slightly and his dingy hands fingered a bell on the table before him.

"Oh, you needn't be afraid," Wilfrid said contemptuously. "I am not going to do you any harm, but I came here for certain information and I mean to have it. Is my credit so good that you could afford to speculate in a bill of mine? But perhaps I had better come to the point. Where is the security?"

Mr. Fowler laughed somewhat unpleasantly. He was more at his ease. He pointed over his shoulder to a safe in the wall.

"The security is all right, sir," he said. "The point is, do you want to take it up? If you have the money with you the thing could be arranged quite amicably."

There was a sneer underlying these words which brought the blood into Wilfrid's face. The man was laughing at him. Here was a chance to test the truth of what Fowler was saying. Wilfrid took a bulky packet of letters from his pocket and laid them on the table before him.

"I didn't come here to offer you a cheque," he said, "because it occurred to me you might refuse it. But I suppose you have no objection to banknotes."

Fowler was taken aback. The grin died away from his cunning features.

"Oh, certainly," he muttered, "certainly."

"Then produce the security and let us have done with it."

Fowler arose reluctantly to his feet and rummaged among a mass of papers in the safe. But the security was not forthcoming, which was exactly what Wilfrid had foreseen. With some show of disappointment Fowler returned to his desk muttering that he had left the security at home. Wilfrid gravely restored the bundle of papers to his pocket. He was not displeased at having forced the money-lender to show his hand. His suspicions had become certainties. Cotter had come down on purpose to take the security away. He rose carelessly from his seat.

"Very well," he said, "it doesn't in the least matter, but you must understand I can't call again. You know my address in Oldborough. I shall be there to-morrow morning, and if you send a representative to meet me I shall be prepared to pay you off. I don't think I need detain you longer."

With a curt nod Wilfrid left the office and made his way to Uzali's flat. He was informed that the Malay was in bed, but had left instructions that if Dr. Mercer called he was to be shown up at once. He found Uzali propped up by the bedclothes and looking not much the worse for his adventure.

"Oh, I shall be right enough to-morrow," he said cheerfully. "It is very unfortunate that I should have got into trouble last night. I daresay you wonder what it is all about?"

"My dear sir, I am consumed with curiosity," Wilfrid said. "And when you have told me all your adventures I will tell you mine, which were thrilling enough in all conscience."

"That is a bargain," Uzali smiled. "But there is one thing you must tell me first. Is our friend Samuel Flower still alive? Did anything happen to him last night?"

"Oh, he is still alive," Wilfrid said dubiously. "But how long he is likely to last is another matter. And now, if you will promise not to get unduly excited, I will tell you everything that has happened since I put you in the cab. You will be interested."

Uzali listened with rapt attention to what Wilfrid had to say. He even expressed his satisfaction at the knowledge that things were no worse with Samuel Flower.

"So far, so good," he said. "And now, perhaps, I had better tell you my story. It is shorter than yours and not so dramatic. In the square I fell foul of those countrymen of mine, never doubting for a moment but that they would recognize me and my authority. Perhaps they took me for some imposter, perhaps they lost their heads in the darkness. Anyway, they attacked me in a most murderous fashion before I had the slightest chance of explaining; hence the fact that you found me in the square nearly done for. Mind you, if this had happened a week ago I would not have interfered, but have allowed matters to take their own course. But now things are different. They have changed altogether."

It was a long time before Uzali spoke again. He lay there with his eyes closed as if asleep or dreaming.

*CHAPTER XXX*

*A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING*

Wilfrid walked slowly back to Bloomsbury, his own affairs uppermost in his mind. His morning had not been wasted. He had found out several things likely to be of use to him, but, on the other hand, the time was so short that it seemed almost impossible to save the situation. There was an outside chance that his friend Vardon might have been able to raise the money, but no information had come from him, and in such cases no news is bad news. The security had undoubtedly found its way into Cotter's hands and no time would be lost in making use of the weapon. The mere thought was maddening. Here was a man lying on his death-bed, yet ready to strike at another man, who, on two occasions had risked his life for him. It would have been better to allow those poisonous little Easterns to have their own way and remove a scoundrel like Flower altogether. Still, there was a chance yet, and Wilfrid meant to take advantage of it if he had the opportunity. He was not beaten.

Beatrice's pale white face glancing wearily through the drawing-room window recalled him to himself. There was better news, on the whole, than Wilfrid had expected. Shelton's operation had been partially successful, and he and his colleague were waiting for Wilfrid's return.

"You haven't very much to do," Shelton explained. "The nurse I have chosen will be here at any moment and she will take your place. You will find certain medicines upstairs which you will know what to do with."

Shelton departed hurriedly, after the manner of his kind, and Wilfrid made his way to the sick room. Beatrice followed him fearfully with a whispered request to be permitted to see how the injured man was, and Wilfrid had not the heart to refuse.

"It must be only a moment, then," he said. "I have no right to have stayed here so long. I ought to have been back in Oldborough hours ago. You must promise to be quiet and not speak a single word if I admit you into the sick room."

Beatrice gave the assurance and they crept into the bedroom silently together. Flower lay with his eyes wide open, gazing about the room in a strange, lack-lustre fashion. Evidently he had not the remotest notion where he was or what was taking place around him. He murmured from time to time a medley of things in which the shrewdness of a man and the innocence of a child were curiously mingled. Wilfrid seemed to hear sounds of some one moving in the dressing-room beyond, and he looked into the room, where he saw Cotter in the act of placing some papers in a desk. Flower's confidential clerk looked up guiltily as his glance met Wilfrid's eye.

"What are you doing here?" Wilfrid asked sternly. "Don't you know that nobody but the doctor and the nurse are allowed here? And why are you tampering with those papers?"

"I am not," Cotter stammered. "I swear I am not. I am only putting away a few documents which my master told me to fetch from the City this morning. I am very sorry, sir, but I won't come back again. Is he better?"

Wilfrid turned on his heel without reply. No sooner had Cotter left the dressing-room than Wilfrid was back in the bedroom intent on getting rid of Beatrice also. It was useless for the girl to stay, for she could do nothing except stand there with eyes full of tears of pity and sorrow. Wilfrid led her out to the landing.

"You must not come here again," he said. "I will leave directly the nurse arrives. I have to call upon a friend and then I must get back to Oldborough without delay."

"Is there any hope?" Beatrice asked.

"I cannot say," Wilfrid replied. "It may be days before we are sure of that, and whatever happens, remember that you are safe. These people who come and go in this mysterious fashion have no feeling against you. It is only your uncle who is the object of their vengeance."

"But, surely, the police ought to know," Beatrice protested.

"I am not sure of that," Wilfrid said. "If your uncle were well and we suggested calling the police, I am certain that he would oppose the idea strongly."

A little colour crept into Beatrice's face.

"You speak so strangely," she said. "You hint at such dark things. Do you know that all the years I have lived with my uncle I have never found him anything but the best of men? It is only latterly that this cloud has come between us. There was none of it until you came into my life again."

The words were quietly spoken, yet they stung Wilfrid to the core.

"That is easily remedied," he said bitterly. "I can take myself out of your life as I brought myself into it. I could school myself to forget you in time. But do not forget that I have saved your uncle's life twice, though, in so doing, I have rendered a very doubtful service to humanity."

"What do you mean?" Beatrice asked hotly.

Wilfrid advanced a step or two closer and took the girl's hands in his. His face was grave and set.

"Then I will tell you," he said. "Samuel Flower might have been even more to you than you say he has, but that does not prevent him from being a great scoundrel. You may bridle and colour, but I ask you to hear me to the finish. You may say, quite sincerely, you have never heard anything of this before. But if you could go amongst business men who knew nothing of your relationship to Samuel Flower, and ask them what they thought of him and his methods, you would learn some startling things. Do you know that for over two years I was a servant of your uncle's on board one of his ships? Have you ever heard him mention a boat called the _Guelder Rose_?"

"I have heard of it," Beatrice murmured. "There was a mutiny on board and a great loss of life. It was a shameful thing altogether, and if my uncle had cared to bring the mutineers to justice most of them would have suffered long terms of imprisonment, but he refrained from doing so----"

"Because he was afraid," Wilfrid said sternly. "He dared not face the ordeal of a court of justice. I was the doctor on board that ill-fated boat and could tell you all about it. If I could only put my hand upon one other survivor, poor and friendless as I am, I would fight your uncle to the last gasp. I hesitated to come to Maldon Grange the day I was sent for, because I was afraid I might be recognized and have to pay the penalty of my interference in that mutiny. And I was recognized--I realized that almost as soon as I entered the house."

"My uncle said nothing to me," Beatrice protested.

"Oh, no, he would not," Wilfrid said bitterly. "That is not the way in which he works, but he has lost no time in trying to ruin me. He lost no time in getting into communication with the people from whom I borrowed money to buy my practice. He bought the security I gave, and if the money is not forthcoming to-morrow, I shall be a ruined man without a house over my head. I daresay you wonder why I tell you this, but sooner or later you are bound to know, and if it happens that somebody else----"

What more Wilfrid might have said was cut short by a sudden moan from the bedroom. Without another word Wilfrid turned and Beatrice crept silently down the stairs.

It was only for a moment or two, however, and the patient lapsed into the absent stage again. The minutes were creeping along; the nurse would be here soon and Wilfrid would be glad to turn his back upon that house of mystery. His mind was full of his own troubles; he found his thoughts wandering to the desk in the dressing-room where he had seen Cotter arranging those papers. Then it suddenly struck him that the security he was in search of was actually within his grasp. As far as he could see, Cotter had not even turned the key in the desk. Overwhelming curiosity drew Wilfrid from his seat and impelled his lingering footsteps towards the dressing-room.

Here was the desk with the key still in it. There was the heap of papers in the top drawer. A long, pale blue slip with a red stamp in the corner caught his eye. There was no occasion for him to ask what it was. He could see his own bold handwriting across it. Here was the precious document that meant so much to him, so little for the man in the next room. He had only to tear it in two and throw the fragments in the fire and he would be free from all anxiety for ever. It was only for a moment, but that moment was long enough, for the dressing-room door stood open and the shadow of Beatrice blocked the light.

"The nurse is here," she said coldly. Her eyes were fixed upon the paper which Wilfrid held in his hand. "I thought I would bring her this way. And now, Dr. Mercer, don't you think that we shall be able to dispense with your services?"

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*A QUESTION OF HONOUR*

The thing was done beyond recall. Wilfrid had only to look into the face of his companion to see that everything seemed plain to her as an open book. He had been rummaging amongst her uncle's papers for the compromising document. He had it in his hand at that moment.

What would he have done with it had Beatrice not appeared? Would he have yielded to temptation or not? For the life of him Wilfrid could not say. He tried to think that he would have put the matter behind him. But he had not done so; he had not even attempted to do so. For a second or two he had even tried to justify himself in a course of action which would have been distinctly dishonourable. If he had gone down on his knees and made a full confession to Beatrice he could have told her no more than she already knew.

He glanced into her face, eager to see if there was any sympathy in her eyes. But Beatrice's face was stern and set. There was a compression of her lips that he had not noticed before. He could not know how deeply wounded and disappointed she was. She could not add anything to the humiliation which he was then suffering.

"You wish me to go?" he stammered.

"Would it not be better?" she said scornfully. "Is it not a pity you ever came at all?"

"Perhaps it was," Wilfrid said, stung to retort. "But if fortune had never brought us together again Samuel Flower would have been in his grave by now. Had we not met once more I should have been spared an enemy whose sole desire it is to ruin me. Then, at the appointed time, I might have sought you out and, in the language of the fairy stories----"

Wilfrid paused, conscious that he was going a little too far. He saw the vivid colour creep into Beatrice's cheeks, but there was no relaxation of her lips.

"Go on," she said. "You might as well finish."

"And live happily ever afterwards," Wilfrid said defiantly. "You think I have done a wrong thing to-day, and possibly I have. May you be ever spared such a temptation as has been placed in my way during the last half-hour! You cannot understand these things. Brought up as you have been how could you make allowance for people in dire trouble? Oh, never mind the nurse; she can wait a few minutes. Since I have gone so far I must finish. Whether you like it or not, you shall hear all that I have to say. It is only due to me that you should."

Beatrice hesitated. Wilfrid's voice thrilled with passion, his words rang with sincerity. It was almost impossible to believe that a man distinguished for bravery should stoop to common theft. The hesitancy passed and Beatrice turned away.

"What is the good of it?" she cried. "What do I gain by hearing you? And, surely, this is a wrong time and place for a confession----"

"A confession!" Wilfrid echoed scornfully. "I was going to make no confession. But bring in the nurse, so that I may explain what she has to do; after that I will detain you very little longer. Perhaps you are right."

There was no sign of heat or passion on Wilfrid's face as he shook hands with the nurse. She looked white and fragile for so difficult a task, but that was no business of his. Perhaps the nurse guessed what was passing through his mind, for she smiled at him unsteadily.

"I shall be all right," she said. "Dr. Shelton is a very good friend of mine. He knows that I have been ill for some time, and I am sure he would not send me a troublesome case. I know exactly what to do, thank you."

Wilfrid had only to take his departure. He had received his dismissal. He was not likely to see Beatrice again, therefore he could devote all his energies to the great fight before him. Nevertheless, he lingered in the hall on the off-chance of a last word with Beatrice, nor was he disappointed. The dining-room door opened in hesitating fashion and she stood before him. The hard, proud look had left her face now; her lips inclined to quiver.

"I cannot part with you like this," she murmured. "I have been thinking of what you said just now, and perhaps I am disposed to judge other people harshly."

"Did you ever know any prosperous man or woman who didn't?" Wilfred said with a bitter smile. "Oh, it maddens me to hear people prating their honesty when they have everything to make the path of existence smooth. Does it never strike these smug Pharisees that they would be born fools to be anything but honest? Why, there are thousands of criminals who die honourable and respected, either because they have never been found out or because they have never been under the necessity of knowing temptation. Take your case. What has your life been--one constant round of pleasure, a succession of years during which you have had everything you wanted and have been denied nothing? Do you suppose that you are any better than I am? Suppose you had somebody wholly dependent upon you for the mere necessaries of life, would you pry too minutely into things? But I am forgetting myself."

"Is it as bad as that?" Beatrice whispered.

"I can see no difference," Wilfrid said wearily. "If it were myself alone it would not matter. My household might be wrecked and everything taken away from me with impunity, because I have health and strength and would smile at the scandals of a place like Oldborough. But for the last four or five years I have promised my mother that I would settle down on shore and be near her in her old age. But why worry you with all this? Why should I picture her delight and pleasure in the new home she has to look after, which she regards merely as the beginning of my prosperity? And now I must go home to-night and tell her the bitter truth. I shall have to let her know that I have been deceiving her from the first, and that my so-called home is really the property of strangers. A few moments ago I had it in my power to secure that home. I had only to take a certain piece of paper and drop it in the fire and there would have been an end of the matter."

"That was when I came in," Beatrice whispered.

She was interested in spite of herself. She began to see there might be something in Wilfrid's point of view, and it was really dreadful that a rich man like Samuel Flower should stoop to crush another who was powerless to help himself. Indignation was warming Beatrice's blood. To her it almost seemed that Wilfrid would have been justified in his action. She turned towards him eagerly.

"But, surely, something can be done," she said. "I blame myself for not having seen your mother. If you will remember I promised to call upon her, but, really, there has been very little opportunity. Perhaps when we get back to Oldborough----"

"You forget that there will be no Oldborough for me after to-day," Wilfrid said quietly. "I am going to see this thing through to the bitter end, and your uncle and his tool, Cotter, can do what they please. Well, what is it?"

Wilfrid turned impatiently as a maid-servant came into the dining-room. The girl seemed to be distressed.

"Please, sir, it's the nurse," she said. "She doesn't seem at all well. She asked me to see if you had gone. Perhaps you wouldn't mind going upstairs again."

Though unwillingly, Wilfrid went back to the bedroom where Flower was lying. A regular conspiracy of circumstances had combined to keep him in that dreadful house. He found the nurse standing at the foot of the bed gazing at her patient with a white face and tearful eyes. Flower was sitting up now glaring about him and muttering strange things.

"Oh, I am so glad you have come," the nurse said. "I am afraid I shall not be able to manage this case. I am not as strong as I thought I was. I don't know what to make of the patient. He has been violent more than once since you went downstairs. I dare not be left alone."

Wilfrid's ill-nature vanished as he glanced at the pathetic face of the speaker. He forgot his own pressing affairs. He only knew that a fellow-creature in trouble was appealing to him for sympathy and help.

"Very well," he said, "I will do what I can. Go downstairs to the dining-room and tell Miss Galloway I sent you. Ask her to give you a glass of wine, and then go and telephone at once to Dr. Shelton, letting him know what has happened. Don't worry. I will see that no harm comes to the patient till some one more suitable takes your place."

The nurse stole thankfully away, and once again Wilfrid was alone with his deadliest enemy.

*CHAPTER XXXII*

*NO PLACE LIKE HOME*

Samuel Flower had taken a turn for the worse and, as Wilfrid's practised eye could tell, this was no case for the average woman nurse. Flower was sitting up with his hands round his knees glaring at Wilfrid, though there was no recognition in his eyes.

"Send for Cotter," he muttered. "Why isn't Cotter here? Don't tell me that that rascal has betrayed me like the rest of them! Not that I trust him, not that I trust any of them for that matter. But he ought to have been here an hour ago. Who are you?"

The question was asked with an abruptness that almost startled Wilfrid. For a moment the cloud hanging over Flower's brain had cleared away and he knew where he was and in whose presence he was lying.

"I am Mercer," Wilfrid said soothingly. "Don't you know me?"

"Oh, I know you," Flower whispered. "I recognize you. Keep those fellows away, will you? Don't let them come here again. I tell you it is terrible. I lie fast asleep and then dream, and dream, and dream, and yet my brain is clear and I know everything that is going on around you. But that is nothing to what has to come, Mercer. It is pleasure compared with the awful sensation when they wind that dreadful thing about the head and you lie helpless, watching those knots coming closer and closer till the brain sets fire----"

The words trailed off incoherently and Flower closed his eyes for a moment. The brief interval of sense vanished and he began again to fume and threaten.

"Keep them away from me!" he cried. "Keep them away from me! What did you say your name was? It wasn't Cotter. Oh, I remember, it was Mercer--Mercer, the dog that I am going to crush when the time comes as if he were an empty eggshell. He saved my life once, but what of that? The fellow is in the way and he must go. But that isn't what I want you for. I want you to send for that doctor. Telephone for him at once. Find him at any cost. I can't stay here. I dare not stay here. Whatever happens I must get back to Maldon Grange. Now go and find him."

The last words came in a harsh tone of command, then Flower's sudden access of strength failed him and he collapsed upon the bed an inert mass, scarcely moving and hardly breathing. Wilfrid hurried downstairs into the dining-room. The nurse was seated by the fire sipping at a glass of port-wine and Beatrice was trying to soothe her.

"It is all right," Beatrice explained. "I have managed to get Dr. Shelton on the telephone and he may be here at any moment. I suppose he will tell us what to do."

In a minute or two Shelton's car drove up to the door and the doctor alighted. He listened gravely to all that Wilfrid had to say and found time to address a few words to the distressed nurse.

"You are not to blame," he said. "I did not expect complications like this. I shall have to trespass still farther upon Dr. Mercer's time. It will take me an hour to find a competent male nurse."

Beatrice glanced imploringly at Wilfrid. In as many words she was asking him to stay and see her through her trouble. He shrugged his shoulders more or less carelessly. What did it matter? It was only a question of a few hours till his house of cards fell about his ears. It would only mean postponing his explanation to his mother till the following day.

"I am in your hands," he said. "As Miss Galloway knows, there is nothing I would not do for her. So long as I get back to Oldborough some time to-night I shall be satisfied."

Flower still lay unconscious as Wilfrid and his companion reached the bedroom. Wilfrid gave Shelton a graphic account of what had taken place during the last half-hour.

"Upon my word, I am half disposed to let the patient have his own way," he said. "It is very likely he will do much better at Maldon Grange. Mr. Flower has something distressing on his mind, and I fancy he has been the victim of some outrage that has more or less unhinged his reason. In point of fact, we ought to call in the police. But it may be wiser to get our man back to Maldon Grange first."

"You are disposed to try it?" Wilfrid asked.

"Assuredly," Shelton replied. "It is not very difficult. If we wait till evening we can hire a covered motor and take Mr. Flower to his country house as quietly and comfortably as if he were going out to dinner. It is repeatedly done, as you know, in cases of infectious disease. And if you don't mind, I should like you to go down to Maldon Grange with him. I cannot manage it myself as I have two operations this afternoon. I know that it is abusing your kindness----"

"Not at all," Wilfrid said. "I will see the thing through. I presume you will come down to Maldon Grange to-morrow?"

Shelton promised and went his way. He had forgotten almost all about the case before he reached his motor, and Wilfrid watched him whirling down the street not without envy. What was almost a matter of life or death to him was merely an ordinary incident to the distinguished surgeon.

The afternoon began to drag. Luncheon was a thing of the past and still there was no male nurse. Not that he was needed, for Flower still lay comatose, opening his eyes from time to time to take such medicine as Shelton had prescribed. Wilfrid slipped out presently and despatched a couple of telegrams by means of the telephone. One was to Swan Russell, the other to his friend Vardon at Oldborough. He would know the worst of his position in an hour or two. When the replies came, they were by no means reassuring. Russell was detained and could hold out no hope of seeing Wilfrid till to-morrow, whilst Vardon's reply was more unsatisfactory. He had failed to get the money from his client in Castlebridge and was awaiting Wilfrid's further instructions. With a bitter laugh Wilfrid screwed up the telegrams and threw them into the fire.

The end of another act of the drama, so far as it concerned himself, could not be delayed more than four-and-twenty hours. And yet, close to Wilfrid's hands, lay the document which would make him a free man if he only had the courage to destroy it. But that temptation was past and gone. He would do nothing dishonourable. Wilfrid beheld the desk in which the bill lay without the slightest desire to lay hands upon the paper. In a restless fashion he wandered about the bedroom till dusk began to fall, waiting patiently to be relieved. It was nearly dinner-time before the male nurse put in an appearance and Wilfrid was free to leave the house if he liked. As he came down the stairs he met Beatrice.

"You are not going yet?" she said. "You must dine with me? Besides, I understand you promised Dr. Shelton you would come down to Maldon Grange with us. Everything has been arranged and the car will be here about nine o'clock. It seems strange my uncle should fancy he will be better in a great, lonely house like Maldon Grange. But Dr. Shelton thinks it right to humour him. I would rather stay here."

The girl shuddered as she spoke and her face turned pale.

"You don't want to go home?" Wilfrid asked.

"I am afraid to go," Beatrice confessed. "During the past day or two my nerves have broken down. The mere thought of returning to that mansion sets me trembling, but I must go because duty to my uncle bids me."

Wilfrid made no reply. He was watching how Beatrice made a pretence of eating her dinner. A sudden idea occurred to him.

"Something could be managed," he said. "The nurse will be with your uncle and I will stay at Maldon Grange to-night if you like. We shall be there a little after ten, and as soon as your uncle is made comfortable I can take you into Oldborough and you can stay with my mother. You will be company for her, and it will also be better for you to be away from Maldon Grange. Now don't make any objection. You must see the advantages of the plan."

Beatrice contested the point no farther. She was too unstrung to argue, but she smiled gratefully.

"Very well," she said. "It shall be as you say, and I hope you will forget what I said to-day."

*CHAPTER XXXIII*

*BY WHOSE HAND?*

The appointed hour came and with it the huge, smooth-running motor which Shelton had sent to convey the patient to Maldon Grange. In the skilled hands of the nurse everything went off without a hitch, and in a few moments Samuel Flower lay in the car as comfortably as in his own bed. There was room for others besides Wilfrid and Beatrice, and Cotter, who had begged a seat, was accommodated. Any seat would do for him, he said in his simple way. All he asked was two or three minutes' grace to collect certain papers which Samuel Flower would need when he was able to attend to business again. Wilfrid smiled grimly as he listened. He knew one of these papers. He knew that the little man screwed up in one of the back seats would have no mercy upon him.

It was a silent journey through the night, and the whole party were relieved when Maldon Grange was reached and Samuel Flower was safely laid in bed. During the whole run he had never moved once. He accepted the change of scene without the slightest knowledge that it had taken place.

"I think that is all," Wilfrid said at length. "You won't want me for anything else?"

"Well, no, sir," the nurse said. "I have had full instructions from Dr. Shelton, so that I know what to do."

It was good to be out of the house in the stillness of the night, and Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief as she walked by Wilfrid's side towards Oldborough. It was a fine night, very tranquil and restful to the nerves. The little town was reached at length and Wilfrid turned in at the gate leading up to his own house. He had sent a telegram from London so that his mother was prepared for him.

Everything looked bright and cheerful, Beatrice thought, in such strange contrast to the gilded misery through which she had been passing lately. She could understand now why Wilfrid was proud of his home and what a wrench it would be to give it up. She understood the matter still better when a delightful, grey-haired lady came into the drawing-room and kissed her affectionately on the lips.

"I am so pleased to see you," Mrs. Mercer said. "What a terrible time you must have been having to be sure! But you will be safe in my house, and I will do my best to make you comfortable. Now sit down and be at home."

Beatrice's eyes were full of tears, and something seemed to rise up in her throat and choke her. She had many acquaintances, but she could never remember such a hearty welcome as this. Her eyes wandered round the tiny drawing-room. She noticed the various treasures and marked the good taste with which everything was displayed.

"I am afraid it isn't much of a place to you," Mrs. Mercer said. "But, at any rate, it will be perfectly quiet. You don't know what a change it is to me after living in lodgings all the years Wilfrid was at sea."

Mercer was out of the room so that his mother could speak freely to Beatrice.

"Of course, it was a wrench to him," she went on. "He always loved an adventurous life, and it was for my sake that he settled down, and I am sure he will do well in time. It has been a struggle till now, but things are gradually mending and I am becoming quite fond of my new home. It would be dreadful to go back to those lodgings again. I don't think I could."

Beatrice murmured something sympathetic. She was beginning to fall under the charm of this kindly old lady, who seemed to have but one idea and that to sacrifice herself to other people. A tinge of colour mantled Beatrice's cheeks as she thought how different this was to the life she had been leading. The pathetic side of it, too, appealed to her nature. It seemed a terrible thing that within a few hours this dear old woman should be deprived of everything that was the pride and joy of her declining years. And the thing was going to be done in cold blood. Surely, there must be some way to prevent it.

Wilfrid's return put an end for the moment to Beatrice's troubled thoughts. He was going back to Maldon Grange, at once, he said, but would return in the afternoon and take Beatrice to see her uncle. He kissed his mother affectionately and a moment later he was gone.

Quiet and peaceful as it was, yet Beatrice wished herself miles away. Indirectly her own hand seemed about to dash the cup of happiness from the lips of two worthy people. She was no longer blaming Wilfrid for the terrible temptation which had assailed him earlier in the day; she was thinking she herself would have fallen into it without the slightest hesitation. She was tired, too, a fact which did not escape Mrs. Mercer's attention.

"How thoughtless of me to keep you up!" she said. "Come with me and I'll show you to your room. You must be quite worn out."

It was pleasant and soothing. No shadow of tragedy hung over the house, and Beatrice slept as she had not slept for nights. She came down to breakfast strengthened and refreshed, and yet anxious to be away from the house when the blow fell. She felt like a traitor in the camp. She racked her mind again and again for some way to save the situation. She was glad and yet sorry when the early afternoon came and Wilfrid put in an appearance.

"Your uncle is no better and no worse," he explained. "He passed a fairly good night, but he has been very restless all morning. Now and again he recognizes people, but it is only for a moment. If you are quite ready we will go back to Maldon Grange and you can stay there till bed-time. If you like to come back here----"

Wilfrid paused and bit his lip. He had forgotten what the next two hours were likely to produce for him. The time was past for paying the money, and Cotter, acting as Flower's agent, could step in at any moment and claim everything. There was a brief respite, Wilfrid knew, because Cotter had gone into Castlebridge, no doubt to complete certain legal formalities, and would not be back much before six.

"I am going to leave you at Maldon Grange," Wilfrid explained when once they had set out on their journey. "I must be at home when Cotter returns from Castlebridge. I have had many unpleasant things to face in my life, but nothing that I shrink from so much as telling my poor dear mother the truth. I dread to have to tell her."

"But is it necessary?" Beatrice asked eagerly. "The amount is not a large one. Put your pride in your pocket and let me help you. I have jewels and ornaments which I could easily turn into money. There are lots of things at Maldon Grange I could give to you directly we get there, and you could be in Castlebridge and back on your bicycle before Mr. Cotter returns. Please do not hesitate to accept this offer."

Beatrice paused and laid her hand on her companion's shoulder. She was intensely in earnest. Her eyes were fixed upon his. They were passing through the wood which led to Maldon Grange, so that they were alone and undisturbed. Very gently Wilfrid removed the girl's hand from his shoulder and shook his head.

"I have very few possessions left," he said, "but my self-respect is one of them. Don't you see, Beatrice, how impossible it is that I can allow you to do this thing? I cannot find sufficient words to thank you, but I must refuse. I should never forgive myself if I yielded to a temptation which is far worse than the temptation which was placed in my way yesterday. Besides, it is just possible that I am alarming myself unduly, and I may yet find time and opportunity----"

Wilfrid paused and threw up his head. From the back of the wood some one was shouting in terror; then there rose a wild cry for help, and there was a crackling of broken twigs as some one bolted in the distance. It was all over in a moment and the silence fell again, but Wilfrid seemed dimly to make out the figure of Cotter as he dashed through the thickets towards the open fields.

Without another word he hurried to the spot where there were unmistakable signs of a struggle. A hat lay on the grass and by the side of it a revolver charged in all six chambers. Here, too, were pieces of torn blue paper tossed in a pile upon the dead leaves. Wilfrid picked up the fragments and pieced a few of them together. He turned to Beatrice eagerly.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed. "This is the acceptance itself--the very document that was to prove my undoing."

*CHAPTER XXXIV*

*A HUMAN DERELICT*

About the time that Wilfrid was being hurried off in the motor towards Maldon Grange and wondering bitterly if he had a single friend in the world, Russell was coming to himself with a hazy feeling that all was not well with him. He was lying on a couch in his sitting-room, fully dressed. The gas had not been lighted, though it was dark; indeed, as far as he could make out by the street cries, it was late in the evening.

His body was aching from head to foot and his head throbbed with feverish pain. Gradually he began to piece one or two events together. Slowly he began to have a faint idea of where he was and what had happened. He managed to stagger to his feet and ring the bell. His landlady came in, curious. She seemed to be relieved and annoyed at the same time.

"What on earth is the matter?" Russell groaned. "And how did I manage to get here? What time of day or night is it?"

"It is not quite half-past nine, sir," the landlady replied. "You came home this morning about seven o'clock. I didn't see you myself, but that is what they tell me. However, I suppose young men will be young men."

There was no mistaking the significance of the last few words, and, despite his racking head, Russell smiled.

"So you think it is like that, do you?" he said. "Let me assure you that you are mistaken. I had an adventure last night which very nearly landed me into serious trouble. But we need not go into that now. If you can get me something to eat I shall be glad, and please let me have a large syphon of soda."