A Coin of Edward VII: A Detective Story

Arguing thus with himself, Giles wrote a letter to the Princess Karacsay and asked for an interview. He mentioned that he had seen Mrs. Cairns and that the old lady had furnished him with the address. Also, he said that his wish in seeing the Princess was to ask for the whereabouts of Miss Denham. Having despatched this note, Giles felt that he could do no more until he received a reply.

But he was too restless to remain quiet. It occurred to him that he might look up Steel and learn what fresh discoveries had been made in connection with the Rickwell crime. He went to New Scotland Yard and asked for the detective, but learned to his surprise and vexation that the man was out of town and was not expected back for a week. No one could say where he had gone, so Giles had to satisfy himself with leaving a card and promising to call again.

The next day he received a note from the Princess Karacsay asking him to come the next evening at nine o'clock. She said nothing about Anne, nor did she volunteer any information. She simply appointed an hour and a place for the interview and signed herself Olga Karacsay. Giles felt that she had been intentionally curt, and wondered if she intended to give him a civil reception. After some thought he decided that she meant to be kind, although the note read so coldly. He would go, and perhaps during the interview she might be persuaded to help him. After all, she must know that he had been engaged to marry the dead girl, and fancied – as Mrs. Cairns had done – that he wished to have Anne arrested.

The following evening he arrayed himself with particular care and drove in a hansom to Westminster. The cab stopped before a great pile of brick buildings near the Abbey, and when Giles had dismissed it he entered a large and well-lighted hall with a tesselated pavement. Here a porter volunteered, on ascertaining his business, to conduct him to the door of the Princess Karacsay's flat, which was on the first floor.

Giles was admitted by a neat maid-servant, who showed him into a picturesque drawing-room. A tall woman in evening dress was standing beside the window in the twilight. Giles thought her figure was familiar and recognized the turn of her head. He uttered a cry.

"Anne," he said, stretching his arms. "Anne, my dearest!"

CHAPTER XI
PRINCESS KARACSAY

Even as he spoke the room was flooded with the light of the electric lamps. The woman by the window turned and came forward smiling. With a feeling of bitter disappointment Giles recoiled. It was not Anne. He had been deceived by a chance resemblance.

"I can quite understand your mistake," said the Princess Karacsay. "It is not the first time that I have been taken for my friend."

Indeed, she was very like Anne, both in figure and face. She had the same dark hair and dark eyes, the same oval face and rich coloring. But her expression was different. She was more haughty than Miss Denham, and there was less simplicity in her manner. Even as Ware looked at her the likeness seemed to vanish, and he wondered that he should have made such a mistake. But for the twilight, the turn of her head, and her height, together with the way in which she carried herself, he would not have been deceived.

"One would take you for Miss Denham's sister," he said when seated.

The Princess smiled oddly. "We are alike in many ways," she replied quietly. "I look upon Miss Denham as my second self. You called me Anne when you mistook me for her," she added, with a keen glance.

"I have no right to do so, Princess, but – " He hesitated, not knowing how to choose his words. She saw his perplexity and smiled.

"I quite understand, Mr. Ware."

"Anne – I mean Miss Denham – has told you about me?"

"I have not seen her for months, Mr. Ware, not since that terrible event which has made a fugitive of her."

Giles was bitterly disappointed, and his face showed his feelings. From what Mrs. Cairns had said he was certain that the Princess would be able to help him, and here she confessed an ignorance of Anne's whereabouts. Nevertheless Ware still hoped. He thought that not knowing his real errand, she was feigning ignorance for the sake of her friend's safety. "I am sorry she has not spoken to you about me," he remarked, "for then you would know that I wish her well."

"Oh, I know that. Anne – I may as well call her Anne to you, Mr. Ware – wrote to me from Rickwell several times. She told me all about you. But I have not seen her since the death of your fiancée. I have no idea where she is now."

"I thought – and Mrs. Cairns thought – that she would come to you in her distress, or at least communicate her whereabouts."

"She has done neither, and I do not know where to address a letter."

"What is to be done?" said Giles half to himself and much distressed.

Princess Karacsay rose and glanced at the clock with a laugh. "Oh, if we talk, something may come of our putting our heads together," she said. "Meantime we can make ourselves comfortable. Here are coffee and cigarettes, Mr. Ware. Would you prefer a cigar?"

"No, thank you, Princess. These look very good."

"Both coffee and cigarettes are Turkish," said she, handing him a cup and afterwards a cigarette. "I get them from a cousin of mine who is an attaché at Constantinople. Come now." She lighted a cigarette for herself and sat down on an amber divan near Ware's chair. "Let us talk before my friend arrives."

"I beg your pardon, Princess, I hope my coming – "

"No, no," she explained hurriedly. "I asked my friend to meet you."

"Indeed." Giles was much surprised. "I did not know we had a mutual friend."

The Princess nodded and blew a cloud of smoke. "At ten o'clock you shall see him. I won't tell you who he is. A little surprise, Mr. Ware."

Ware looked at her sharply, but could make nothing of the enigmatic smile on her face. She was undeniably a very beautiful woman as she lounged amongst the amber-tinted cushions, but in her dress and general looks there was something barbaric. She wore a dinner dress of mingled scarlet and black, and many chains of sequins which jingled with her every movement. As Ware's eyes met her own she flashed a languorous look at him, and a slow smile wreathed her full red lips. Giles could not help admiring her, but he had a feeling that she was not altogether to be trusted. It behove him to be wary in dealing with this superb tigress. Yet, as another thought crossed his mind, he smiled involuntarily.

"Why do you smile, Mr. Ware?" asked the Princess. She spoke the English language admirably, and with but a little foreign accent.

"Pardon," replied Giles, still smiling, "but Mrs. Cairns told me that at one time you aspired to become a governess. I can't imagine you teaching children."

"Ah, you have no imagination – no Englishman has. Children are fond of me – very fond." She cast another look at his handsome face, and added with emphasis, "I can make any one I choose fond of me."

"I quite believe it, Princess. You have woman's imperial sceptre – beauty."

"A charming compliment," responded she, her mood changing, "but we are not here to exchange compliments. So you love Anne?"

"With all my heart and soul," he replied fervently.

His hostess appeared rather disconcerted by this reply. "You are a miracle of chivalry, my dear Mr. Ware," she said dryly. "But is it not rather a large heart you have to love two women at the same time?"

"I understand what you mean," answered Ware quietly, "but my engagement to Miss Kent was purely a family arrangement. I loved Anne – I still love her. All the same, I would have married Miss Kent had she not been murdered."

"You are very obedient, Mr. Ware."

"And you very satirical, Princess. I could explain, but there is no need for me to do so. I want to find Anne. Can you help me?"

"Not at present, but I may be able to do so. Of course, you don't believe that she killed your fiancée?"

"Certainly not. I think the crime was committed by the man with whom she fled."

"A tall man with a red beard and hair and black eyes?"

"Yes, yes. Do you know him? Who is he?"

"I have had him described to me," responded the Princess calmly, "but I know nothing about him."

"Is he a friend of Anne's?"

"That I don't know."

She quietly selected another cigarette, lighted it, and looked with a serene smile at her visitor. Giles was annoyed. "We don't seem to be getting on with our business, Princess," he said roughly.

"What is our business?" she demanded, looking at him through half-closed eyes. Her scrutiny made Giles uncomfortable, and he shifted his seat as he answered.

"Mrs. Cairns said you could tell me about Anne."

"So I can. What do you want to know, Mr. Ware?"

"Who is she? Who was her father? Is he dead or alive? What do you know about the Scarlet Cross, and – " He stopped, for the Princess had opened her eyes to their fullest extent.

"The Scarlet Cross. You know about that also?" she asked.

"Of course I do. There was an anonymous letter – "

"I have seen the letter, or at least a copy."

"Indeed," said Ware, much astonished, "and an enamelled cross – "

"I have seen the cross also."

"It appears to me, Princess, that you know everything about the case."

She glanced again at the clock, and smiled as she replied, "I am a friend of Anne's, Mr. Ware. I daresay you would like to know who told me all these things. Well, you shall be enlightened at ten o'clock. Meantime I can tell you all I do know about Anne and her father."

"You will speak freely?" he asked mistrustfully.

"Absolutely. You – you – " she hesitated – "you love Anne." She gave him a searching look. "Yes, I see you do. I can speak openly. Will you have another cup of coffee? No! Another cigarette. Ah, there is the box. A match. Now."

"Now," said Giles eagerly, "what about Anne?"

"What about myself first of all, Mr. Ware. I am a Hungarian. I quarrelled with my people and ran away. Finding myself stranded in London with very little money, I tried to get a post as a governess. I went to Mrs. Cairns, and thus became acquainted with Anne. We became great friends. She told me everything about herself. When I knew her history we became greater friends than ever. I was a governess only for a year. Then someone heard me sing, and – " – she shrugged her beautiful shoulders – "but that is quite another story, Mr. Ware. I am a concert-singer now, and it pays me excellently."

"I am very pleased with your success, Princess. But Anne?"

She flashed a rather annoyed look at him. "You are scarcely so chivalrous as I thought, Mr. Ware," she said coldly. "No, say nothing; I quite understand. Let us talk of Anne. I will tell you her history." She re-lighted her cigarette, which had gone out, and continued, "Her father was a gambler and a wanderer. He lived mostly on the Continent – Monte Carlo for choice. Anne's mother" – here the Princess paused, and then went on with an obvious effort – "I know nothing of Anne's mother, Mr. Ware. She died when Anne was a child. Mr. Denham brought up his daughter in a haphazard way."

"Was his name really Denham?"

"So Anne told me. I had no reason to think that it was otherwise. He was a gentleman of good family, but an outcast from his people by reason of his reckless folly. I also am an outcast," said she pleasantly, "but merely because I am strong-minded. I am not foolish."

"No, Princess," said Giles, looking keenly at her, "I should certainly not call you foolish."

"But I can be foolish on occasions," said she quickly, and flushed as she glanced at him, "like all women. But Anne – I see we must get back to Anne. Well, she, having better moral principles than her father, grew wearied of their wandering life. She decided to become a governess. Mr. Denham put her to school at Hampstead – a sister of Mrs. Cairns keeps the school, and that is why Anne is so intimate with Mrs. Cairns – and when her education was finished she took a situation in Italy. There she remained some years. Afterwards she rejoined her father for a time. He died at Florence – typhoid fever, I believe – and Anne found herself alone. She returned to England, and assisted by Mrs. Cairns, took various situations. She always returned to Mrs. Cairns when out of an engagement. It was on one of these occasions that I met her. We have been friends for a long time, Mr. Ware. Then Anne was engaged by Mrs. Morley, and – and the rest you know. There is no more to be said."

"Is that all?" said Giles, disappointed by this bald narrative.

The Princess shrugged her shoulders, and throwing aside her cigarette, leaned back with her hands behind her head. "What would you, Mr. Ware? Anne is a good woman. Good women never have any history."

"Can you tell me anything about the Scarlet Cross?"

"Anne never spoke of such a thing to me. But my friend may be able to tell you. Ah!" – the Princess raised her head as a ring came to the door – "there is my friend. Before his time, too. But we have finished our conversation, Mr. Ware."

"For the present, yes."

She looked at him suddenly. "But certainly," she said in her vivacious way, "you must come and see me again. We will have much to talk of. You love music. I will sing to you, and – " Here she broke off to greet a new-comer, much to the relief of Giles, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "How do you do, Mr. Steel?"

With an exclamation Ware rose. It was indeed Steel who stood before him looking as round and rosy and cheerful as ever. "You are surprised to see me, sir," he said, with a twinkle.

"I am very much surprised. I went to see you yesterday – "

"And found that I was out of town. So I was, so I am supposed to be, but the telegram of the Princess here told me that she expected you this evening, so I left my country business and came up."

"You see," said the Princess, sitting down again amongst her cushions, "you see, Mr. Ware, I told you we had a mutual friend. Now you know how I am so well acquainted with the case," and she laughed.

"The Princess," explained Steel, seeing Giles' astonishment, "read all about the case. Being a friend of Miss Denham's and seeing that I had charge of the matter, she sent for me. We have talked over the case, and I have received much assistance from Miss – I mean from this very clever lady, the Princess Karacsay," and Steel bowed.

"But," stammered Ware, still puzzled, "you believe Miss Denham to be guilty. Surely the Princess will not – "

"No, no!" came from the divan in the deep-toned voice of the woman. "Anne is my friend. I would not help him to arrest her."

"The fact is," said Steel easily, "I have changed my opinion, Mr. Ware, and I think Miss Denham is innocent. The man who killed Miss Kent is called Wilson."

"Wilson. And who is Wilson, and why did he kill her?"

"I don't know who Wilson is," replied Steel. "I am trying to find out. I am not quite certain why he killed her, but I am beginning to suspect that it was on account of this inherited money. I told you that, Princess," he added, turning to the divan.

"Yes, Mr. Steel. And I said then, I say now, I do not agree."

"If you would be more explicit," said Ware, feeling helpless.

Steel took no notice of him for the moment. "Then if it's not the money I don't know what the motive can be." He turned to Ware. "See here, sir. This Wilson, whomsoever he may be, lived with the mother of Asher's office-boy – he was her lodger. The boy told him about the money coming to Miss Kent. Afterwards the lad had a summons given him to serve on Morley. Wilson offered to take it, and did so. He removed his effects from Mrs. Benker's house – she's the mother of the lad – and went down to Rickwell. You know what happened there. Now if he didn't kill Miss Kent on account of the money, why did he ask the office-boy about the matter?"

Giles shook his head. "I can't say," he said, "no more than I can explain why Miss Denham helped him to escape."

"Well," – Steel scratched his chin – "I have an idea about that. But you must not be offended if I speak plainly, Mr. Ware."

"I shall be offended if you speak evil of my friend Miss Denham." This was from the Princess, who raised herself up with her eyes flashing angrily. "I will not have it," she said.

"Then am I to say nothing?" asked Steel ironically.

"Nothing against Miss Denham," put in Giles.

"You are both rather difficult to deal with," remarked Steel, with a shrug. "However, I'll explain, and you can draw your own inferences. It seems from what Mrs. Benker said that Mr. Wilson was mostly out all night and in all day. Also he was frequently absent for a long time. He likewise took much interest in Society newspapers and in the movements of the aristocracy. He also wore on his chain an ornament – a red-enamelled cross, in fact."

"What!" cried Giles, with a start, and he noted that the Princess started likewise, and that her face grew pale.

"He wore a red-enamelled cross," repeated Steel imperturbably, "on his watch-chain. Mrs. Benker had been in the service of the late Lady Summersdale when the diamonds of that lady were stolen. She remembered that a red-enamelled cross had been found in the safe whence the jewels were taken. Wilson was amused at this. He said that the cross was the emblem of a charitable society from which he received a weekly sum. Well" – he hesitated and looked at his listeners – "that clue came to an end. I lost sight of Wilson. I then went to look for The Red Cross– the yacht, I mean!"

"What has the yacht to do with Wilson?" asked Ware angrily.

"If you remember, sir, I told you that Wilson was the man who served the summons on Mr. Morley, and who, as I believed, killed Miss Kent. He afterwards fled with Miss Denham and went on board the yacht. Is not that the case, sir?"

"So far as I can judge, it is," muttered Giles reluctantly.

"Well, then," went on Steel triumphantly, while the Princess – as Giles observed – listened intently, "I looked after that yacht. I could not find her, but I am looking for her now. That is why I am in the country. I came up this morning from Deal, and I go back there to-morrow. I find, sir, that this yacht puts in at various places every now and then."

"Most yachts do."

"Yes, sir. But while most yachts are at anchor in a place does a burglary invariably occur? No, sir, wait," for Giles had sprung to his feet. "Lady Summersdale's place was on the seashore. Her diamonds were stolen. At the time this yacht was at anchor in the bay. A red cross was found in the safe. The boat is called by that name. Several times I find that when the yacht has been at a certain place a burglary has occurred. This man Wilson wears a red cross on his watch-chain. Now, sir, I believe that he is one of a gang of burglars – that the cross is a sign. This explains his interest in the Society papers. He wants to find out where the best swag is to be found, and – "

"But what has all this to do with my friend Anne?" cried the Princess.

Steel shrugged his shoulders. "I say nothing," he replied. "You can draw your own inferences."

"Do you mean to say that Miss Denham – "

"I say nothing," interrupted Steel, catching up his hat. "Mr. Ware, I am at your service when you want me. Princess!" He bowed and went out.

As the outer door closed Giles and his hostess looked at one another. "The man's a foul liar," burst out Giles furiously.

"Yes." The woman was very pale. "Still, my friend Anne once told me – "

"Told you what?"

"What I will tell you if you come again," she said under her breath, and suddenly left the room. She did not return.

CHAPTER XII
MRS. PARRY'S TEA

Six months had passed away since the death of Daisy. The grass was now green above her grave. Where she had fallen there had she been buried beside her father, and the villagers often talked of the tragedy, and pointed out to strangers the spot where it had taken place. But she who had killed the girl – they still considered Anne guilty – had never been brought to justice. From the day she had fled on Ware's motor-car nothing had been heard of her.

No one troubled about the dead girl. Daisy had not been very popular during her life, and now that she was gone her name was scarcely mentioned. For a time Mrs. Morley had placed flowers on the green mound, but after her return from Brighton had desisted. The grass grew long, and the path beside the grave green. A tombstone of white marble had been erected by Giles, and already that was becoming discolored. Daisy and her resting-place were forgotten. The poor child might have been dead a hundred years instead of six months. Only the tale of her death remained as a fireside legend, to be amplified and improved upon as the years went by.

After that one sensation life went on in Rickwell very much as it had always done. Morley and his wife returned to The Elms, and instead of having a new governess the triplets went to school. Mrs. Morley never spoke of Anne or Daisy, and seemed to grow no more cheerful than before even in the perfect summer weather. She still looked pale and subdued, and her eyes still had in their watery depths an anxious expression. Everyone said that she was regretting the death of Daisy and the wickedness of Anne; but others remarked that she had looked just as haggard and worn before as after the tragedy. Mrs. Parry gave it as her opinion that the poor lady had a secret sorrow, and tried by skilful questioning to learn what it was. But either Mrs. Parry was not clever enough or Mrs. Morley had no secret to reveal, for the scandalmonger learned nothing. The only thing that Mrs. Morley said was that she missed her girls. Whereupon Mrs. Parry told her that she ought to be ashamed of herself, seeing that the three were getting a good education. However, this did not seem to console Mrs. Morley much, for she wept copiously in her usual fashion.

The good old lady returned to her cottage very much disgusted. It was rather a dull time for her, as she had heard no news for a long time. Everyone was so well-behaved that there was no scandal going, and Mrs. Parry began to think that she ought to pay a visit to town. Her cousin, Mrs. McKail, had already gone back to New Zealand with a fearful opinion of English Society, for Mrs. Parry had blackened the country just as though she had been a pro-Boer.

Then one day her little maid, who was called Jane, and had the sharpest ears of any one in the village, brought in breakfast with the remark that Mr. Ware had returned. Mrs. Parry sat up in bed, where she always partook of the first meal of the day, and looked excited.

"When did he arrive, Jane? How does he look? What does he say?"

Jane, being experienced, answered these questions categorically.

"He came last night, mum, with Trim, and looks a shadder of hisself, but said as he was glad to be home again, and what was the news."

"Ho!" said Mrs. Parry, rubbing her nose with a teaspoon, "wants to hear the news, does he? I'll ask him to tea to-morrow – no, to-day. You can take a note up to his place, Jane."

"Yes, mum," replied Jane, who was friendly with Giles' housekeeper.

"And don't let me hear that you've been gossiping with the servants, Jane," snapped Mrs. Parry, who was unusually cross in the morning, and looked an ogress without her wig. "I hate gossip. You have two ears and one mouth, Jane; that means you should listen twice as much as you speak."

"Yes, mum," replied Jane, who had long since taken the measure of her mistress's foot. Then she went to the door, and was recalled to be told that the cook was to make a cake. She was going again, and had to return for instructions about some particular tea. Then there was the silver to be especially polished, and various other matters to be gone into, until Jane's head was whirling and her feet ached. She went down to the kitchen and told the cook that the old vinegar bottle was more fractious than usual. If only Mrs. Parry had heard her! But she thought Jane was afraid of her, whereas Jane was meek to her face and saucy behind her back. The old lady heard all the gossip in the neighborhood, but she never knew the remarks that were made in her own kitchen.

However, it thus came about that Giles received a civil note from Mrs. Parry, asking him to come to afternoon tea. His first thought was to refuse, but he then reflected that if he wanted to learn all that had taken place during his absence, Mrs. Parry was the very person who could tell him. He knew she was an old cat, and had a dangerous tongue. Still, she was much better than a newspaper, being, as her enemies said, more spicy. He therefore accepted the invitation, and appeared in the little parlor about five. He had been for a ride, and having put his horse up at the inn, asked the old lady to excuse his dress. Mrs. Parry did so with pleasure.

Giles was a splendid figure of a man, and looked a picture in his trim riding-dress. The old dame had an eye for a fine man, and cast an approving glance at his shapely legs and slim figure. But she frowned when her eyes rose to his face. It was thinner than she liked to see; there was not the old brave light in his eyes, and his fair moustache had lost the jaunty curl, which, to her romantic mind, had made him such a gallant lover.

Giles was one of the few persons Mrs. Parry did not abuse, for his good looks and many courtesies had long since won her foolish old heart, although she would never confess to it. But then, Mrs. Parry was softer than she looked.

"Who had been taking the heart out of you, Ware?" she asked in her gentlemanly way, which Giles knew and had often laughed at.

"No one," he answered gloomily, "unless you call Fate some one."

"I call Anne Denham some one," she replied coolly, "so you haven't found her yet, poor soul!"

"No; I have looked everywhere. She has vanished like a bubble."

"It is just as well. You couldn't possibly marry her and bring her back to Rickwell as your wife."

"Why not? She is innocent. You said yourself that she was."

"And I believe it. I have stood up for her all through. All the same, Ware, there would be a scandal if she came back as Mrs. Ware."

"I don't care two straws for that," said Giles, flinging back his head.

"No," she replied dryly, "I know that. You're an obstinate man, as any one can see with half an eye. Well, I'm glad to see you again. Sit down in the armchair yonder and tell me what you have been doing all these months. No good, if your face is the index of your mind."

Ware laughed, and sitting down managed to stow his long legs out of the way – no easy matter in the little room. Then he accepted a cup of excellent tea from Mrs. Parry and some of her celebrated cake.

He did not reply immediately, as he did not want to tell her the truth. She had too long a tongue to be told anything which it was necessary to keep secret. He put her off as he best could with a general answer.

"I have just been going to and fro."

"Like Satan," sniffed Mrs. Parry. "He's your model, is he? So you have been searching for Anne. Where?"

"In Paris and in London. But I can't find her."

"She doesn't want you to find her," replied the old lady. "If she did, you would stand face to face with her soon enough."

"That goes without the speaking," retorted Ware. "However, my adventures would not amuse you, Mrs. Parry. Suppose you tell me what has been going on in these parts?"

"As if I knew anything of what was going on," said Mrs. Parry.

Giles laughed.

It was a fiction with Mrs. Parry that she never interfered with other people's business, whereas there was not a pie within miles into which she had not thrust her finger. But he knew how to start her tongue.

"The Morleys, what about them?"

"No change, Ware. The Tricolor has gone to school – I mean the three children – although I can't get out of the habit of calling them by that ridiculous name. Mrs. Morley is as dismal as ever, and seems to miss Anne very much."

"As well she might. Anne was a good friend to her. And Morley?"

"He has found a new friend," said Mrs. Parry triumphantly, "a man called Franklin."

"George Franklin!" cried Ware, startled, for he had heard all about the fortune from Steel. "He is the man who inherited the five thousand a year that Powell left to Daisy. Steel, the detective, told me, and, now I think of it, Morley told me himself when I was ill."

"It's the same man, Ware. He has been here two months, and has taken the Priory."

"That's a cheerful place," said Giles. "Why, it has been standing empty for three years."

"I know. The last tenants left because they said it was haunted."

"Rubbish! And by what?"

"By a white lady. She wanders up and down the park, wringing her hands. But this Franklin evidently does not believe in ghosts, for he has been there these two months, and never a word from him."

"What kind of a man is he?"

"A tall man, with very black eyes, and a black beard. No," added Mrs. Parry, correcting herself, "I am wrong. He had a beard when he first came, and now has shaved it off."

"Have you seen much of him?"

"Hardly anything. Morley is the only person with whom he is intimate in any degree. He hardly ever comes out, and when people call he is not at home. Why the man should have five thousand a year I can't make out. He does no good with it."

"Any family? a wife?"

"There is a daughter, I understand, but she is an invalid, and keeps to her room or to the grounds. Weak in the head I should say, seeing how secluded her father keeps her."

"Have you seen her?"

"Yes, I came on her unexpectedly one day – or rather one evening. A short girl, with red hair and a freckled face. She looks a fool, and was dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. I don't wonder he – I mean Franklin – keeps her out of sight."

"Humph!" said Ware, rather astonished by the extent of Mrs. Parry's information, "did the servants tell you all this?"

"There are no servants," retorted Mrs. Parry, with scorn. "The man is a mean creature. You may not believe me, Ware, but he has only three people to do the work of that huge house."

"Then there are three servants?"

"Some people might call them so," retorted Mrs. Parry, determined not to give up her point, "but they are a queer lot – not at all like the domestic I have been used to. An old man, who acts as a kind of butler; a woman, his wife, who is the cook; and a brat of fifteen, the daughter I expect, who does the general work. Oh, it's quite a family affair."