Chapter VII: Part 7

Without further hesitation, Grey pushed his way into the office, which was flooded with half a dozen powerful electric lights. The large slate-topped table had been cleared of all kinds of electric appliances. There were the remains of a supper at one end, flanked by two or three empty bottles. The reserved and saturnine Swift seemed to have changed altogether. His dark features wore a look of reckless gaiety; his sombre eyes were shining. He did not appear to be in the least surprised to see Grey; in fact, he might have been expecting him. His unsteady gait and thick speech, however, told their tale.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed. "So you have come to pay me a visit? You have come here to learn the secrets of the prison-house? Ah, my dear fellow, you are very clever, but your tuppenny discoveries are nothing compared to what we are on the track of here. For we've got it, my boy, we've got it. You remember the dream you used to indulge in at school?"

"Intermittent electricity," Grey exclaimed. "A wireless current. You don't mean to say you have got to the bottom of that!"

Swift seemed to be sober for the moment. A sullen, obstinate look came over his face, but he did not appear to be half so agitated as was his visitor. Only for an instant did it occur to the dull brain that secrets were being betrayed, and in the same instant Grey saw that he had gone too far. He changed the subject with a quickness that fogged Swift.

"What did I say to you?" the latter asked, as he passed his hand across his face. "I hope I didn't make a fool of myself?"

"Not at all," Grey hastened to say. "Besides, I haven't come here to-night in the guise of a spy."

"Quite right," Swift said, with a sudden change to amiability. "Of course, you didn't. You are too much of a gentleman for that. Now, Arnold Rent isn't a gentleman, for all his pretence. He treats me like a dog. He uses my brains and then passes off my discoveries as his own. He knows that no one else will employ me, that nobody else would look twice at a man who is often drunk a week at a time. But I can't help it, Grey. Upon my word, I can't. I inherit it from my father. I fight against it and fight against it till the sweat runs off my forehead and my limbs refuse to carry me. Then, all at once, everything grows misty and I can't recollect anything more till I am gloriously drunk. That's why Rent puts up with me. But he is a blackguard, all the same, and he will come to a bad end. Don't you trust him, Grey. Don't you trust him, or it will be all the worse for you. Now come and sit down and make a night of it with me."

Grey declined the tempting offer.

"I can't stay many minutes," he said. "I merely looked in to see how Rent was getting on."

"He is bad, downright bad," Swift said, with a chuckle. "And he has got something on his mind. There is something he has to do, some piece of infernal rascality to conceal, and his brain fails him, and he can't for the life of him think what it is. And all the time the trail is open for anybody to pick up, and he might find himself in trouble at any moment. That is what's wrong with Arnold Rent, and I can't say I'm sorry. Do I know what he has been doing? No, I don't, and I don't care. You think that his accident is the result of a fall. Nothing of the kind, my boy! He and that blackguard, Ephraim Bark, had a quarrel the other night and Bark knocked him into the fender. How do I know that? Well, you see, I came in directly afterwards and Rent tried to persuade me that nobody had been here. Unluckily for him there was a cheap cigarette on the table, and I guessed at once Bark had been smoking. But why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable? You are different from me. You always know when to leave off--when you have had enough."

Half-defiantly, Swift helped himself to another strong glass of whisky, and a moment or two later was lying back in an armchair, more or less asleep. It was a good chance for Grey to get away and he seized it promptly.

"That's a lucky call," he muttered. "Now I see what it was that puzzled me. Rent has learnt the secret of the intermittent current and he has been using it. It will be my turn next."

*CHAPTER XXXIII*

*A WORD IN SEASON*

Mrs. Rent might have possessed all the strength and determination for which she gave herself credit, but she lost no time in responding to the call of duty directly she heard that her son had met with an accident. She had waited till nearly daybreak for Rent's return on that eventful night when he had gone out in search of Kate Charlock. She had waited, too, with an anxiety which she strove in vain to conceal. But there came no sign of Rent until a letter reached her in a day or two saying that he had reconsidered the whole position and had come to the conclusion that she was right and he was altogether wrong. The letter was couched in terms of due filial affection, and was none the less convincing for being a tissue of lies from beginning to end.

But Mrs. Rent read it all the more lovingly because she wanted to believe that her son meant every word he wrote. He told her how he had talked the matter over with Kate Charlock and how the latter had agreed that his mother had acted entirely for the best. No doubt she had appeared to be harsh and cruel, but she was only cruel to be kind. Mrs. Charlock was going back to her husband and she and Arnold Rent were not likely to meet in the future. Meanwhile, the writer would work as he had never worked before and try to wipe out every suggestion of his folly.

For the next two or three days life had resumed its old peacefulness at Alton Lee. Then came a few curt lines from Swift to the effect that Rent had met with a nasty accident and that it would be as well if his mother came at once. Within twenty-four hours Mrs. Rent was installed by her son's bedside, with Ethel Hargrave in close attendance. It never struck either of them that there was anything sinister about the patient's constant complaint that he had something to do which he could not remember. There were hours and almost days together when he sat in sullen silence, taking no notice of anybody and apparently trying to work out some problem in his clouded mind. At such times Mrs. Rent preferred to be alone with her son, and urged Ethel to go out of doors as much as possible.

It was lonely for the girl, but she had not forgotten the events of the last few days, and found herself thinking a good deal about John Charlock. There was a romantic vein in her nature which rendered her different from most girls, and her solitary life at Alton Lee had given her plenty of time to think and form her own conclusions. From the very first she had taken a fancy to John Charlock. His rugged austerity and reserve did not repel her as it did most people. She saw beneath it a depth and sincerity of feeling with which she was in absolute sympathy. And simultaneously with the appearance of John Charlock her idol in the form of Arnold Rent had fallen to the ground. She had been asking herself many questions lately, and when the first shock was over she knew in her heart of hearts that she did not care for Arnold in the way in which a woman should care for the man she hoped to marry. She had heard both sides of the question, too. She had interviewed John Charlock and his wife, and the more her mind dwelt upon the matter the more convinced she was that the woman had been to blame. Of course, Ethel had heard of the tragic death of Kate Charlock, and now that she was in the neighbourhood she felt herself irresistibly drawn towards the house where Charlock had spent some of his unhappiest days. Ethel thought that it would be safe to stroll through the beautiful grounds, for the house was still empty, and she had not the least idea that Charlock was in the district.

On the third day of her visit she ventured to pass the lodge gate and walk down the drive towards the house. The place looked blank with its staring windows, but there was no sign of neglect in the garden. Here the lawns were cut and trimmed, and there were beds luxuriant with flowers. Here, too, gleaming in the sunshine, was the white marble of the sundial on the fountain, near to which those two terrible tragedies had taken place. It was impossible to connect so fair a spot with mystery and horror. As Ethel was standing almost fascinated, she heard a step on the gravel behind her, and when she turned she saw John Charlock watching her.

"You startled me," she said, a faint wave of colour tingeing her face. "I am ashamed you should find me here."

"And why?" Charlock demanded in his imperious way.

"Well, it seems so unfeeling. It suggests impertinent curiosity. Believe me, I would not have come had I known you were here."

"Well, I am glad you didn't know," Charlock retorted. "You see, I have to stay here for the present. I am doing my best to let the house, but so far without success. It is possible that I may come back again. My wife is dead and I must say nothing about her, but I think that, seeing I have no longer any reason to fear her extravagance, I might manage with economy to remain here until I am free of debt. I suppose you came with Mrs. Rent to look after your invalid. I hope he is progressing favourably."

"Well, no," Ethel said. "He doesn't seem to get any better. To all appearances he is well, but he seems to be suffering in his mind. There is something which he has to do, but he can't remember what it is. Mrs. Rent and I are taking turns nursing him. The doctor says the cloud may lift at any moment and then Arnold will be himself again. What a lovely place you have!"

"I thought so at one time," Charlock said. "I had dreams of being happy here, but, in fact, it is here I have passed the most miserable days of my life. Oh, I am not complaining. I am not blaming the place. But, tell me, did you happen to see my wife after I left Alton Lee?"

Charlock asked the question in his abrupt fashion. His eyes were fixed steadily upon his companion.

"Yes, I saw her," Ethel said. "A beautiful woman."

"No fairer on God's earth. And I suppose she managed to persuade you that she was an injured innocent and I an absolute monster. Still, I am glad you saw her, because it is well to hear both sides of a question. And yet I am conceited enough to think that you cannot imagine so much evil of me, or you would not be talking as you are at this moment."

"I am still of the same opinion," Ethel murmured. "I think your wife had the peculiar temperament which can sincerely make out that wrong is right. Certain men justify dishonourable actions in the same way. I might have been prejudiced. I might have been offended by your wife's coming to Alton Lee at all. But I told you that night in the garden that I was sorry for you and I see no cause to change my opinion."

The words cost Ethel somewhat of an effort, but she uttered them bravely. Then she turned away as if the conversation were ended, and Charlock sought to detain her no longer. There was that in his silence, a suggestion of delicacy of feeling, for which the girl was grateful. She shook hands with him by the lodge gate, and the favourable impression he had created in her mind was not lessened by the absence on his part of any suggestion that they should meet again.

But all thoughts of Charlock faded from the girl's mind when she reached home and saw how pale and worried Mrs. Rent was. The doctor was coming down the stairs and was urging his patient's mother to rest for an hour or so. Ethel cordially supported this suggestion.

"I ought to have been back before," she said contritely. "Oh, surely you can leave Arnold to me for a little while. It isn't the first time that I have had him in my care."

With obvious reluctance Mrs. Rent gave way. There was little or nothing to do, for the patient was sitting in his armchair, with his head in his hands as usual, pondering the problem which occupied his mind to the exclusion of everything else. He made no reply to Ethel's question as to how he felt. The girl picked up a book and gradually became interested in the story. She was roused presently by a loud exclamation on the part of the patient. He was standing upright, his eyes gleaming, a peculiar fixed smile on his face. He crossed the room with rapid strides and proceeded to open a cupboard door with a key which he took from his pocket. Somewhat alarmed, Ethel watched him with dazed astonishment. She saw he held in his hand a mass of india-rubber bandages and something that looked like a pair of gloves. From the expression of his eyes and the way he looked over her head he seemed to be oblivious of her presence. Yet he held the gloves out towards her.

"Come along," he said hoarsely. "Thank Heaven, I recollect it at last. But we have not a moment to lose, for the secret might be discovered at any moment. Why are you standing there staring? Why don't you do what I tell you? You have been drinking again."

Ethel sprang to the wall and rang the bell. At the same moment Rent dropped his burden on the floor and once more lapsed into the old sullen state of mind.

*CHAPTER XXXIV*

*A BLACK SUSPICION*

There was no occasion for Ethel Hargrave to be afraid. There had been no suggestion of violence on the part of her patient, but yet, in some unaccountable way, she felt her heart sinking and her nerves throbbing as if the shadow of a great disgrace was hanging over her. She had ceased to care for Arnold Rent; indeed, she was almost grateful to him for showing her that she had made a mistake in her estimate of his character. All these years she had lived so quiet a life, she had seen so few men, that she had come to regard Arnold Rent as typical of what was best in his sex. In this she had been encouraged by Mrs. Rent's pride and delight in the progress of her son. Ethel thought she was fortunate above women, inasmuch as she would some day become the wife of Arnold Rent. The whole thing had been a tacit understanding, and at first when disillusion came the pain had been smart and keen.

But this was due to wounded vanity, though Ethel did not know it. It was her first contact with the meaner side of human nature and it left its mark. Despite the fact that Ethel had lived so long alone, she had read a great deal and knew much of the world and its ways. It did not need anyone to teach her that Arnold Rent had behaved foolishly in the matter of Mrs. Charlock, and since then one or two little things had opened Ethel's eyes.

She was glad the disclosure had come before it was too late. She could only regard Arnold Rent in the light of a friend, and found herself contrasting him with John Charlock, much to his detriment.

And now she could not rid herself of the idea that there was something more than mere hallucination here. The blow which Rent had received would be hardly accountable for his acting in this fashion. Undoubtedly, the man had something desperate on his mind. He had every appearance of it in the uneasy, haunted expression of his face and the gleam of his eyes. Something was fearfully wrong, and Ethel felt her heart sink as she watched the moody, disconsolate figure seated in the chair opposite her. What it was he had to conceal she did not know, nor could she manage, with all the patience at her command, to find out what was amiss.

"Is there nothing I can do for you?" she asked.

Rent shook his head sulkily. The mass of matter which he had removed from the safe lay on the floor, but he took no notice of it. The cloud had fallen again.

"Don't bother," he said. "It has all gone again. There was something I had to do and I can't for the life of me think what it was. I had to go somewhere. There was a little thing----"

He broke off abruptly and smote his forehead passionately with his hand. Ethel watched him curiously.

"Surely there is some way I can help you," she said.

"No, there isn't. You know nothing about it. Besides, in any case, it is not a woman's work. Swift will be all right. But, then, you can't trust Swift, because you never know when he is going to give way to one of his drunken bouts. The most useful man I know is Malcolm Grey. He can manage it."

Rent was speaking rationally enough. It was only the uneasy gleam in his eyes which proved to Ethel that he was still wandering. But she caught at the suggestion.

"Would you like to see Mr. Grey?" she asked. "I understand that he is here; he has called to ask about you once or twice. He is staying with a friend who has a yacht in the harbour."

"That's the idea," Rent said eagerly. "Send for Grey at once. Well, why don't you go and do it? Why do you sit looking at me in that extraordinary way?"

Rent's voice was harsh and hard and his face wore an angry look. Ethel rose from her seat, but before she could leave the room Rent sprang up and detained her.

"You are not to go," he whispered. "Do you hear me? You are to stay where you are. What do you mean by making such a suggestion to me? Do you want to get rid of me? Why, if Grey so much as guessed, I should never know a moment's peace again."

It was hard to tell what to do in the circumstances, and Ethel could only regard her companion with astonishment. He dropped back in his seat and the same sullen silence fell over him. There was nothing to do but to humour the patient, and, to her great relief, a little later Ethel saw that he was asleep. She slipped from the room into that of Mrs. Rent, which adjoined, but that lady lay on her bed without sign or motion. No doubt she was asleep also. It was with a sensation of relief that Ethel heard the doctor coming up the stairs presently. As his quick glance took in the state of affairs, he crept quietly from the room and beckoned to Ethel to follow him.

"I am glad to see that," he said. "Whatever you do, don't disturb him. The more sleep he has the better."

"Mrs. Rent is sleeping, too," Ethel said.

"That is right," the doctor murmured. "I am sure she wants it. If we could only induce a sleep like this on the part of the patient oftener he would get better much the sooner. It is impossible for him to recover so long as he keeps on worrying his brain as he does. And now, at the risk of being impertinent, I am going to ask a personal question. I understand you have known Mr. Rent for a long time. Is that so?"

"I have known him all my life," Ethel said.

"Then you'll be able to tell me what I want to know. Of course, I recognise that he is an exceedingly clever man and that he has a very active and intelligent mind. I am told that he sits up half the night working out problems and fascinating experiments. These men make the most difficult patients when there is brain trouble. Tell me, do you think Mr. Rent has anything weighing heavily on his mind?"

Ethel hesitated. She was startled to find the doctor's train of thought very like her own. He put the question with a gravity which impressed her. But he was the doctor in charge of the case and had every right to the information of which he was in search.

"I am afraid so," she said. "It has been dawning upon me for the last day or two that there is something very wrong. Arnold Rent seems to be full of the idea that he has left some task unfinished. He is dreadfully afraid lest somebody should find out certain information which his illness prevented him from concealing. It may be that he has hit upon a new invention--something startling in the way of a discovery. On the other hand, it may be that he has done something to be ashamed of and does not want it known. I was going to ask his assistant, Mr. Swift, about the matter, but Mr. Rent never trusts him with anything of importance, because the latter has a weakness for drink. I feel pretty sure that the secret has something to do with a scientific discovery, because, a few minutes since, your patient was anxious to send for Mr. Malcolm Grey, a brother scientist. Then he suddenly changed his mind and told me to do nothing of the kind. I can't make it out at all."

The doctor looked grave.

"It is a most puzzling case," he said. "The best thing to do is to fall in with every wish the patient expresses. Never mind if he changes his opinion the next moment; humour him to the top of his bent, and don't disturb him in any case. The same remark applies to Mrs. Rent. Let the poor lady have all the rest she can get. I will look in again later."

The time passed slowly. It was growing late, and there was no sign of Mrs. Rent. Ethel sat in the sick-room waiting the advent of the doctor, who did not come, though it was now past eleven o'clock. Probably he had been detained somewhere. But, since Rent was slumbering in his chair, it did not matter. He moved uneasily in his sleep once or twice, and Ethel caught the name of Grey on his lips. Unconscious as he was, his mind was working away at the problem which puzzled him so sorely. Then Ethel closed her own eyes and for a little while was oblivious to all that was going on. When she came to herself she heard a clock striking the half-hour after eleven, so that she knew she had been asleep some five-and-twenty minutes. She wondered if her patient was awake, but was surprised to see that he was no longer seated in the chair. Possibly he had gone back to bed.

But the bed was empty. The door was closed and locked on the inside. Ethel rubbed her eyes in astonishment. She was not yet conscious of the full extent of the catastrophe. Then she roused herself with an effort. She began putting the pieces together in her mind. The door was locked on the inside, and yet Arnold Rent had vanished. Where had he gone to, and how had he contrived to obliterate himself? The window was open, and, as Ethel looked out, she saw it was a short drop to the garden. Beyond question, Arnold Rent had disappeared in that way. It was the kind of furtive exit a man with a diseased brain and perturbed mind would make. His clouded intellect had pointed to secrecy. He had deemed it prudent not to show himself in the house. But where had he gone? And why?

For the moment Ethel stood thinking the puzzle out. Then she unlocked the door and walked quietly into Mrs. Rent's room. The latter still lay on her bed fast asleep.

*CHAPTER XXXV*

*THE SEARCH*

It was a cruel dilemma for the girl, but her courage and intelligence returned and she began to see how to act. Nothing was to be gained by rousing Mrs. Rent. Possibly before she woke Arnold would be found. But where to look for him, and which way to turn, Ethel did not know. Perhaps the best thing would be to go at once to Rent's workshop on the shore. No doubt what was troubling him was in some way connected with his researches, and it was an obvious inference that he had gone in that direction. Ethel slipped into a wrap and, without waiting to put on a hat, walked into the darkness.

She knew which way to go, because the workshop had already been pointed out to her. She did not mind the dark and lonely journey. She flew swiftly over the broken ground and gave a gasp of relief when she saw a light in one of the offices. Her search seemed to be finished almost before it had begun. Taking her courage in both hands, she opened the door of the office and walked in.

But she did not, as she had expected, see Rent. The office was not deserted, for Swift was present. There were strange appliances on the table, weird-looking apparatus and receptacles which conveyed nothing to the girl, and over one of these Swift was bending with a critical eye. In spite of her trouble Ethel saw that his face was deadly pale. She saw how horribly his features were twitching, and how the pupils of his eyes were dilated. She had never in her life before been face to face with a man verging on _delirium tremens_. But she instinctively recoiled, feeling that something was very wrong. It flashed across her mind how Arnold Rent had said that Swift was given to prolonged bouts of drinking. She wondered if the repulsive aspect of his face had anything to do with the dreadful weakness. The girl was frightened. She knew there was something akin to danger here. But it was not the time to hang back, not the time to show the terror which set her trembling from head to foot. She had to find Rent. She had to forget her own risk.

"I beg your pardon," she said firmly, "but I am looking for Mr. Rent. Has he been here?"

A queer sort of laugh came from Swift's lips. He pushed his curious-looking appliances aside and came a pace or two nearer to the questioner. She stood her ground.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he said hoarsely, "or is this a vision that I see before me? Speak again, bright spirit, and let me know that I am not dreaming. I swear if these delusions only came in this form I would never willingly be sober again. But you can never tell. Sometimes it is a swarm of bees, sometimes an army of pink rats, or an array of black and grinning devils. But in the shape of loveliness like this----"

The speaker paused and his features twitched horribly. Ethel remembered having read of such cases. The man was on the brink of collapse, though he had sense enough to know what was going on. His madness might take a dangerous form. At any rate, it would be perilous to show fear.

"My name is Hargrave," Ethel said. "I live with Mrs. Rent. Mr. Rent has disappeared and I came to see whether he was here. I am sorry to intrude----"

"Don't mention it," Swift said. "It is not often that I have a pleasure so charming as this. And so you have come to look for my master. Fortunate Arnold Rent, who can command the services of so fair a friend. I suppose that you and he----"

"Certainly not," Ethel said. The colour flamed painfully into her cheeks. "Nothing of the kind. I am merely a friend of Mr. Rent's. I am helping to nurse him and am concerned at his disappearance."

"I beg your pardon," Swift said, with some show of humility. "And I congratulate you. Don't have anything to do with Arnold Rent. Keep him at arm's length, for, between ourselves, he is a precious scoundrel, as a good many people have found out to their cost."

"Has he been here?" Ethel demanded.

"Oh, no, he hasn't. And, what is more, I don't think he is in the least likely to come. I am sorry to disappoint you. It cuts me to the heart to see that anxious expression on a fair face. If you want Arnold Rent, why don't you try John Charlock's place? I know it is late and the grounds are lonely, but I am giving you good advice."

Swift accompanied this remark with a leer so malicious that Ethel recoiled in disgust. In spite of the man's muddled brain and besotted intellect, he had certain information of which Ethel was ignorant. It would not do to show that he filled her with disgust.

"I am greatly obliged to you," she said. "I will go there at once. There is no time to be lost."

"No, don't go," Swift pleaded. "Give me your company a little longer. I am all right if I am not alone. But directly I am by myself those grinning faces peep at me out of every corner--there, can't you see them? Don't you notice their ugly heads sticking out of the row of bottles along that top shelf? Horrible! Horrible! Don't go."

The few last words rose to a wailing cry, which filled Ethel with pity, frightened as she was. She could stand it no longer, but turned and made her way to the door. She flew along the passage into the open air, glancing over her shoulder to see if Swift were following. It was good to be alone, to feel the fresh breeze blowing on her face, and to know that she had escaped that danger. For Swift had made no attempt to follow. She could see his lank shadow crossing and recrossing the blind. She could hear him singing hideously to himself.

"Poor wretch," she murmured. "Surely, he is more to be pitied than blamed. And now what am I to do next? I suppose I had better follow his advice. Fancy being involved in an adventure like this! I should have smiled at the mere suggestion a month or two ago. Still, my duty is plain."

It was, indeed, a strange position for a young and unprotected girl. She found herself presently walking up the avenue to John Charlock's house, with no definite plan in her mind. What she expected to see and what she expected to gain it would have been impossible to explain. But Rent might be wandering in the grounds. It occurred to Ethel in a fantastic way that his trouble might be connected with the sundial. Everything seemed to centre round that mysterious monument, and it was possible that Arnold Rent's state of mind might be due to the tragic death of Mrs. Charlock. The notion might be illogical and absurd, but Ethel could not get it out of her mind. She passed round the garden twice without any sign of the object of her search. Then, half ashamed of herself and her own simplicity, she turned to leave.

As she passed the house she saw, to her surprise, that a light was burning in one of the windows upstairs. Perhaps Rent was there. Possibly in his madness he had elected to call upon John Charlock. Ethel knew that the latter was camping in the empty house for the present.

Acting on the spur of the moment, she crossed the drive and rang the bell. Even now she was half inclined to go back, but she forced herself to remain until a light appeared in the door and Charlock in person answered the summons. He held a candle, the light of which fell on Ethel's pale, anxious face. He staggered.

"Miss Hargrave!" he said. "What does this mean?"

"What must you think of me?" Ethel asked unsteadily. "What excuse can I have for knocking you up at this hour? I can only plead that I am in trouble."

"You need not say more than that," Charlock murmured. "Now, tell me how I can help you."

"It is Arnold Rent," Ethel stammered. "He has disappeared from the house. I was looking after him while his mother was asleep, and I dozed in my chair. When I came to myself he had vanished. I did not know what to do or how to act. It seemed to me that my best course was to try to find him before he was missed. From something he said in his delirium I fancy he was anxious to see Mr. Grey. Then it struck me that perhaps he had gone off to his workshop. I went there and saw a man called Swift. I don't know, but I think he had been drinking, for his manner was strange and wild. He frightened me terribly. And I was glad to get away. I should not have come here, only he made a strange remark to the effect that I could not do better than look for my patient here. There was such an expression of cunning on Mr. Swift's face that I felt bound to come. For the last quarter of an hour I have been wandering about the grounds. Then I saw your light and some irresistible impulse forced me to ring the bell. I know it is much to ask, but I am sure you will help me."

"Help you!" Charlock exclaimed. "Of course I will. I will do anything in my power. Wait a moment till I go in the house and get an overcoat."

*CHAPTER XXXVI*

*AN UNSEEN DANGER*

Somewhat later, Ethel and her companion were walking rapidly along the road towards the town. During part of the time Charlock had been quiet, almost taciturn. But now he began to speak more freely.

"I have been thinking the matter over," he explained, "and I think there is a good deal in what that poor creature, Swift, said. It may come with a bad grace from me, but I have a shrewd suspicion that Arnold Rent is no better than he should be. I have heard rumours of certain statements made by Swift when under the influence of drink, and they have not impressed me favourably. It is possible that Swift is right and that Arnold Rent set out to-night to try to find Mr. Grey. Frequently people, otherwise demented, display a wonderful tenacity of purpose and clearness of mind when they have a definite object in view. I know a man hopelessly insane who is one of the best military tacticians in Europe. Keep him to his hobby and he might lead an army to victory. But trust him in any other capacity and you will make a fatal blunder. Now, I propose, late as it is, to go off to Dr. Tanza's yacht and see whether Arnold Rent has been there."

Ethel expressed her gratitude and waited in the shelter on the quay for Charlock's return. He came presently, accompanied by Grey, and the information that the yacht had seen nothing of the missing man.

"I am exceedingly sorry for you, Miss Hargrave," Grey murmured. "It is plucky of you to have come----"

"Won't you say foolish?" Ethel murmured. "You don't know how ashamed I feel of myself. It is very thoughtless of me to give you all this trouble for nothing."

"I beg you won't mention it," Grey said eagerly. "I admire the way you have behaved beyond measure. I am sure you are fearless, and it is only consideration for other people that brings you out alone at this time of night. As you have proved your mettle so clearly, I am not afraid to speak plainly. You will have to be prepared for an unpleasant shock before long, and if you have formed a high estimate of Mr. Rent's character----"

"That illusion has been dispelled lately," Ethel said quietly. "Mr. Rent is nothing to me except that his mother has been more than kind, and if you have anything unpleasant to say, I implore you not to hesitate on my account. Let me know what it is."

"Ah, that I cannot do," Grey went on. "It is a matter of suspicion for the moment. And now let us see whether we can find your patient. Mr. Charlock has told me everything which you confided to him, and I am of opinion that Swift is not far wrong."

"Then we are going back to my house?" Charlock asked.

"That will be best," Grey replied. "Possibly we are on a wild goose chase, but we ought not to neglect a single chance."

The trio turned in silence and made their way to Charlock's residence. Charlock invited Ethel to come inside and wait while he and Grey searched the grounds.

"I would rather come with you," Ethel said. "I have not quite as much bravery as you give me credit for. I don't think I could stay alone in this deserted house."

"Oh, nonsense," Charlock said, with a return of his old peremptory manner. "Really, you must do as you are told. We shall not be very far away. And after what you have gone through to-night this will be a mere trifle."

Ethel was about to demur, when she met Charlock's steady glance. There was something in the look that checked the words on her lips and summoned her fleeting courage. From the first Charlock had fascinated her in this way. She seemed to know that she would be compelled to do almost anything he asked her. And she knew, also, that there was nothing he would require her to do that would not bear the light of day. She seemed to be comforted and uplifted, and a smile came to her lips.

"You are arbitrary," she said, "not to say rude. But I will be obedient. Only don't keep me waiting longer than you can help. I am ashamed to think that I have given you so much trouble."

Charlock turned upon his heel without reply. He seemed to take it for granted that Ethel should do exactly as he asked her. Possibly it gratified his vanity to notice how implicitly she placed herself in his hands. Charlock produced a couple of candlesticks from a cupboard and proceeded to light them and place them on the mantelshelf. There was a solitary chair in the room, upon which he asked Ethel to be seated.

"There," he said. "Try not to worry. We sha'n't be long."

Ethel smiled bravely in reply. As a matter of fact, her courage was oozing out rapidly again. She was not in the least anxious to be left alone in that echoing house. Half-ashamed of herself, she crept to the front door to see if the two men had gone, and flung it open. Anything was better than that gloomy prison, where she could hear her own heart beating, and the scratching of a mouse behind the panel sounded loud and menacing. There were queer noises, too, here and there, as if the girl were surrounded with unseen people who were wandering about the bare floors. A sudden draught of air caused a door upstairs to slam with a noise which set the whole fabric quivering. It was almost more than the girl could stand. She felt that if she remained much longer she must cry aloud. She tried to reproach herself with her own timidity. She tried to imagine that it was merely fancy which caused her to believe that someone was creeping up the stairs with stealthy steps.

But the feeling would not be fought down. The stealthy steps were far too real. It was impossible to sit there longer; she must satisfy herself that her nerves were playing her false. In an access of anger she snatched a candle from the mantelpiece and rushed into the hall.

It was no fancy. Somebody was actually creeping up the stairs. She saw the dim outline of a man. She forgot herself and her prudence in the terror of the moment. A scream escaped her lips. The man turned and regarded her with eyes that shone green and threatening out of the gloom. Then the steps were retraced and Ethel was conscious that a heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder.

"Stop that noise," the stranger said hoarsely. "Do you want to betray me? What brings you here, Ethel?"

At the mention of her name the girl looked up. To her intense surprise she saw Arnold Rent. He was fully dressed. He carried something that looked like a lever in his hand. The strange, uneasy light was still in his eyes, but there was a resolute look upon his face which spoke of directness and determination of purpose.

"What are you doing here?" she faltered.

"Never mind," Rent whispered. "That is no business of yours. If you make a fuss, if you call those men back, you will be sorry for it all the rest of your life. I am not doing any harm. It isn't as if I had come after Mrs. Charlock's jewels."

Ethel started at the suggestion. What connection could there be between Arnold Rent and the missing jewels?

"You are not a thief?" she stammered.

"Not in that way," Rent said in the same hoarse whisper. "But there are other things besides jewels. There is that Frenchwoman and her papers. I did not know at the time. I did not guess that she had been cunning enough. But what am I doing? What am I saying? If you dare betray me I will take you by the throat----"

Rent broke off in a whisper. An expression of malignant fury convulsed his face. Ethel could stand it no longer. With a sudden cry she burst from Rent's detaining clasp and fled into the garden, calling for help. As she crossed the lawn towards the sundial she could hear Rent's footsteps behind her. She was very near to the fountain now, when Rent closed with her and, lifting her high in the air, dragged her to the side of the lawn.

"Not there, not there," he said in the same hissing whisper. "If you value your life, keep away from here. I don't know what the danger is, though I could have told you a day or two ago. If my mind was only clear I could explain. But, as you value your future, don't come here any more."

The words might have meant a great deal, or they might have meant nothing. There was no time to inquire or explain, for out of the gloom emerged the figures of Grey and his companion. No sooner did Rent see them than his manner changed. He withdrew his hand from Ethel's arm and darted off to the house, muttering something about papers and diaries. Ethel would have staggered and fallen had not Charlock caught her.

"Did you see him?" she asked.

"Oh, we saw him right enough," Charlock said with unexpected tenderness. "He has gone into the house. And now let me take you home. This is no place for you."

*CHAPTER XXXVII*

*A DARK SUSPICION*

Ethel Hargrave did not appear to hear what Charlock was saying. Her mind had gone back to the moment when Arnold Rent had laid violent hands upon her and spoken so harshly. She thought there was something more than madness here, something in the nature of overpowering fear. Rent had cast away his peculiar vagueness of manner and appeared calm and rational. If he had only been an acquaintance snatching her from some unexpected peril his words could not have rung out more truly and sensibly. Yet, on the face of it, it seemed absurd that there could be any danger in simply walking on the lawn, though lately two tragedies had occurred there. It was small wonder, then, that Ethel trembled from head to foot with a sense of some great impending discovery. Charlock repeated his remark twice before the girl appeared to heed him.

"I am frightened," she whispered. "I don't know what to make of it. Did you see what happened?"

There was a peculiar thrill in her voice and her eyes filled with tears. Charlock looked slightly puzzled, but if anything could be gleaned from the expression of Grey's face, the mystery was no sealed book to him.

"I saw," he said curtly. "Everything will be explained in due time. Meanwhile, Mr. Charlock is right in saying this is no place for you. You must go back to your lodgings."

There was almost a command in Grey's tone, but Ethel did not offer to move.

"But it is impossible," she persisted. "How could I leave Arnold Rent? What would his mother say when she heard what I had done?"

"Nevertheless, you must do exactly what I tell you," Grey went on. "There is a mystery which must be solved, even thought it breaks Mrs. Rent's heart, and you suffer into the bargain. And if you will allow Mr. Charlock to take you quietly home, I will pledge my word that Arnold Rent shall come to no harm. Within an hour I will see that he is back."

Ethel would have ventured some protest, but the stern, hard expression on the speaker's face checked her. She turned almost imploringly to Charlock, as if seeking his protection.

"I don't understand," she murmured. "The whole thing is inexplicable. Still, if you must have your own way, I will bow to the inevitable. Mr. Charlock, would it be too much trouble to ask you to come as far as----"

"Not in the least," Charlock said eagerly; "it would be a pleasure. And I hope you won't think Mr. Grey censorious. He is acting for the best."

"I pledge my word to that," Grey said, with a stern ring in his voice. "Believe me, Miss Hargrave, I am not here on pleasure bent. But the truth must be told, even only for the sake of innocent people. I will do my best not to abuse the trust you have put in me. I promise you that before long Arnold Rent shall be safe back in bed again. Meanwhile, there is one thing I must ask you to do. As you go along the quay you might stop and tell the boatman who is waiting to row me back to the yacht that Dr. Tanza is wanted at once. Don't say more than that, for Tanza will know what I mean. I don't think I need say more."

Silently Charlock offered his arm to Ethel Hargrave, and they vanished into the darkness. No word passed between them till after they had interviewed the sleepy boatman and sent him off on his errand. Then Ethel turned to her companion and faced him resolutely.

"I think you are a good man," she said, in a voice that shook a little. "At any rate, I know you to be generous and truthful. Now, Mr. Charlock, kindly tell me what all this means. What is the object of so much mystery? Why could not Arnold Rent have accompanied us home instead of staying behind in that gloomy old house? It is hardly fair to two defenceless women to make them puppets in a game like this."

"I swear I cannot tell you," Charlock said passionately. "I really don't know. But I am sure Grey knows what he is doing and will never rest till he gets to the bottom of the mystery."

"What is the mystery?" Ethel asked.

"Surely a superfluous question," Charlock said quietly. "Within a few days my wife and her maid have both met with strange deaths. It may be coincidence. On the other hand, it may be crime of a terrible, if ingenious, character. I should not have suspected it myself, but Mr. Grey does."

"It seems impossible," Ethel murmured.

"Oh, it does. I agree with you. But one never can tell. The whole thing is maddening. Is there nothing mysterious, think you, in this strange illness of Arnold Rent's? Mind you, I am trying to speak without prejudice. I am trying to think the best of that man. But there are moments when the most awful suspicions come into my mind, and I have literally to expel them."

Ethel was silent for a while. She could not forget her own haunting suspicions. They came back to her now with vivid force--Arnold Rent's violence, the unsteady terror in his voice as he snatched her from some unseen danger. His conduct and his manner were not consistent with innocence and integrity.

"What do you think?" she asked timidly.

"I don't know what to think," Charlock burst out. "As I said before, I have my suspicions. But I am prejudiced. I decline to believe that Arnold Rent is the upright, honourable man people believe him to be. But it is hardly fair to speak of a man in this way when he is in trouble. I think the best thing we can do is to drop the subject."

For some time the two walked side by side in silence until they reached Mrs. Rent's lodgings. To Ethel's surprise, the door was open and Mrs. Rent was standing in the hall. There was a look of stern displeasure on her face. She spoke to Ethel with a harshness which she had never used before.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "What has become of my son? And why is Mr. Charlock here?"

"I am very, very sorry," Ethel faltered. "I went to sleep, and when I woke Arnold had gone. Of course, it was exceedingly careless of me to allow myself----"

"Careless? Is that the only word you have for it? It seems strange there is no one whom I can trust. But where have you been? Why do you waste your time like this----"

"I assure you she had not been wasting her time," Charlock said coldly. "You can rest easy in your mind, Mrs. Rent, for your son is found. He will be here by-and-bye. Meanwhile, it will be well not to make any noise at this time of night. There is no occasion to arouse the good people here, unless, indeed, you have already done so."

There was something so curt and incisive in Charlock's voice that Mrs. Rent's manner grew quieter and more subdued.

"I am only just downstairs," she explained. "I went into my son's room just now and, to my surprise, found it empty. But if my boy is all right there is nothing more to be said. Perhaps I said too much to you, Ethel, but I was speaking on the spur of the moment----"

"Oh, please don't apologise," Ethel said. "I feel that I am to blame. When I discovered what had happened I went to Arnold's workshop, and Mr. Swift told me where I might find him. He is coming later with Mr. Grey, and I don't think you will find he is any the worse for his adventure."

A faint smile passed over Mrs. Rent's face.

"Then there is no more to be said," she murmured. "My dear child, how white and tired you look! I insist upon your going to bed at once. Mr. Charlock will perhaps keep me company till Arnold comes back."

Ethel was only too glad to be alone. She shook hands somewhat timidly with John Charlock and made her way upstairs. Then Mrs. Rent turned to Charlock and suggested that it would be better if they talked the matter over in her sitting-room. Once inside, the lady's manner changed. She grew agitated and distressed; her face was white and haggard.