The Golden Web E-Book

E. Phillips Oppenheim

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Stirling Deane has sold the Little Anna Gold Mine which he discovered in South Africa early in his career. The sale has made him a rich man and the head of the company to which he sold the mine. His is engaged to Lady Olive Nunnelly, and is the envy of all of society. Deane is threatened with ruin when a old enemy – Richard Sinclair- shows up in London with what appears to be a legitimate prior deed to the mine. After a meeting with Deane, the man is found murdered and the deed he claims to have had is missing. Another man which Deane hired to negotiate the return of the deed to Deane is accused of the murder, tried, and sentenced to death. What has become of the lost deed?

Leseprobe

Contents

BOOK ONE

I. A LIFE FOR SALE

II. THE PURCHASE

III. A FAMILY AFFAIR

IV. A MURDER

V. A DEBT INCURRED

VI. AN IMPERIOUS DEMAND

VII. LOVE OR INTEREST?

VIII. AN AWFUL RESPONSIBILITY

IX. WINIFRED ROWAN

X. AT THE THEATRE

XI. AN APPEAL

XII. RUBY SINCLAIR

XIII. AN INFORMAL TEA-PARTY

XIV. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

XV. THE EFFECT OF A STORM

XVI. A REPRIEVE

XVII. A NEW DANGER

XVIII. AN EXPENSIVE KEY

XIX. THE SEARCH

XX. IN DOUBT

XXI. RUBY IS DISAPPOINTED

BOOK TWO

I. FREE TO DIE

II. A LAPSE OF MEMORY

III. A PAINFUL INTERVIEW

IV. A QUESTION

V. MUTUAL INFORMATION

VI. AN OPPORTUNE ARRIVAL

VII. HEFFEROM IS OPTIMISTIC

VIII. A BOLD MOVE

IX. LORD NUNNELEY IS FRANK

X. A BROKEN ENGAGEMENT

XI. BITTER WORDS

XII. A STRANGE BETROTHAL

XIII. DESPERATION

XIV. AN AFTERNOON'S SHOPPING

XV. A FRIEND

XVI. PASSION

XVII. A DESPAIRING CALL

XVIII. WINIFRED IS TRAPPED

XIX. MISS SINCLAIR'S OFFER

XX. THROUGH THE MILL

XXI. ALL AS IT SHOULD BE

BOOK ONE

I. A LIFE FOR SALE

The contrast in personal appearance between the two men, having regard to their relative positions, was a significant thing. The caller, who had just been summoned from the waiting-room, and was standing before the other’s table, hat in hand, a little shabby, with ill-brushed hair and doubtful collar, bore in his countenance many traces of the wild and irregular life which had reduced him at this moment to the position of suppliant. His complexion was pale almost to ghastliness, and in his deep-set, sunken eyes there was more than a suggestion of recklessness. He was so nervous that his face twitched as he stood there waiting, and the fingers which held his hat trembled. His lips were a little parted, his breathing was scarcely healthy. There was something about his whole appearance indicative of failure. The writing upon his forehead was the writing of despair.

The man before whom he stood was of an altogether different type. His features were strong and regular, his complexion slightly bronzed, as though from exposure to the sun and wind. He had closely-cropped black hair, keen gray eyes, and a determined chin. He sat before a table on which were all the modern appurtenances of a business man in close touch with passing events. A telephone was at his elbow, his secretary was busy at a smaller table in the corner of the room, a typist was waiting respectfully in the background. His confidential clerk was leaning over his chair, notebook in hand, receiving in a few terse sentences instructions for the morrow’s operations. Stirling Deane, although he was barely forty years old, was at the head of a great mining corporation. He had been the one man selected for the position when the most important and far-reaching amalgamation of recent days had taken place. And this although he came of a family whose devotion to business had always been blended with a singular aptitude for and preëminence in sports. Deane himself, until the last few years, had played cricket for his county, had hunted two days a week, and had by no means shown that whole-hearted passion for money-making which was rife enough in the circles amid which he moved.

He wound up his instructions, and dismissed his clerk with a few curt and final words. Then he turned round in his chair and faced his visitor.

"I am sorry to have kept you, Rowan,” he said. “This is always rather a busy day in the city, and a busy time.”

His visitor, who had been waiting for an hour in an ante-room, and was then esteemed fortunate to be accorded an interview, looked around him with a little smile.

"So you’ve prospered, Deane,” he said.

"Naturally,” the other answered. “I always meant to. And you, Rowan?”

The visitor shook his head. “I have tried many things,” he said; “all failures,–disposition or luck, I suppose. What is it, I wonder, that keeps some men down while others climb?”

Deane shrugged his shoulders. “Disposition,” he said, “is only an appendage, and luck doesn’t exist. In nine cases out of ten, if a man’s will is strong enough, he climbs.”

Rowan nodded gloomily. “Perhaps that’s it,” he assented. “I never had any will, or if I had, it didn’t seem worth while to use it.”

"Take a seat,” said Deane. “You don’t look fit to stand. What can I do for you? We shall be interrupted in a few moments.”

"I want something to do,” Rowan said.

"I can’t give it to you,” answered Deane, firmly but not unkindly.

"You don’t beat about the bush,” the other declared, with a hard little laugh.

"Why should I?” Deane asked. “It would only waste our time, and be, after all, a mistaken kindness. There isn’t a man about my place who hasn’t grown up under my own personal observation. It’s an important business this, Rowan. I daren’t risk a single weak link. To be frank with you,–and you see I am being frank,–I’d sooner pay your salary than have you here.”

"Give me a letter to someone else, then,” Rowan begged. “I’m just back from Africa, broken.”

"I can’t do that,” Deane answered. “I know you well. I like you. We have been friends. We have been together in difficulties. More than once you have been in a way useful to me. I have every disposition to serve you. But you were never made for business, or any form of regular work. I would not offer you a place in my own office, and I cannot pass you on to my friends. What else can I do for you?”

Rowan looked into his hat, and laughed a little bitterly. “What the devil else is there anyone can do for me?” he demanded.

"I can lend you some money,” Deane said shortly.

"I shall take it,” Rowan answered; “but it will be spent pretty soon, and I doubt whether you’ll ever get it back. I want a chance to make a fresh start.”

Deane shook his head. “I can’t help you,” he said,–“not in that sort of way, at any rate. If you wanted to settle down in the country, I’d try and find you a place there.”

"No good,” Rowan answered. “I want to make money, and I want to make it quick.”

The telephone bell rang, and Deane was busy for several moments answering questions and giving instructions. Then he turned once more to his visitor.

"Rowan,” he said, “you talk like all the others who come down into the city expecting to find it a sort of Eldorado. I can do nothing for you. How much money shall I lend you? Stop!” he said, holding out his hand. “I don’t want to seem unkind, but I am a busy man. I don’t want to lend you ten pounds to-day, and have you come and borrow another ten pounds next week, and another the week after. You and I went through some rough times together. We’ve heard the bullets sing. We’ve known what a licking was like, and we’ve shouted ourselves hoarse with joy when the good time came. I don’t forget these things, man. I don’t want you for a moment to believe that I have forgotten them. Ask me for any reasonable sum, and I’ll give it you. But afterwards we shake hands and part, at any rate so far as the city is concerned. You understand?”

Rowan leaned forward in his chair. He wetted his dry lips nervously with his tongue. The look of ill-health in his features was almost painfully manifest. The writing which it is not possible to mistake was on his face.

"Look here, Deane,” he said hoarsely, “don’t think I am ungrateful. You’ve put the matter straight to me like a man, and, if needs be, I’ll ask you for a good round sum and go, and I’ll take my oath you’ll never see me again. But listen. I am in a bad way. I was in the hospital last week, and they told me a few things.”

"I am sorry,” said Deane. “You shall go away and recuperate. When you’re feeling stronger you can think about some work.”

Rowan shook his head. “That isn’t it,” he said. “I’m a sick man, but I’m not that kind of invalid. I have somewhere about twelve months to live–no more. I want, somehow or other, before I die, to make a little money. I don’t want a fortune–nothing of that sort–but I want to make just a little.”

"You have a wife?” Deane asked quietly.

Rowan shook his head. “A sister. Poor little girl, she’s wearing herself out typing in an office, and I can’t bear the thought of leaving her all alone with nothing to fall back upon.”

Deane drummed with his fingers upon the table. His manner was not unsympathetic, but betrayed the slight impatience of a man of affairs discussing an unpractical subject with an unpractical person.

"My dear Rowan,” he said, “don’t you see that your very illness makes it absurd to imagine that you can take a position and save any amount of money worth mentioning in it, in twelve months? The idea is absurd.”

"I suppose it sounds so,” Rowan admitted. “But listen, Deane. You know I have many weak points, but I am not a coward. I like big risks, and I am always willing to take them. The doctor gives me twelve months–that means, I suppose, about seven months during which I shall be able to get about, and five months of slow torture in a hospital. I mention this again so that you can understand exactly how much I value my life. Isn’t there any work you could put me on to where the risk was great–the greater the better–but if I succeeded I could make a reasonable sum of money? Think!”

Deane shook his head. “My dear Rowan,” he said, “we are not in Africa now, you know. We are in a civilized city, where life and death have no other than their own intrinsic worth.”

"You are sure?” persisted Rowan. “I don’t mind what I do,” he added, in a lower tone. “I’ve lived in wild countries, and I’ve lived a wild life. My conscience is elastic enough. I’d take on anything in the world which meant money. You have great interests under your control. You must have enemies. Sometimes there are enterprises into which a man in your position would enter willingly enough if he could find a partner who would be as silent as the grave, and who would risk everything–I mean that–not only his life, but everything, on the chance of success.”

Deane shook his head slowly, and then stopped. A sudden change came into his face. He had the air of a man absorbed with an unexpected thought. A flickering ray of sunshine had come struggling through the dusty window from the court outside. It found its way across Deane’s desk, with its piles of papers and documents. It rested for a moment upon his dark, thoughtful face. Rowan watched him eagerly. Was it his fancy, or was there indeed a shadow there greater than the responsibilities of his position might warrant?

II. THE PURCHASE

Deane looked across the room towards his secretary. “Give me five minutes alone, Ellison,” he said,–“you and Miss Ansell there. See that I am not interrupted.”

The young man got up at once and left the room, followed by the typist. Deane waited until the door was closed. Then he turned once more to his visitor.

"Listen, Rowan,” he said. “Do I understand you rightly? Do you mean that you would be willing to undertake a commission which you would certainly find unpleasant, and perhaps dangerous?”

"I do mean that,” Rowan declared, beating the palm of one hand with his clenched fist. “I am a desperate man. I have no time for long service, for industry, for perseverance, for any form of success which is to be won by orthodox means. I am like a man who has mortgaged every farthing he has in the world to take a thirty-five to one chance on a number. Don’t you understand? I want money, and I can’t wait. I haven’t time. Give me a chance of something big. Remember what I have told you. Twelve months of suffering life is worth little enough in the balance.”

"You misunderstand me a little,” Deane said slowly. “What I am going to suggest to you may seem difficult enough, and, under the circumstances, unpleasant, but there is no actual risk–at least,” he corrected himself, “there should be none.”

Rowan laughed scornfully. “For Heaven’s sake, don’t pick your words so carefully,” he begged. “If the thing is big enough, I am not afraid. If it is dishonest, say so. I am not a pickpocket, but I am past scruples.”

Once more Deane was silent for several moments. It was a chance, this,–just a chance. He looked out of the window, and he seemed to see in swift panorama all the splendid details of his rise to power. He saw himself as the central figure of that panorama–respected, honored, envied, wherever he went, east or west. It was a life, his, for a man to be proud of. There was no one who had a word to say against him,–no one who did not envy him his rapid climb up the great ladder. He carried power in both hands, so that when he moved even amongst the great people of the world a place was found for him. He realized in that one moment what it might mean to lose these things, and he drew a little breath. He must fight to the end, make use of any means that came to his hand. It was a chance this, only a chance, but he would take it!

"Listen, Rowan,” he said, turning once more to the man who had been watching him so eagerly, “I am taking you at your word. I am believing that you mean exactly what you say.”

"God knows I do!” Rowan muttered.

"Very well, then,” Deane continued, “I want you to understand this. The company of which I am managing director owns, as you may have heard, the greatest gold-fields in the world. Our chief possession, though, is the Little Anna Gold-Mine, which was once, as you may have heard, my property, and for which the corporation paid me a very large sum of money. Did you ever hear anything of the history of the Little Anna Gold-Mine, Rowan?”

Rowan nodded. “It was a deserted claim which you and some others had a shy at. Dick Murray was one of them. That brute Sinclair put you on to it.”

Deane nodded. “You have spoken the truth, Rowan,” he said. “It was a deserted claim. Four of us took possession, but the other three never knew what I knew. I bought up their shares one by one. I won’t go into the matter of law now. I simply want you to understand this. The mine grew and prospered. What it has become you know. I sold it to this corporation, as I wished to have no outside interests, and the price paid me was close upon a million sterling. Three days ago, in this room, the man whom you have just spoken of–Richard Sinclair–produced documents, and tried to convince me that he was the real owner of the Little Anna Gold-Mine, that it had never been deserted, and that our taking possession of it was nothing more nor less than an illegal jump.”

Rowan was plainly amazed. “But it was Sinclair,” he exclaimed, “who gave you the tip.”

Deane nodded. “That,” he said, “may have been part of his scheme. He hadn’t the money or the patience to work it himself, and it may have occurred to him that if he could get someone else to do all the work, believing that they had acquired the mine, it might be worth his claiming afterwards. I have weighed it all up,” Deane continued. “I have been to some mining lawyers, and I have spent a small fortune in cabling to the Cape. The conclusion I have come to is this. If Sinclair prosecutes his claim–and he means business–and goes to law, there is just a reasonable chance that he might win.”

"A reasonable chance,” Rowan repeated.

"It isn’t only that, though,” continued Deane. “There are other things to be taken into consideration. We don’t want a lawsuit. Several of our smaller mines are doing rather badly just now, and we have been spending an immense amount of money upon developments. Any suspicion as to the validity of our title to the Little Anna Mine would be simply disastrous at the present moment. Our shares would have a tremendous drop, just at the time when we are least prepared for it.”

"Where do I come in?” Rowan asked quietly.

"Sinclair,” Deane said, “has only been in the country three days. He has no friends, he drinks most of the day, and he is staying at the Universal Hotel, where I imagine that he spends most of his time at the American bar. Now I can’t treat with the fellow, Rowan. That’s the trouble. If I were to show the least sign of weakness, the game would be up. My only chance was bluff. I laughed in his face and turned him out of the office. But bluff doesn’t alter facts. You and he are old acquaintances. I know very well that you never hit it off together, although I never knew what was the cause of your quarrel. However, there’s nothing to prevent your going to see him. He’s in that sort of maudlin state when he’d welcome anybody who’d drink with him and let him talk. That is where you come in, Rowan. You can drink with him, and listen. Find out whether this is a put-up thing or whether he believes in it.”

Rowan nodded. “Anything else?” he asked in a low tone.

"There is no reason,” Deane continued, “why you should not, if he gets confidential, open up negotiations on your own account.”

"He has some documents, I suppose?” Rowan asked.

"His claim to our mine,” Deane answered, “is contained in a single paper, which he told me never left his person. You were a lawyer once, Rowan. You know how to argue, to handle facts, to make a bargain. The return of that document to me would be worth ten thousand pounds.”

Rowan’s breathing seemed suddenly to have become worse. His lips were parted, there was a strange glitter in his eyes. “Ten thousand pounds!” he muttered.

"It is a great deal of money, I know,” Deane said, “but understand this, Rowan, once and for all. If this enterprise appeals to you, you must undertake it absolutely and entirely at your own risk. Above all things, it is important that neither Sinclair nor anyone else in the world should ever dream that I had been behind any offer you might make, or any course of action which you might pursue. All that I say to you is that I am willing to give ten thousand pounds for that document.”

"Ten thousand pounds!” Rowan muttered. “It would be enough–more than enough.”

"If you fail,” continued Deane, “and find yourself in trouble, I know nothing of you. I shall not raise a finger to help you. I demand from you your word of honor that you do not mention my name, that you deal with Sinclair simply as a speculative financier disposed to be his friend. Remember that the slightest association of my name with yours would give him the clue to the whole thing, and would mean ruin here. On the other hand, before you go, if you tell me that you are going heart and soul into this enterprise, I shall give you five hundred pounds. Some of this you will need for clothes, to make a presentable appearance, and to be able to entertain Sinclair, and play your part as a capitalist. If you fail, you can keep the balance as a loan or a gift, whichever you like. Now you can take your choice. I am placing a good deal of confidence in you, but I think that I know my man.”

Rowan struck the end of the table with his hand. “Yes, you do, Deane!” he declared, looking at him with kindling eyes. “You do know him, indeed. If I were to die to-morrow, Dick Sinclair is the one man in the world I should die hating. He served me a shabby trick once, and I’ve never forgotten it. Perhaps,” Rowan added,–“perhaps I may now turn the tables upon him.”

"No mention of my name, mind,” Deane repeated emphatically.

Rowan held out his hand. “I take my chance, Deane,” he said, “and on my honor I’ll play the game.”

III. A FAMILY AFFAIR

A few hours later, Stirling Deane sat at a small round dining-table, side by side with the father of the girl to whom he had been engaged for exactly three days. His hostess, the Countess of Nunneley, and her daughter, Lady Olive, had only just left them. It had been a dinner absolutely en famille.

"Draw up your chair, Deane, and try some of this port,” Lord Nunneley said.

"Thank you,” replied Deane, “I’ll finish my champagne, if I may.”

"Just as you like,” his host answered. “I notice you are very careful never to mix, Deane. Perhaps you are right. There’s nothing like being absolutely fit, and you fellows in the city must have a tremendous lot on your minds sometimes. I suppose, however prosperous you are, you never have a day without a certain amount of anxiety?”

"Never,” Deane assented quietly.

Lord Nunneley, who had a great reputation as a peer of marked sporting proclivities, crossed his legs, and, leaning back in his chair, lit a cigarette.

"I never thought,” he continued, “that I should be glad to give Olive to anyone–to anyone–you won’t mind if I say it–outside our own immediate circle. Of course, I know your people were all right. I’ve ridden to hounds with your father many a time, but when a family drifts into the city, one naturally loses sight of them. You will find me a model father-in-law, though, Deane. I never borrow money, I wouldn’t be a director of a public company for anything in the world, and I haven’t a single relation for whom I want a berth.”

Deane smiled. His manner was natural enough, but only he knew how difficult he found it to continue this sort of conversation–to keep his attention fixed upon the somewhat garrulous utterances of his prospective father-in-law.

"You are very wise to steer clear of all that sort of thing, sir,” he said. “The city is no place for men who have not been brought up to it, and the days of guinea-pig directors are over.”

Lord Nunneley nodded. “My lawyers have been making inquiries about you to-day, Deane,” he said. “You insisted on my doing so, so I let them, although it was more for your satisfaction than mine. According to their report, you seem to have rather underestimated your position. They tell me that yours is one of the richest corporations in the mining world, and that you yourself are very wealthy.”

Deane inclined his head slowly. He leaned across the table, and helped himself to a cigarette. A few nights ago he could have listened to such a speech with a feeling of genuine satisfaction. Now, everything seemed changed. The rock upon which he had stood seemed to have become a shifting quicksand. Dick Sinclair was a blackmailer and a thief, he told himself, with a fierce desire to escape from the shadow which seemed somehow to have settled upon him. The document he had brandished was not worth the paper it was written on! His attack, even if he ventured to make it, could prove no more venomous than the sting of an insect. Yet the shadow remained. Deane, for the first time, possibly, in his life, felt that his nerve had temporarily gone. It was all that he could do to sit still and listen to his companion’s easy talk.

"Of course, I am glad enough for Olive to marry a rich man, especially as her tastes seem to run that way,” Lord Nunneley continued; “but I tell you frankly that I shouldn’t have fancied a marriage for money pure and simple. I am not a wealthy man, but I can keep my places going pretty comfortably, and I don’t know the meaning of a mortgage. Olive will have her thousand a year settled upon her for life when she marries, and something more when I die. In a sense, it’s nothing, of course, but it will help pay for her frocks.”

"I am sure you are very generous,” Deane murmured. “I had not even considered the question of dowry so far as Olive was concerned.”

Lord Nunneley nodded. “As I remarked just now,” he went on, “I should have hated the idea of a marriage for money pure and simple. I have seen you ride to hounds, Deane, as well as any man I know, and there’s no one I’d sooner trust to bring down his birds at an awkward corner than you. That sort of thing counts, you know. I always meant to have a sportsman for a son-in-law, and I am thankful that your city life hasn’t spoiled you for the other things. By the way, how old are you, Deane?”

"I shall be forty my next birthday,” Deane answered.

His host nodded. “Well,” he said, “you won’t want to go wearing yourself out making more millions, surely? Why don’t you retire, and buy an estate?”

"I have thought of it,” Deane answered. “I mean to take things easier, at any rate, after my marriage.”

Lord Nunneley sipped his wine reflectively. “I have never done a stroke of work all my life,” he remarked, “beyond looking after my agent’s accounts, which I have never been able to understand, and trying a little scientific farming, by which I have invariably lost money. I do respect a man, though, who has been through the mill and held his own, and against whom no one has a word to say. At the same time, Deane,” he added, “don’t stick at it too long. If you’ll forgive my mentioning it, you don’t look quite the man you did even two or three years ago.”

"I am a little run down,” Deane said. “I am going to take a holiday in a few weeks.”

"You are coming to us in Scotland, of course,” said Lord Nunneley. “But holiday or no holiday, take my advice, and even if you have to sacrifice a bit, don’t stay in harness too long. The money you can’t spend isn’t worth a snap of the fingers. You and Olive could live on the interest of what you have, and there’s scarcely a thing you need deny yourselves.”

Deane hesitated for a moment. “That is true enough,” he said, “but it is never quite so easy, when one is involved in things as I am, to escape from them. The Devil Spider spins a golden web to catch us mortals, and it’s hard work to get out of it. I am afraid that my shareholders would consider themselves very much aggrieved if I sent in my resignation without at least a year’s warning.”

"A year,” Lord Nunneley remarked reflectively. “Well, I should feel quite satisfied if I thought that you were going to chuck it then. Don’t misunderstand me, Deane,” he went on. “Please don’t for a moment believe that I am such an arrant snob as to mind having a son-in-law who’s engaged in business. I look upon yours as a jolly fine position, and I can assure you that I have a sincere respect for a man who has attained to it at your age. It is simply that I fancy you are carrying a much heavier burden than you sometimes realize–simply for your own sake and Olive’s that I would like to hear of your taking things more easily.”

"I understand,” Deane said,–“I quite understand. You are really very kind, Lord Nunneley! Even if it is impossible for me to escape just for the moment, I can assure you that I shall take the first opportunity of doing so.”

The butler, with an apologetic bow, came softly across the room and delivered a message. Lady Olive was going to a party, and would be glad if Mr. Deane could come into the drawing-room at once.

IV. A MURDER

Deane, with the air of one who was an habitué to the house, found his way to the drawing-room, where Lady Olive was seated before the piano, playing softly. She rose as he entered, and came to meet him.

"I have barely a quarter of an hour, Stirling,” she said. “It was too absurd of you to be sitting there talking to father all the time. Come and say nice things to me. Mother has gone upstairs to put on her tiara.”

He held her at arm’s length for a moment, looking at her. She was not very tall, but she was graceful, and she carried herself as the women of her family had done since the days of Elizabeth. Her face was a little cold, except when she smiled, and her eyes were large and brilliant. There was about her toilette and her features a sort of trim perfection, which left no room for criticism. She was considered, amongst those whom she called her friends, handsome rather than beautiful, and ambitious rather than affectionate. Nevertheless, she blushed most becomingly when Deane stooped to kiss her, and her face certainly seemed to lose for the time its somewhat cold expression.

"You are going to the Waldrons’, I suppose?” he remarked. “You look charming, dear.”

She made a little grimace. “It’s too bad that you won’t be there. However, in a few days that will be all right. Now that our engagement is announced, everyone will send you cards, of course, for everywhere I go.”

He smiled a little doubtfully. “You won’t expect too much of me in that way, will you?” he asked. “My afternoons, for instance, are nearly always occupied.”

"You will not find me exacting,” she said, with a reassuring nod. “I don’t expect you to play the part of social butterfly at all, and although we must be seen together sometimes, of course, I haven’t the least desire to keep you dangling at my heels. Tell me, what has father been talking to you about?”

"He has been urging me to leave the city,” Deane said, “and buy an estate.”

Lady Olive looked thoughtful. “That is very interesting,” she said.

"What have you to say about it?” he asked.

"It depends,” she answered, “very much upon circumstances. I am not sure that I approve of a man having nothing whatever to do. Besides, I have no idea how rich you are, Stirling. I think I ought to warn you that I am very extravagant.”

"I am delighted to hear it,” he assured her. “I should dislike a wife who wouldn’t spend my money.”

They were sitting side by side upon a sofa, and she toyed with her fan for several moments. Then she held out her right hand to him, and allowed it to remain in his grasp. For Lady Olive, this was distinctly a lover-like proceeding. She was not at all sure in her own mind whether such a liberty was judicious, having been brought up always to consider any display of affection as utterly bourgeois.

"It seems a curious question to ask,” she said thoughtfully; “but, after all, it would be only affectation to pretend that I was not interested. Tell me what your income is–about, Stirling?”

"In round figures,” he answered, “it is to-day, I should think, a trifle over twenty-five thousand a year.”

She nodded approvingly, and yet without a great deal of enthusiasm. “We ought to be able to make that do,” she said. “Do you mean that it would be as much as that if you gave up business? Perhaps you could give it up partially, and keep a few directorships, or something of that sort?”

"I could not give up my work at all,” he told her, “for two years. I get a very large income from my company, and I have an agreement with them. Besides, my own interests are so woven up with theirs that I could not run the risk of having anyone at the head of affairs in whom I had not complete confidence.”

She nodded. “That is quite reasonable,” she admitted. “You get holidays, of course?”

"Naturally,” he answered.

There was a short silence. Lady Olive was half inclined to wonder why, having possessed himself of her hand, he made none of the other overtures which she had always understood were usual. Deane, however, was in no humor for love-making. She had represented to him, only a few days ago, a part of his future life which was altogether inevitable, and which he could easily come to find pleasant enough, but just now there seemed to be a barrier between them. Notwithstanding Lord Nunneley’s kindness, and his wife’s approval, he knew very well that it was not only Stirling Deane who had been accepted as a suitor. It was the millionaire, the man of great affairs, the man of untarnished reputation. Dick Sinclair’s threats were still ringing in his ears. He somehow felt that he was not even playing the game to be sitting there, holding the hand of this most exclusive young lady.

"You are a little quiet to-night,” she remarked.

"Perhaps,” he answered, smiling, “I am a little shy.”

She was inclined to take his words seriously. There had been moments before their engagement when he had certainly looked at her in a very different manner, when she had realized that if she really did say “yes” to him, she might find herself in danger of having to submit to something a little more vigorous than the ordinary love-making she knew anything of. She had even made up her mind, with a faint blush, to submit to it,–had grown to expect it. Somehow, although she would have found the admission distinctly humiliating, she was a trifle disappointed.

"I wonder,” she whispered, looking down upon the carpet, “if you need–if you really need encouragement.”

She felt a sudden thrill as his arm touched her, a sudden sense of his enveloping presence. Then the door opened, and she withdrew herself quickly. The Countess came into the room, a curious replica of her daughter, except that her hair was gray, and the light in her eyes a little steelier.

"So sorry you are not going with us,” she remarked to Deane. “Inquire if the brougham is waiting,” she continued, turning to her maid. “No, don’t bother, Stirling,” she added, as he moved toward the door. “We are really in plenty of time.”

Lord Nunneley came in, with the evening paper in his hand.

"Is there any news, George?” his wife asked.

He shook his head. “There never is,” he answered. “The evening papers aren’t worth looking at now. Shocking murder, by the bye, at one of the big hotels.”

Deane turned slowly round. “A murder?” he repeated.

His host nodded as he lit a cigarette. “Fellow just arrived in the country,” he remarked,–“supposed to have had a lot of money in his pocket. Found dead in his room at about seven o’clock to-night.”

"Do you remember the name of the hotel?” asked Deane.

Lord Nunneley glanced at the paper which he still held in his hand. “The Universal,” he answered,–“that huge new place, you know, near the Strand.”

"Was the murderer caught?” Deane asked.

"Arrested just as he was leaving the hotel,” Lord Nunneley answered,–“at least they arrested the man they thought had done it. Here’s the paper, if you have a taste for horrors.”

Deane stood perfectly still for several minutes. Lady Olive was buttoning her gloves, and did not notice him. Her mother was standing at the further end of the room, helping herself to coffee. Lord Nunneley alone was conscious of the change in his guest’s expression.

"Nothing wrong, I hope, Deane?” he asked. “You didn’t know the fellow, by any chance, did you?”

Deane shook his head. He spoke very quietly and very distinctly. Except that he was unusually pale, his manner showed no signs of emotion. And yet, all the time he felt that he was being stifled! In his ears was the singing of tragedy!

"No!” he said. “I never heard of him in my life.”

He crossed the room to help Lady Olive with her cloak.

"Stay and have a smoke with me,” Lord Nunneley suggested. “I am going round to the club in about an hour’s time, and then I am going to pick these people up at a ball somewhere.”

"You are very kind,” Deane answered. “To tell you the truth, I have just remembered a very important letter which I ought to have written. If you will excuse me, I am going to hurry away at once. I should like to catch my secretary before he leaves.”

Lord Nunneley nodded. “You will have to get him to give it up,” he said to his daughter. “Fancy having to write a business letter at ten o’clock at night! Perfect slavery!”

"Shall I see you to-morrow, Stirling?” Lady Olive asked, walking with him into the hall.

"We’ll lunch, if you like,” he said. “Or shall I come to tea? I shall not be busy much after noon.”