Chapter XVIII: Part 18

Claire caught her arm and looked at her with dilating eyes.

"Yes, I think that's going to do some good, and we've got to trust in Providence, my dear, and wait."

"Yes, yes. I do pray fervently for help."

"And you've got to rouse yourself up, my dear, and do something to keep from thinking."

"I can't--I can't, dear Mrs Barclay."

"Oh, yes, you can, my dear. Not for yourself; I want you to help me."

"Help you?"

"Yes, my dear; help me."

"I'll try," said Claire sadly.

"That's my pet; I knew you would."

She embraced Claire tenderly, and then smoothed her hair, as if proud of her.

"What shall I do?" she said to herself. "Booking? No: jools always please womenfolk. I like 'em myself."

"What am I to do?" said Claire. "I will try, Mrs Barclay. I must have been a great trouble to you."

"A great fiddlestick," cried the plump dame. "What nonsense! Now I'm going to just dust over and put down all the jools we have in the iron chest. Mr Barclay's securities, and some that he has bought. He always likes me to look over them now and then, and mark off any that have been sold or let out, and so on. You'll help me, won't you?"

"Willingly," said Claire sadly.

"That's a dear. Look there on the other side of the way. It's Mr Linnell again. He's looking up. Go to the window, and return his bow, my dear."

"No, no, I could not," cried Claire excitedly.

"Well, then, my dear, I must," said Mrs Barclay, suiting the action to the word, and not only bowing, but kissing her plump hands to Linnell again and again. "There he goes," she exclaimed. "Poor young man! I don't know whose fault it is, but some one's wrong; and I don't like to see two who ought to be helpmeets keeping at a distance for nothing."

Claire's brow contracted, but she said no word, while, after diving into a pocket somewhere beneath her voluminous skirts, Mrs Barclay brought out a bunch of bright keys, with one of which she opened a great cabinet in a dark corner of the bric-a-brac filled room.

"Here's where we keep the jools, my dear," she said, as she took another key and fitted it in a large iron safe within the cabinet. "My Jo-si-ah says that no housebreakers could open that iron chest if they tried for a week. Now, you help me. Hold your apron and I'll fill it. Then we'll lay the cases on the table and look at them, and compare them with the books, and then put 'em away again."

Claire smiled sadly as the eager little woman plunged her plump arm into the safe and brought out, one after the other, the quaint, old-fashioned morocco cases of every shape and size; and these were duly laid upon the table, on whose cloth a space had been cleared.

Along with these was a canvas bag of the kind used in a bank for sovereigns, and a couple of chamois leather bags of similar size and shape.

"That's about all," said Mrs Barclay, bustling about with her eyes beaming and her cheeks showing what an artist would term high lights. "Now we'll have a good look at 'em, my dear; all grand people of title's family jewels that they've had to sell or pledge through gambling at the tables. Ah, a very nasty sort of trade, my dear, buying and lending on them; but, as Jo-si-ah says, some people will be fools, and if he didn't make money from them other folks would."

She placed a chair for Claire, and another for herself; and then, opening a drawer, she took out a ruddy piece of wash-leather, and what seemed to be an ivory tooth-brush that had grown out of knowledge, and a nail-brush in a state of consumption.

"I always give 'em a brush up, my dear, before I put 'em away. Jo-si-ah likes to see 'em kept in good order. He says they look so much more valuable when they're brought out."

She opened one faded red case by pressing on the snap, and laid bare a diamond necklet in old-fashioned silver setting, the gems sparkling in the light as they were moved; for they were evidently of considerable value.

"There," she cried; "those once belonged to a duchess, my dear, but they're ours now. Jo-si-ah said I might wear 'em if I liked; but they're too fine for me. They'd look lovely on your soft white neck. Let me try 'em."

"No, no--pray!" cried Claire in alarm, as she shrank away with such a look of wild horror in her eyes that Mrs Barclay laid the jewels down.

"Why, my pretty!" she said tenderly, "what a fuss to make about nothing."

"Yes, yes, it was, I know," said Claire, with a forced laugh. "It was very foolish of me; but--don't--do that again."

"No; if you don't wish it, my dear, of course," said Mrs Barclay; and she looked across wonderingly at her companion, for she could not comprehend how the sight of those diamonds and the attempt to place them on her neck had recalled the back drawing-room at the house on the Parade, with the hideous old woman sitting up in bed with her jewels about her on the coverlid and on her arms and neck. The sight of diamonds had become hateful to Claire, and she was ready to leave the table, but the thought of seeming strange to Mrs Barclay restrained her.

"Poor old girl! she had to wear paste, as lots of them do when they sell their jewels, my dear. Ah, they're a beggarly set; when once they take to gambling they don't seem to be fine ladies any longer. Back you go in the box."

_Snap_.

Mrs Barclay had given the diamond necklet a brush and a rub while she was speaking; and then, taking up and opening a book, she handed it to Claire, bidding her look out for the Duchess of Duligne's diamonds, and make a pencil tick against them.

This done and the morocco case replaced in the safe, another was taken up and opened, displaying a ruby and gold bracelet.

"There, I'll put that on my wrist," said Mrs Barclay, suiting the action to the word. "I won't ask you to have it on, my dear. Some girls would want to, and wouldn't like 'em taken off again. But you're different to most people. Look at that now. Jewels always seem best against skin and flesh, but there, my gracious, how fat I am getting! Why it won't snap round my wrist! Think of that."

She laughed as merrily as a girl as she held up the glittering gems, and then started, with a loud "Lor' bless me!"

For just then there was a tremendous double knock at the door; and, jumping up with wonderful activity for one of her size, she trotted across to the window.

"Why, it's Cora Dean, my dear. No, no: don't go," she continued, as Claire rose hastily.

"I do not feel as if I could meet her, Mrs Barclay," Claire pleaded.

"But she's nobody, my dear, and she'll be so hurt if you go, for I'm sure to let out that you were here just now."

"Miss Dean, ma'am," said the servant, opening the door; and Claire's indecision was cut short by Cora going straight to her, taking her hand and kissing her, before bestowing the same salute upon Mrs Barclay.

"I am glad to see you, my dear," said the latter volubly, for she was nervously afraid that Claire would go, and of the opinion that the best way to set both at their ease was to talk.

"I ought to have been here before," said Cora, "but my mother has been ill. Don't think me unkind, Claire Denville."

She bent over and took Claire's hand, and met her eyes with a curious wistful look that was full of affection; but, as in some clear gem, such as lay beside them on the table, there was a hidden fire that kept darting forth, and that fire was the vainly-smothered bitter jealousy that was the torment of her life.

"It was very kind of you to come," said Claire quietly; and there was a coldness in her manner that seemed to make Cora's jealousy glow more fiercely, for the fire flashed up, and the wistful affectionate look seemed to be burning fast away.

It was only a matter of moments, though, for a change came over Claire. It was as if something within her whispered:

"Why should I be bitter and envious, and hate her for winning a happiness that could never be mine."

With a quick movement and a low hysterical cry, she threw her arms round Cora's neck and hid her face in her bosom, sobbing bitterly at first; and then, as Cora held her tightly in her embrace, and soothed and caressed her, the sobs grew less violent, the tears fell more slowly, and at last she raised her face and gazed in her friend's eyes, offering her lips with a simple child-like motion for the kiss in which they were joined--

"Oh--oh--oh--oh! Don't you take any notice of me, my dears," burst forth Mrs Barclay. "It's only my foolishness, but I couldn't keep it back. There, there," she cried in a choking voice, "I'm better now--I'm getting better now. I couldn't help it though. There!"

She dabbed her eyes with her scented handkerchief, and beaming on both in turns, she gave first one and then the other a hug full of affection.

"It does me good, my dears, to see you both real friends at last; and now let's be sensible and chat together till I've finished these jools, and then we'll have a nice strong cup of tea."

Neither Claire nor Cora spoke, but sat with full hearts, and with a feeling of relief stealing over them as their hostess prattled on, opening case after case, and drawing the book to herself so as not to trouble Claire.

"Look at those, my dears; real choice pearls. Ain't they lovely?" she said as she took out a ring from its tiny box. "They're small, but they're as good as good. Pearls always go best on dark people. Now just you try that on, Cora Dean, my dear. No; that finger's a little too large, and that's too small. That's it to a T; just a fit."

"It is beautiful," said Cora, admiring the pearls. "Look, Claire."

"Yes," said Claire, smiling; "they are very beautiful."

"Not as you want jools on you, my dear," said Mrs Barclay, "with a face, and rich red mouth, and throat, and hair, like you have. You want no jools to make you handsome as handsome can be."

"Oh, yes, I do, Mrs Barclay; and I did not know that you had taken to flattery," cried Cora, laughing.

"'Tain't flattery, my dear, it's truth," said Mrs Barclay; "and I can't say which is the handsomer--you or Claire Denville there--for you're both right in your own ways. You neither of you want jools."

"I do, Mrs Barclay, and I mean to have this ring if it is for sale. How much is it? It's lovely."

"It is for sale, my dear," cried Mrs Barclay; "and you shall have it and pay for it."

"And the price?"

"The price is that you're to be a good true friend to Claire Denville there, as long as you live, and,"--a hearty smack on Cora's Juno-like red lips--"there's the receipt, my dear."

"But, Mrs Barclay--"

"Not another word, my dear," cried the plump lady. "There's the little case, and--there!" she continued, taking up a pen and writing, as she muttered, "Half-hoop oriental pearl ring: Countess of Dinster. S-o-l-d. There."

She looked up, smiling with satisfaction, and busily opened another case.

"But, really, Mrs Barclay," began Cora, "such an expensive ring."

"Why, bless your heart, my dear, you don't think I look upon such a thing as that as expensive. Why, I've only to say to my Jo-si-ah I want a set of diamonds, and if they were worth a couple of thousand pounds he'd give 'em to me directly. There, I won't hear no more. These are nice, ain't they, my dears? Emeralds--real."

She held up a glittering green suite.

"Look at the flaws in them. Shows how good they are. Look at these sapphires and diamonds mixed, too. They're worth a good thousand, they are."

She spread out the beautiful stones, and Cora's eyes glistened with pleasure as case after case was opened, for it was a feast for her that she thoroughly enjoyed, while Claire sat looking on listless and sad till the task was nearly done.

"I wouldn't spend so much time over them, my dears," said Mrs Barclay, "only I think you like seeing 'em. There, now, there's only these three lots to open."

She took a wash-leather bag and opened it, to pour out some rough-looking crystals into her hand, as if it had been grain at a corn-market.

"Rough diamonds, dear," she said to Cora; and, pouring them back, she retied the bag, and took the other and served it the same. "Seed pearls, those are, and worth more than you'd think."

This bag was also retied and placed in the safe, nothing being left but the canvas packet.

"Ah!" said Mrs Barclay, "I always mean to get a case made for this lot, every time I see them. They're not much good, but it would set them off."

As she spoke she untied the bag, turned it over, and, taking hold of the bottom, shook out on the table a necklet, cross, tiara, and pair of bracelets, which tinkled as they fell on the table.

"You'll spoil them," said Cora, taking up the tiara admiringly.

"Spoil them? Not I, my dear. You couldn't spoil them."

"But they are very beautiful," said Cora, taking up the cross by the little ring at the top. "Look, Claire dear. Why, I--"

Claire turned her eyes upon them slowly, and then her countenance changed, and she uttered a cry:

"Lady Teigne's diamonds!"

Volume Three, Chapter XXIV.

THE SELLER OF THE GEMS.

"Lady Teigne's diamonds!" exclaimed Claire.

"Nonsense, my dear!" said Mrs Barclay. "They're not. Now don't you get letting your poor head run upon them. Whoever did that dreadful deed took them up to London, and sold 'em, or sent 'em to Amsterdam."

"But they are," cried Claire, growing more excited. "I am sure of it. I know them so well."

As she spoke she seized the jewels, and turned them over and over with feverish haste, her face convulsed with horror.

"Nonsense, nonsense, my dear child," said Mrs Barclay.

"It is very curious," said Cora, looking at the ornaments eagerly. "I seem to have seen them before."

"Some like 'em, my dear. Lots of 'em are made and sold."

"Mrs Barclay, I know those are Lady Teigne's diamonds," cried Claire again.

"And I know they are not, my dear child. I'll tell you why: they're not diamonds at all, only some fairish imitations--paste--that my Jo-si-ah bought."

"No, no," persisted Claire; "they are valuable diamonds."

"Well, my dear, I'm not a clever woman at all; but I've had so much to do with precious stones that I can't help telling 'em directly. There's nothing valu'ble about them but the silver setting, and if you melt that down there isn't ten pounds' worth in the lot."

"Mrs Barclay--"

"Ah, I'm right, my dear. Those aren't diamonds, but paste; and I remember Josiah saying when I laughed at him, and asked him if he had been taken in--I remember him saying that they were a good-looking lot, and he should keep 'em to let on hire to some lively lady who wanted a suite, and whom he didn't care to trust with diamonds. There, now, are you satisfied?"

"No," cried Claire. "I am certain that I am right. That cross! I know it so well. I've had it in my hands a hundred times. Those bracelets, too. I have often clasped them on Lady Teigne's wrists."

"And put that ornament in her hair, and the other thing round her neck?" said Mrs Barclay, smiling.

"Yes, often; so often," cried Claire. "Oh, tell me what this means. Of whom did you buy them?"

"Well, that I can't say, my dear; but I'm going to show you that you are wrong," said Mrs Barclay, laughing and showing her white teeth. "Now look here," she continued, as she took up the necklet, and then, crossing to the safe, she picked out an old morocco case, which she laid upon the table. "Open that, my dear," she continued, turning to Cora. "There's a necklet in there very much like this."

Cora pressed the snap spring, and, in obedience to a nod from Mrs Barclay, took out a brilliant necklet and laid it upon the table.

"There, my dears," cried the plump little woman; "those are diamonds! Look at them. Those are brilliants. Look at the fire in them; and now lay these beside them. Where's the fire and bright colours? They'd light up and look shiny by candle-light; but, though they'd deceive some folks, they wouldn't cheat me. My Jo-si-ah has shown me the difference too often. There, then, take my word for it, and let's put them away."

"No, no," cried Claire wildly. "I feel as if I have found out something that might clear up a mystery. I dread to inquire further, but I feel as if I must. Mrs Barclay--dear Mrs Barclay--it seems shocking to contradict you so flatly; but you are wrong--I am sure you are wrong. Those are indeed Lady Teigne's diamonds."

"Now, bless us and save us, my dear, dear child, look here," cried Mrs Barclay, taking up the two necklets, one in each hand, and breathing upon them. "I know these things by heart, my dear. My Jo-si-ah has taught me; and a fine lot of trouble he had, for I'm a stupid old woman. Now look there."

She breathed on a couple of the largest stones again, and held them out in the light.

"Now see how the breath goes off them, my dears. See the difference? Those are brilliants. These that you say are Lady Teigne's diamonds are only paste--paste or glass, as the Italians call it. They make lots of 'em very cleverly, and they're shiny and bright, but they are not precious stones. Now then, are you satisfied? Shall I put 'em all away, and ring for tea?"

"No," said Claire, trembling; "I am not satisfied; and though I feel as if I were going to find out something horrible, I must--I must go on."

"Well--well--well, then, my dear, so you shall go on. I'll do anything to humour you, and try and make you a bit happier. Now, then, what's to be done? Let me warn you, though, that I'm right, and those are not diamonds at all, only bits of glass, with some tinfoil behind to make 'em shine."

Claire eagerly examined the jewels again one by one.

"Yes--see--both of you," she cried excitedly; "there is the tiny slip of card I put under that snap, because the spring had grown so weak; and there should be a little scratch and a chip in one of the big diamonds in the tiara. No--no--I can't see it," she said hurriedly.

"A scratch and a chip on a diamond!" said Mrs Barclay, smiling. "Oh, my dear, my dear!"

"Yes. There are the marks," cried Claire excitedly. "Look, both of you, look!"

"Well, so they are, my dear," acquiesced Mrs Barclay. "Well, that is strange! But that don't make 'em diamonds, you know. It only proves what I said--that they are paste."

"They were Lady Teigne's jewels," cried Claire; "and I always believed them to be diamonds."

"Well," cried Mrs Barclay, "and some one killed that poor old creature for the sake of getting a few bits of paste. Ugh!"

She threw down the necklet she held with a look of disgust. "If I'd ha' known I wouldn't ha' touched 'em. My Jo-si-ah couldn't ha' known, or he wouldn't ha' bought 'em. This must be cleared up."

She went toward the bell, but Claire followed and caught her arm.

"What are you going to do?" she said, with an ashy face.

"Ring and ask my Jo-si-ah to come up and talk this over. We don't deal in stolen goods."

"No; don't, don't."

"But we must find out where he bought the things."

"No, no! I couldn't bear to know," faltered Claire. "No, Mrs Barclay, pray don't ask."

"Oh, my poor darling! Catch her, Cora, my dear," cried Mrs Barclay, as Claire staggered back, half fainting, and was helped to the sofa, and fanned and recovered with smelling-salts.

She was just getting rid of the deadly hue when the door opened, and Barclay came in with a bluff "How do, ladies? Why, hallo! what's the matter?"

"Hush! she's coming round," said Mrs Barclay.

"That's better. Why, what are you doing with these things?"

"I had them out, dear, to check off and brush a little. Claire was helping me."

"Mr Barclay," said Claire, rising, and taking a step or two to the table, and speaking with a forced decision that startled her hearers, "I must speak. I must know. Tell me--"

She faltered, and pressed her hands to her brow, shivering and turning ghastly pale again.

"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs Barclay; "she's going to faint!"

"No, no," said Claire, in a weak voice. "Don't touch me. I must speak--I must know. Mr Barclay," she cried, picking up the jewels, "where did you get these diamonds?"

"These, my dear?" said the money-lender, taking them from her. "Not diamonds at all--paste."

"There!" cried Mrs Barclay triumphantly.

"But where--where did you get them? Pray, pray speak. It is agony, this suspense."

"Get them, my dear? Don't take it like that. Why, what's the matter?"

"She says--" began Mrs Barclay.

"They are Lady Teigne's jewels," cried Claire. "Tell me, how came you by them?"

"Bought 'em, my dear, of Fisherman Dick--Miggles, you know; him as your brother Morton went fishing with."

"Yes," cried Cora. "I remember now, he brought them to us. He said he dredged them up in his shrimp net off the end of the pier."

"That's what he told me too, I remember," said Barclay.

"And he thought they were mine," said Cora. "He brought them with the carriage clock and my bag, but, of course, they were not mine."

Fisherman Dick--her brother--dredged up off the end of the pier! It was no elucidation of the mystery, Claire felt, as she stood there trembling.

"Lady Teigne's jewels?" said Barclay, turning them over, and speaking in his blunt way. "Then whoever killed the poor old woman found out that these things were good for nothing, and threw them into the sea."

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" sighed Mrs Barclay. "Don't, pray don't faint."

Poor Claire did not hear her, for as she realised that here was perhaps a fresh link of evidence against her father, a link whose fitting she did not see, her brain reeled and she would have fallen had not Cora been close at hand.

"Can I do anything?" said Barclay in his abrupt way.

"Yes," cried Mrs Barclay sharply. "Go. Can't you see we must cut her laces?"

"Humph!" ejaculated Barclay thoughtfully; "Lady Teigne's jewels! I never thought of that. No wonder. It was diamonds missing--not paste thrown off the pier."

He shook his head as he reached the door, and stood with the handle in his hand.

"Fisherman Dick, eh? Well, I'll go and see what he has to say."

Volume Three, Chapter XXV.

THE TOUGH WITNESS.

"Shall I go alone?" said Josiah Barclay, as he stood upon his doorstep. "No, it's wise to keep your own counsel sometimes, but at others it's just as well to have witnesses. Who shall I take? Richard Linnell," he said, after a pause. "He's the fellow. I'm afraid, though, it looks worse for the old man than it did before. Dick Miggles is as honest as the day as long as he is not smuggling; and he would no more think of choking an old woman than flying. I shouldn't like to be the revenue officer opposite to him in a row if Master Dick had a pistol in his hand; but he would consider that to be a matter of business. Yes: it looks worse for the old man after all."

Barclay walked sharply down to the Parade, and went up to the house where Mrs Dean was seated at one of the windows, bemoaning the absence of Cora, and murmuring at her sufferings, as she leaned back flushed, and with her throbbing head in her hand.

For she was very ill, and very ill-tempered, consequent upon her complaint--a weakness and succumbing of her fort, after a long and combined attack made by veal cutlets, new bread, and port wine.

She saw Barclay come up, and declared that he should wait for his rent this time if she died for it.

To her great disappointment, as she felt just in the humour, as she termed it, "for a row," Barclay stopped below in Mellersh's room, where Richard Linnell was seated with the Colonel.

"Business with me, Mr Barclay?" said Linnell, flushing. "Yes, I'll come out with you. No, I have no secrets from Colonel Mellersh."

Barclay looked sharply at the Colonel, and the latter glanced at his nails and smiled.

"Dick," he said, leaning back in his chair, "Mr Barclay is asking himself whether Gamaliel is a scoundrel, and Paul is a young fool to trust him."

"No, I wasn't, Colonel," said Barclay warmly. "You're a little too much for me, sir, and though you shy the New Testament at me like that (and I never read it), perhaps, money-lender as I am, I'm as honest a man, and as true a friend as you."

"No doubt about it, my dear Barclay," said Mellersh with a sneer.

"I wasn't thinking about Gamaliel, or Paul either, sir; but, since you will have it I was asking myself whether you--a clever card-player--"

"Say sharper, Barclay."

"By gad, I will, sir," cried Barclay, banging his fist upon the table--"a clever sharper--were making believe to be this young gentleman's friend for your own ends."

"Mr Barclay!" cried Richard indignantly.

"Let him be, Dick; I'm not offended. Barclay's only plain-spoken. The same thing, Barclay, my dear fellow, only I put it more classically. Here, I'll leave the room, Dick."

"No; stop," said Richard quickly. "Mr Barclay, I have told you that Colonel Mellersh is my best friend. Please say what you have to say."

Barclay looked ruffled and bristly, but he mastered his anger, and said sharply:

"I want you to go down with me, Mr Linnell, as far as Fisherman Dick's."

Richard Linnell stared and looked grave, as he dreaded some fresh trouble and complication.

"What for?" he said sharply.

"Because I believe you take an interest in Miss Claire Denville," said Barclay; "and there's something fresh about that murder affair."

He went on and told what had occurred at his house.

"Plain enough," said Mellersh. "The man who did the murder found out that the jewels were false, and he took them and threw them into the sea."

"Yes," said Barclay drily, "I found all that out myself, Colonel. Hang it, gentlemen, don't let's fence and be petty," he continued. "Colonel Mellersh, I beg your pardon, sir, and I ask your help, both of you. What's to be done? I bought those sham diamonds of Fisherman Dick, who found them, I suppose, when he was shrimping, and took them to Miss Dean--brought them here, you know."

Mellersh and Richard Linnell glanced sharply at each other.

"Thought, you see, that she lost them at the time of the accident. Well, suppose I tell this, it may make the matter worse for poor old Denville. What would you do?"

"See Fisherman Dick. Perhaps your surmise about the shrimping is wrong. The smuggling rascal may know something more."

"Will you come along the cliff with me, then?"

Richard Linnell jumped up, and Mellersh remained--as he was going to dine at the mess. A quarter of an hour later they were at the fisherman's cottage, where Mrs Miggles raised her eyes sharply from the potatoes she was peeling, while Dick was engaged in teaching their little foster-child to walk between his knees.

"Morning, Dick," said Barclay, as the great fellow gave them a comprehensive nod, and looked from one to the other suspiciously, Mrs Miggles gouging out the eyes of a large potato with a vicious action, while her heart beat fast from the effect of best French brandy.

Not from potations, for the sturdy, smuggling fisherman's wife revelled in nothing stronger than tea; but there were four kegs in the great cupboard, covered with old nets, and a stranger coming to the cottage always seemed to bear a placard on his breast labelled "gaol," and made her sigh and wish that smuggling were not such a profitable occupation.

"We want a few words with you, Miggles," said Barclay sharply.

"Right, sir. Fewer the better," said the fisherman surlily, for the visit looked ominous.

"You brought some ornaments to me one day, and I bought them of you. You remember--months ago?"

"To be sure I do. You said they was pastry."

"Paste, man, paste."

Fisherman Dick had a thought flash into his head, and he gave his knee such a tremendous slap that the child began to cry.

"Here, missus, lay holt o' the little un," he cried, passing it to her, as she gave her hands a rub on her apron--almost pitching it as if it had been a little brandy keg. "Here, I know, gentlemen," he continued, "them jools has turned out to be real, and you only give ten shillings."

"All they were worth, man. No; they've turned out to be what I told you--sham."

"Oh!" said Fisherman Dick in a tone of disappointment. "Hear that, missus? Only sham."

"But we want to hear how you found them."

"How I foun' 'em? Well, you've got 'em; that's enough for you, arn't it?" he grumbled.

"No. You must speak out--to us mind--and let us know--in confidence-- all about it."

"I don't know nothing about 'em at all. I forgets."

"No, you don't. You dredged them up, you said, when you were shrimping and searching for Miss Dean's bag--after the accident."

"How do you know?" growled the fisherman fiercely.

"You told Miss Dean so when you took them to her."

"And how do you know that?"

"You told her so when you took them to her, and she told me," said Barclay.

"Then she told you wrong," said Fisherman Dick sulkily. "It warn't then."

"Look here, my man," said Barclay. "You may not know it, but very likely you will find yourself in an awkward position if you do not speak out."

"Shall I?" growled the man defiantly.

"Yes; a very awkward position. You know that Mr Denville is lying under sentence of death for the murder of Lady Teigne, and stealing her jewels?"

"Oh, yes; I know all about that," growled the fisherman.

"Well, then, what will you say if I tell you that those ornaments you sold me have been identified as Lady Teigne's jewels?"

Fisherman Dick's jaw dropped, and curious patches and blotches of white appeared in his sun-browned face.

"Oh, Dick! Dick!" cried his wife, "why don't you tell the truth? No, don't: it may get you into trouble."

"I ain't going to speak," growled Dick. "'Tain't likely."

"Hush, Barclay," whispered Linnell, taking off his hat as Claire Denville came up hurriedly, leaning on her brother's arm.

She caught Barclay's hand quickly, and said in a hurried whisper:

"You are inquiring about that, Mr Barclay? Have you found out anything?"

"No; the fellow will not speak," said Barclay pettishly.

"Then stop--pray stop!" said Claire. "Don't ask--don't ask him any more."

"My dear Claire, this is madness," cried Morton excitedly. "We must know the truth."

"No, no," said Claire faintly. "It is better not."

"I say it is better out. You foolish girl, it is our last chance for him."

"Morton," whispered Claire; "suppose--"

"Better the truth than the doubt," cried Morton. "You Dick Miggles--"

"Stop!" cried Richard Linnell. "Mr Denville, your sister's wishes should be respected."

Claire darted a grateful glance at him, and then her face contracted, and she turned from him with a weary sigh.

"Mr Linnell," cried Morton, "I wish to spare my sister's feelings; but it is my duty as my father's son to prove him innocent if I can, and I'll have the truth out of this man."

"All right, Mr Mort'n," said Dick. "Don't be hard on a fellow. You and me used to be good mates over many a fishing trip, when you used to come down o' nights out o' the balc'ny."

Morton turned a horrified look upon Fisherman Dick, as the idea flashed across his brain, that the man who knew so well how he came down, must have known the way up. It was but a passing fancy, for there was that in the rough fisherman's countenance that seemed to disarm suspicion.

"Well, what's the matter now, Master Mort'n?"

"I want you to speak out, Dick."

"Morton--brother!" whispered Claire appealingly.

"Be silent, Claire," he replied angrily. "Now, Dick, speak out. You, Mrs Miggles, you are telling him to be silent. I will not have it. Now, Dick, how did you get those jewels?"

"Shrimped 'em. Off the pier."

"And how came they there?"

"Chucked in, I s'pose," growled the fisherman. "How should I know?"

"Stop!" cried Morton suddenly. "Let me think--my head is all confused, Mr Barclay--so much trouble lately, but I seem to recollect--yes. Dick Miggles, you know; some one--that night we were fishing down among the piles under the pier."

"Yes, I recklect oftens fishing along o' you there, Master Mort'n."

"Yes, but one night--when I stole down, soon after that terrible business. Why, you recollect, Mr Linnell. You caught me."

"Yes, of course. I recollect," said Linnell eagerly.

"Dick Miggles and I were fishing that night under the pier, and a man came and threw something in."

Claire turned ghastly pale, and Linnell stretched out his hand to catch her, but she waved him off and stood firm.

"You recollect, Dick?"

"No," said the fisherman sulkily. "I don't recklect."

Claire uttered a low moan. It was horrible, and she suffered a martyrdom as she stood there, helpless now to speak or resist, only able, with her hearing terribly acute, to listen to her brother dragging out from this man perhaps some fresh token of her father's guilt.

"You do recollect," cried Morton fiercely. "You got up and looked between the planks, and you said he had thrown something into the sea."

"Oh--ah--yes--I recollect now: some one come and threw a stone in."

"Some one would not come down to the end of the pier to throw in a stone," said Barclay drily.

"No," said Morton; "and Dick looked up and watched and saw who it was. He pretended he couldn't see--"

Claire's heart sank lower and lower. It was too horrible.

"But I'm sure he could."

"No, Master Mort'n, I couldn't see."

"I noticed your manner then, Dick. I'm sure you did see, and that's why you did not speak."

"What's why?" growled Dick, assuming a vacant air.

"You knew who it was, and that something was thrown in that you meant to dredge for, and you did and found those jewels."

Fisherman Dick was posed, and he rubbed his boots together; but he looked more vacant than ever.

"You don't want to be taken to prison and made to speak, Dick?"

"No!" shouted Mrs Miggles, "and he shan't go."

"Then speak out, Dick," cried Morton; but the rough fisherman only frowned and tightened his lips.

"No; I don't 'member," he said, shaking his head.

"You do; and you saw who it was. Speak."

"Morton!" gasped Claire, staggering to him, and throwing herself on his breast. "I cannot bear it. For God's sake, stop!"

"No," cried the lad; "for my father's sake I'll have the truth. You, Dick Miggles, I order you to speak."

For the first time in his life, as Morton Denville stood there erect and stern, he looked a man.

"Can't," said Dick Miggles. "Don't know."

"You do, you coward!" cried Morton. "You will not speak for fear of getting into trouble. Look at the trouble we are in, and you might clear us."

"Morton, dear Morton!" moaned Claire, with horror-stricken face.

"Silence, sister!" cried Morton, throwing her off. "He shall speak: if it was my own father who threw those things into the sea that night. But it was not. It was some man with a heavy tread; and he stopped and did what my father never did in his life. He was smoking as he stood above our heads, and he got a light and lit a fresh cigar."

"Oh!"

It was a low, piteous wail, full of relief from Claire. It could not have been her father, then, and she leaned helpless on Barclay's arm.

Morton tried to help his sister, but she smiled at him sadly as she endeavoured to rise, and he turned to Fisherman Dick.

"Come, Dick," he said, "we used to be good friends and fishermen together."

"Ay, lad, ay, so we did," said the rough fellow, with a smile.

"Then will you not help me now I am in such trouble?"

"Ay, lad, I'd like to; but I don't see how I can."

"Dick Miggles, you're a coward," cried Morton. "When I was a boy--"

"Nay, nay, Master Mort'n, take that back again. No coward."

"Yes: a coward," cried Morton angrily. "When I was a lad, how many times did I know about cargoes being run, and your house being crammed with spirits and tobacco and lace and silk?"

"How many times, my lad?"

"Yes, how many times? Wasn't I always true to you as a mate I fished with?"

"Yes; that you was, Master Mort'n: that you was."

"And now you see my poor old father condemned for a crime he did not commit, and that must have been done by the wretch who threw those jewels into the water. You know who did it. You saw him that night, and you will not speak."

"Dursn't, my lad, dursn't," growled Miggles.

"You did see him, then?"

Dick Miggles looked in all directions to avoid his questioner's eye, but in vain: Morton went up close to him, and took him by the thick blue woollen jersey he wore, and held him.

"You did see him?"

"Well, all right, then; all right, then, Master Mort'n. I did see him," growled Miggles, "but I won't say another word."

"You shall, if I tear it out of you," cried Morton. "Now then: who was it?"

"Dunno!" growled Miggles.

"You do know, sir. Speak out."

"I can't, Master Mort'n, sir. I dursn't. It would get me into no end of trouble," said Miggles desperately. "I can't tell ye. I won't, there!"

He threw Morton off and folded his arms upon his breast, looking at all defiantly.

"I suppose you know, my man," said Barclay sternly, "that you will be summoned as a witness before the judge, and forced to speak?"

"No judge won't make me speak unless I like," said Miggles defiantly. "I tell you all I won't say another word and get myself into trouble, so there!"

Just then Claire took a step or two forward, laid her hands upon Dick Miggles' broad breast, and looked up in his great bronzed, bearded face.

The fisherman winced, and his wife hugged the child to her, and uttered a low sob.

"My poor dear father is lying in prison under sentence of death--my poor grey-haired old father," she said softly. "Perhaps a word from you will save his life--will save mine, for--for my heart is breaking. I could not live if--if--I cannot say it," she sobbed in a choking voice, as she sank upon her knees and raised her clasped hands to the great fellow. "Pray, pray, speak."

Fisherman Dick's face worked; he stared round him and out to sea; and then, with a low, hoarse sob, he roared out:

"Don't, Miss Claire, don't; I can't abear it. I will speak. It was that big orficer as fought the dool with Mr Linnell here."

"Rockley!" cried Morton wildly.

"Ay! Him. Master Mort'n. I see him plain."

No one spoke, but Linnell involuntarily took off his hat, and Barclay did the same, while Morton stood for a few moments looking down at the rapt countenance of his sister, as with eyes closed and face upturned to heaven she knelt there, apparently unconscious of the presence of others, her lips moving and slowly repeating the thanksgiving flowing mutely from her heart.

No one moved as they stood there in the broad sunshine at the edge of the chalk cliff, with the clear blue sky above their heads, the green down behind, and the far-spreading glistening sea at their feet. Then Morton Denville softly bent his knee by his sister's side, and to Richard Linnell the silence seemed that of some grand cathedral where a prayer of thanksgiving was being offered up to God.

"And may I be forgiven, too," he muttered, as he looked down on that worn upturned face with the blue veins netting the temples, and the closed eyes, "forgiven all my cruel doubts--all my weak suspicions of you, my darling! for I love you with all my heart."

Claire rose slowly from her knees, taking her brother's hand, and a slight flush came into her cheeks as she saw the reverent attitude of all around.

She looked her thanks, and then turned to Miggles, catching his broad rough hand in both of hers, and kissing it again and again.

"May God bless you!" she whispered. "You have saved my father's life."

She let fall the hand, which Miggles raised and thrust in his breast, in a strange, bashful way. Then, turning quickly to Morton, she took his arm and looked at Barclay.

"Mr Barclay, will you do what is necessary at once? My brother and I are going over to the gaol."

Volume Three, Chapter XXVI.

BROUGHT HOME.

"Gentlemen," said Colonel Lascelles, "I am going to ask you to excuse me. You know my old fashion--bed betimes. Rockley will take the chair, and I hope you will enjoy yourselves. Good-night."

The grey-headed old Colonel quitted the mess-room, and the wine was left for the card-tables, after the customary badinage and light conversation that marked these meetings.

It had been a special night, and a few extra toasts had been proposed, notably the healths of Sir Matthew Bray and his lady, it having leaked out that the young baronet had at last led the fair Lady Drelincourt to the altar, with all her charms.

Sir Matthew, prompted a great deal by Sir Harry Payne--who had but lately rejoined the regiment, looking pale and ill--had made his response, and he was a good deal congratulated, the last to speak to him about his noble spouse being Sir Harry.

"Why, Matt," he exclaimed, "you look as if you were going to be hung. Aren't you happy, man?"

"Happy!" said Sir Matthew, in deep, melodramatic tones. "You speak as if you had not seen my wife."

Sir Harry stared him full in the face for a few moments, and then burst into a hearty laugh, but winced directly, and drew in his breath sharply, for the knife Louis Gravani had used struck pretty deep.

Card-playing went on for a time, the stakes being light, and then succeeded a bout of drinking, when, with a contemptuous look at Mellersh, Rockley, who had been drinking hard, and was strange and excitable, called upon the party to honour a toast he was about to propose.

"Claire Denville," he cried in a curious, reckless tone which made Sir Harry stare.

Mellersh involuntarily glanced round, as if fearing that Richard Linnell was present.

"Well, Colonel," said Rockley mockingly, "you don't drink. Surely you are not trying to steal away my mistress."

"I? No," said Mellersh. "I did not know you had one."

"Hang it, sir!" cried Rockley, "I have just given her name as a toast. Do you refuse to drink it?"

"Yes," said Mellersh coldly. "It seems to me bad taste to propose the health of a lady whose father is under sentence of death, and whose brother is dying not many yards away."

"Curse you, sir! who are you, to pretend to judge me?" cried Rockley furiously. "Gentlemen, I protest against this sort of thing. What was Lascelles thinking about to invite him, after what has taken place between us?"

"Here, Rockley, be quiet," said Sir Matthew.

"I shall not," cried Rockley. "It is an insult to me. The Colonel shall answer for it, and this Mellersh too."

"Nonsense!" cried Sir Harry. "Nonsense, man; you can't quarrel with a guest. Never mind the toast. Sit down, and let's have a rubber. Rockley's a bit excited, Mellersh. Don't take any notice of a few hot words."

"Silence!" cried Rockley, whose voice was thick with the brandy he had been imbibing day by day. "I want my toast drunk as it should be-- Claire Denville."

"Sit down, man," cried several of his brother-officers. "Here, let's have a rubber. Sit down, Rockley, and cut. Come, Mellersh."

The latter shrugged his shoulders, and allowed himself to be drawn into a game, cutting, and finding himself Rockley's adversary.

He was singularly fortunate, and in addition he played with the skill of a master, the consequence being that he and Sir Harry Payne won.

Rockley rose from the table furious with suppressed anger, and, catching up a pack of cards, he would have thrown them in Mellersh's face had not Sir Harry struck at his arm, so that the cards flew all over the room.

Mellersh turned pale, but a couple of the most sober officers drew him aside, Sir Matthew joining them directly.

"Don't take any notice, Mellersh," he said. "We're all sorry. Rockley's as drunk as an owl. They're going to get him off to bed."

"It was a deliberate insult, gentlemen," said Mellersh quietly.

"Yes, but he doesn't know what he's about," said Sir Matthew. "We all apologise."

Meanwhile the rest had summoned several of the regimental servants to help in getting Rockley from the room; but he resisted till, seeing that his case was hopeless, he suddenly exclaimed:

"Well, then, I'll go, if you'll let me propose one more toast."

"No, no!" was chorused.

"Then I shan't go," cried Rockley; "I'll stop and see it out."

"Let him give a toast," said Sir Harry, "and then he'll go. On your honour, Rockley?"

"On my honour," he said: and he seemed to have grown suddenly sober. "Fill, gentlemen. The toast is a lady--not Miss Denville, since it offends Colonel Mellersh. I will give you the health of a lady who has long been one of my favourites. Her health even that arch sharper will not refuse to drink--my mistress, Cora Dean."

In rapid succession, and in the midst of a deep silence, the claret in Colonel Mellersh's glass, and the glass itself, were dashed in Major Rockley's face.

Rockley uttered a howl of rage that did not seem to be human; and he would have sprung at Mellersh's throat had he not been restrained, while the latter remained perfectly calm.

"There is no need for us to tear ourselves like brute beasts, gentlemen," he said. "Major Rockley shall have the pleasure of shooting the arch sharper--myself--where you will arrange--to-morrow morning; but before I leave I beg to say that Miss Dean is a lady whom I hold in great honour, and any insult to her is an insult to me."

"Loose me, Bray. Let me get at the cowardly trickster and cheat," yelled Rockley. "He shall not leave here without my mark upon him. Do you hear? Loose me. He shall not go."

He struggled so furiously that he freed himself and was rushing at Mellersh, when the door was thrown open and the grey-headed old Colonel of the regiment entered.

"What is this?" said the Colonel sternly. "Major Rockley, are you mad? I have business, sir, at once, with you."

Rockley stared from one to the other, and seemed to be sobered on the instant.

"Business with me?" he said quickly. "Well, what is it? Payne, I leave myself in your hands. Now, Colonel, what is it?"

The old Colonel drew aside and pointed to the door.

"Go to my quarters, sir," he said sternly. "But you should have some one with you beside me. Sir Harry Payne, you are Major Rockley's greatest intimate. Go with him."

Sir Harry was, after Mellersh, the most sober of the party, his wound having necessitated his being abstemious, and he turned to the Colonel.

"He was very drunk," he said. "We'll get him to bed. I'll talk to Mellersh when he is gone, and nothing shall come of it."

"You have misunderstood my meaning, Payne," said the Colonel sternly. "I am not interfering about a card quarrel, sir, or a contemptible brawl about some profligate woman. This is an affair dealing with the honour of our regiment, as well as Major Rockley's liberty."

A spasm seemed to have seized Rockley, but he was calm the next moment, and walked steadily to the Colonel's quarters, not a word being spoken till the old officer threw open the door of his study, and they were in the presence of Lord Carboro', Barclay, Morton Denville, and the Chief Constable.

The Colonel was the only one who took a chair, the others bowing in answer to the invitation to be seated, and remaining standing.

"Now, Mr Denville," said the Colonel, "Major Rockley is here: will you have the goodness to repeat the words that you said to me? I must warn you, though, once more, that this is a terrible charge against your brother-officer, and against our regiment. I should advise you to be careful, and unless you have undoubted proof of what you say, to hesitate before you repeat the charge."

"Sir," said Morton, standing forward, "I am fighting the battle of my poor father, who has been condemned to death for a crime of which he is innocent."

"He has been tried by the laws of his country, Mr Denville, and convicted."

"Because everything seemed so black against him, sir, through the devilish machinations of that man."

"Be careful, sir," said the Colonel sternly. "Once more, be careful."

"I must speak out, sir," cried Morton firmly. "I repeat it--the devilish machinations of this man--who has been the enemy and persecutor of my family ever since he has been here."

"To the point, sir," said the Colonel, as Rockley stood up with a contemptuous look in his dark eyes, and his tall, well-built figure drawn to his full height.

"I will to the point, sir," said Morton. "I charge this man, the insulter and defamer of my sister, with being the murderer of Lady Teigne!"

"Hah!"

It was Major Rockley who uttered that ejaculation: and, springing forward, he had in an instant seized Morton Denville by the throat and borne him against the wall.

It was a momentary burst of fierce rage that was over directly; and, dropping his hands and stepping back, the Major stood listening as Morton went on.

"Taking advantage of the similarity of figure between himself and my unfortunate brother, he took Frederick Denville's uniform one night for a disguise, and to cast the suspicion upon an innocent man, should he be seen, and then went to the house and killed that miserable old woman as she slept."

"You hear this charge, Rockley?" said the Colonel.

"Yes, I hear," was the scornful reply.

"Go on, Mr Denville: I am bound to hear you," said the Colonel. "What reason do you give for this impossible act?"

"Poverty, sir. Losses at the gaming tables. To gain possession of Lady Teigne's jewels."

"Pish!" ejaculated Rockley, with his dark eyes flashing.

"Those jewels proved to be false," continued Morton, "and at the first opportunity Major Rockley took them, in the dead of the night, and threw them from the end of the pier into the sea."

"How do you know that?" said the Colonel.

"I was on the platform beneath, fishing, sir; and the fisherman I was with dredged them up afterwards, and sold them to Mr Barclay."

"Yes," said that individual. "I have them still."

"Bah! Absurd!" cried Rockley, throwing back his head. "Colonel Lascelles, are you going to believe this folly?"

"I am powerless, Major Rockley," said the Colonel in a quick, sharp manner. "This charge is made in due form."

"And it is enough for me, sir," said the constable, stepping forward. "Major Rockley, I arrest you on the charge of murder."

Rockley made a quick movement towards the door, but stopped short.

"Pish! I was surprised," he exclaimed, as the constable sprang in his way. "What do you want to do?"

"Take you, sir."

"What? Disgraced like this?" cried Rockley furiously.

"Colonel, you will not allow the insult to the regiment. Give your word that I will appear."

"I am helpless, sir," cried the old Colonel.

"Place me under arrest then, and let me appear in due time."