Conniston sat down and stretched out his legs. "He's Mrs. Moon's grandson. Jerry Moon is his name – but he's such a young scoundrel that I call him Judas as more appropriate. I got him a place with Taberley, the tobacconist, but he took money or something and was kicked out. The other day when I met him he was selling matches. I gave him half a sovereign to go back to his grandmother, so by this time I expect he's at Cove Castle telling her lies. I instructed him to hold his tongue about my soldiering."

"Why didn't you send him to me?" said Mark. "I would have frightened him, and made him hold his tongue."

"If you could frighten Judas you could frighten his father, the Old 'Un down below," said Conniston, laughing. "He's what the Artful Dodger would call a young Out-and-Outer; a kind of Jack Sheppard in grain. He'll come your way yet, Mark, passing by on his journey to the gallows. He's only thirteen, but a born criminal. He'll hold his tongue about me so long as it suits him, and sell me to make a sixpence. Oh, he's a delightful young scamp, I promise you!"

All this aimless chatter made Bernard rather impatient. "I must cut along," he said; "it's rather foggy and it will take me a long time to fetch my barracks. No, thank you, Mark, I don't want anything to drink. Give me a couple of those cigarettes, Conniston. Good night."

"Won't you stop the night?" said Durham, hospitably. "Conniston is staying."

"He's on furlough and I'm not," said Bernard, who was now putting on his slouch hat in the hall. "Good night, Conniston. Good night, Durham."

"You'll think over what I told you," said the lawyer, opening the door himself and looking outside. "I say, what a fog! Stop here, Bernard."

"No! No! Thanks all the same." Gore stepped out into the white mist, buttoning his coat. "Give me a light. There! Go back and yarn with Dick, I'll come and see you again. As to Sir Simon – "

"What about him?"

"I'll think over what you said. If possible I'll go down and stop at Cove Castle, and see Sir Simon at night. By the way, what's the time, Durham?"

The lawyer was about to pull out his watch when Conniston appeared at the end of the hall in high spirits. "My dear friend," he said in a dramatic manner, "it is the twenty-third of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and – "

"Bosh!" interrupted Bernard. "The time, Mark?"

"Just ten o'clock. Good night!"

"Good night, and keep that wild creature in order. Conniston, I'll look you up to-morrow."

It was indeed a foggy night. Bernard felt as though he were passing through wool, and the air was bitterly cold. However, he thrust his hands into his pockets and smoked bravely as he felt his way down the hill. Hardly had he issued from the gate when he felt someone clutch his coat. Brave as Gore was he started, for in this fog he might meet with all manner of unpleasant adventures. However, being immediately under a lamp, he saw that a small boy was holding on to him. A pretty lad he looked, though clothed in rags and miserable with the cold. In one hand he held a tray of matches and in the other a piece of bread. His feet were bare and his rags scarcely covered him. In a child-like, innocent manner he looked up into the face of the tall soldier. "Well, boy," said Bernard, feeling for sixpence, "Are you wanting to get home?"

"Ain't got no home," said the boy, hoarsely. "I sleeps in a barrel, I does, when 'ard up. It's you as the lady wants to see."

"The lady!" Bernard looked down at the imp. "What do you mean?"

"It's this way, my lord," said the boy, looking like a cherub of innocence. "The lady, she says to me that in this street you'll see, before twelve, a soldier in yeller clothes. Tell him to foller to the Red Winder."

"What's that?" asked Gore, sharply, and quite taken aback by hearing these words on the lips of this ragged brat. "Where did you see the lady, boy?"

"Down Kensington way," said the boy jerking his head over his shoulder. "She says, 'Tell him to foller to the Red Winder.' Come along!" and he darted off in the fog.

"But you must explain," began Bernard, when he stopped. The boy had disappeared into the fog, and wondering how he came to be in possession of this information which concerned him, Gore walked along feeling his way by the brick wall. Perhaps Lucy had sent the message, and the Red Window was to be seen in the Crimea Square house. Bernard wished to ask the boy further questions, but the lad had vanished. In much perplexity the young man went down the hill towards Kensington High Street. As he paused at the corner wondering if it would be wise to go to the Square, and wondering also where it was, the boy suddenly appeared again at his elbow. "Come along acrost the road," he growled, and vanished again. Then Bernard got lost in the fog till the boy found him again.

Bernard, not thinking any harm could come of the adventure, as he had ample confidence in his right arm, went across the street. The boy reappeared and led him down a side street. Gore tried to seize the boy and to detain him in order to ask questions, but the imp kept well out of reach, and only appeared when he thought there was danger of the tall soldier losing his way. In this manner Bernard was led down the quiet street, 'longside a high wall and through the heart of the dense fog. He kept his eyes open for any possible assailant, and did not feel the least afraid. All the same, he began to think he was foolish to follow on such a will-o'-the-wisp errand. But that the boy had mentioned the Red Window, Bernard would have turned on his heel. As it was, he felt curious enough to proceed. Suddenly the boy – a few feet ahead – led him into a wide space which was densely filled with fog. Here his guide turned to the right, and then whistled. When Gore, who had followed, heard that whistle he tightened his hold on his stick. The boy had vanished, and there he was alone in the heart of the fog. No one appeared, and he could not even see his guide. Looking overhead, Bernard suddenly saw a Red Window on the first story of a house. The house loomed hugely through the fog and was in some measure revealed by the light of a street lamp which threw a dull glimmer on to steps ascending to the door. There was a light behind the glass over the door, but the young man did not look at that. He was staring at the window in the first storey, which showed a fiery red color.

"I wonder if this is Crimea Square and the house," muttered Bernard, stepping forward. "And whether Lucy put that light there, and sent the boy to tell me. But how could she know I was with Durham to-night?"

Again he heard the whistle, and then came a shriek which apparently came from the house. Bernard ran to the steps, wondering if anything was the matter. The door opened, and a woman burst out of the house shrieking at the pitch of her voice – "Murder! Murder! Murder!" she cried. "Oh, the police – the police! Murder!"

"Mrs. Gilroy!" Bernard saw her face in the light which streamed from the open door, and which was thrown by the street lamp vaguely through the fog. She stopped and clutched him, staring into his face.

"Come," she said in a harsh whisper, and dragged him forward. Quite bewildered, Gore suffered himself to be led. Mrs. Gilroy dragged him rather than led him up the stairs and into a room. There he saw his grandfather seated by the fire with a handkerchief round his neck, and another tied across his mouth – quite dead. "Murder!" said Mrs. Gilroy.

CHAPTER V
LOST IN THE DARKNESS

While the terrible word was yet on the housekeeper's lips, Bernard stepped forward and loosened the handkerchiefs. That round the neck was one of Sir Simon's own, a yellow bandana woven of strong silk, and eminently suited to the deadly purpose it had been used for. But how had the dead man's own handkerchief been so utilised by the murderer? While untying the knot, Bernard wondered; but he gained an inkling into the method pursued when he removed the white handkerchief which had been bound across the mouth. It exhaled a faint odor of chloroform, so it was apparent that the old baronet had been first rendered unconscious, and then strangled with his own bandana. But who was guilty of the crime?

"What do you know of this?" asked Gore, in a hoarse voice, turning to the housekeeper.

She had ceased to cry out, and was staring at him with glittering eyes. At the same time she appeared to be listening intently. Far off could be heard the sound of approaching footsteps echoing along the pavement. Evidently a policeman, summoned by Mrs. Gilroy's shriek, was hurrying to see what was the matter. As the door had been left open he would know where to enter. These thoughts flashed through Mrs. Gilroy's mind as she stared at the pale young man. Also there were sounds in the lower parts of the house hinting that the servants had been aroused. A distant clock struck the three quarters, and even at that terrible moment Bernard remembered that in his vague wanderings after the boy he had been forty-five minutes getting to Crimea Square. And Mrs. Gilroy still looked.

"What do you know of this?" repeated Gore, wondering at her silence.

She gave a gasp. "He is dead," said Mrs. Gilroy. "I wonder if he died hard. He was a strong old man."

Wondering more than ever at this strange speech, Bernard felt the pulse and the heart of his grandfather. There was no doubt that life was extinct, although it could not have been so long. The skin was still warm to the touch, but that might have been because the room was heated. Also, the dead man was seated close to the fire. "How terrible!" muttered Bernard, whose emotions were not yet under control. "I must get help."

He turned to go, but the housekeeper, suddenly becoming endowed with life, flung herself in his path. "No!" she said harshly. "Don't seek help if you value your life."

"What do you mean?" asked Gore, striving to shake off the hand she laid on his sleeve. "The servants are up – a policeman is evidently coming along. Hark! he is entering the hall. I must – "

"You go to the gallow," muttered Mrs. Gilroy clinging to him.

"I!" the perspiration burst out on Bernard's forehead, and he started back. "Are you mad?"

"You are, you are," went on the housekeeper, hurriedly, "you fool! It is known that your grandfather disinherited you, and – "

"You know I did not commit this crime."

"I know nothing. I – I" Mrs. Gilroy put her hand to her head. "It's the only way – the only way," she whispered to herself. "You killed him, you strangled him. I swear to it – I swear to it! Help!" she raised her voice to scream. "Help!"

"Let me go," cried Bernard, thinking he had been drawn into a trap.

But Mrs. Gilroy still clung with a force for which he would not have given her credit. Shrieking aloud she was dragged by the startled young man into the passage and towards the landing. Below, in the hall, the door of which was open, the cook and the housemaid were embracing a burly policeman, and terrified small page was looking up the stairs. On the vision of this alarmed group reeled Mrs. Gilroy, clinging and shrieking to Bernard – "Help me – help me! He will escape!" The policeman blew a shrill whistle and said a sharp word to the page, who scampered out of the door for dear life. The cook and housemaid receded towards the back of the hall as Bernard, dragging Mrs. Gilroy after him, flung himself down the stairs. He saw now that his position was dangerous, but his wits were so bewildered that he hardly knew what he was doing. As he reached the foot of the stair the policeman caught him by the coat. "I arrest you in the King's name," said the officer, promptly.

"Yes, yes! for murder – murder!" cried Mrs. Gilroy, breathlessly.

"Murder!" the other servants shrieked.

"Who is dead?" asked the policeman, with professional stolidity.

"Sir Simon Gore. This is his grandson. He has strangled him."

"It's a lie – a lie!" cried Bernard, very pale. "I did not enter – "

"Anything you say now will be used in evidence against you," said the policeman. "Come up the stairs, we must see this corpse. A titled man, too, and your grandfather – you audacious scoundrel!" and he shook the wretched young man.

"I tell you I am innocent," said Bernard, his lips dry and his face pale. "I came here – "

"To kill Sir Simon. Jane," cried Mrs. Gilroy, turning to the housemaid. "Don't you see who it is?"

Jane staggered forward supported by the cook. "Lor'," she gasped in terror, "it's Bernard. Whatever did you – "

"You know him, then?" asked the officer.

"Yes! he's been making love and visiting me for the last week?"

"I thought so," cried Mrs. Gilroy, triumphantly. "Cook."

"I know him too," said the cook, keeping well out of the way. "It's the young soldier as courts Jane. Bernard's his name."

"I was never in this house before," said Gore, quite unnerved.

"Is your name Bernard?" asked the policeman.

"Yes! but – "

"Then you are guilty."

"He is – he is!" cried the housemaid. "He was here this evening, but went away at six. Sir Simon said he would see him after ten. Oh, Bernard, how could you!" sobbed Jane. "To think I should have took up with a man as 'ull be put in the Chamber of Horrors."

"Policeman, let me go," said Gore, firmly. "There is some mistake."

"The magistrate will decide that. Help will be here soon, and then you'll be lodged in jail."

"Mrs. Gilroy," cried the young man, overwhelmed with horror, "you know I am innocent."

"No," she said fiercely, and with her eyes on his face. "You came to see Sir Simon after ten. I let you in myself. I waited below while you spoke with Sir Simon, and you left fifteen minutes ago. I went upstairs to see my master. He was dead – strangled. I ran out calling murder, and you were almost on the doorstep."

"I had only just come."

"Come back, you mean," said the officer.

"To see if poor master was dead," shrieked the cook.

"Oh, Bernard – Bernard!" sobbed Jane, "how could you kill him! Lor'! that I should have kissed a murderer."

"Hark!" said Mrs. Gilroy, raising her hand, "footsteps. The other police are coming. Take him away to jail, officer."

"This is a trick – a trap!" cried Bernard, struggling to get free. "I never was in the house before – "

"You have visited in the kitchen for over a fortnight," said Jane, weeping copiously.

"Someone like me has, but not me. Look well, girl. Am I the man?"

"Bring him under the lamp, policeman," said Jane, hesitating.

"No!" said Mrs. Gilroy, pushing the housemaid back, "there is no time. Here are the police. We must go upstairs and see Sir Simon. Miss Randolph is at the theatre with Mr. Beryl. Ah – hark!"

There was a sound of approaching wheels, and a moment afterwards a carriage drove up. Out of it stepped Lucy and Julius. They entered the hall and looked amazed, as they well might, on seeing Bernard in the grip of the policeman, and the alarmed women around him.

"What's this?" asked Julius.

"Bernard," cried Lucy, running forward, "what have you done?"

"Murdered his grandfather, miss," said the policeman.

Lucy uttered a wild shriek and sprang up the stairs, followed by the cook and housemaid. But Mrs. Gilroy still held her ground and caught hold of Beryl's arm. "Keep him fast, sir," she said savagely. "He came this night and murdered the master."

"Julius, it is a lie!"

"I hope so," said Beryl, who looked pale and startled; "but you know you quarrelled with my uncle."

"Ah, did he?" said the policeman, and felt for his pocket-book. In doing so, he slightly relaxed his grip, and Bernard was quick to take advantage of the chance. Had he but reflected for a moment, he would have stood his ground and have faced the worst; but with the accusing face of Mrs. Gilroy before him, and a memory of the housemaid's evidence and Beryl's enmity, he decided hastily to fly. In a moment he laid the policeman flat on his back by a quick wrestling trick, and darted out into the street. Mrs. Gilroy ran to the door shrieking murder, and the word was heard by three or four policemen who were tramping hurriedly along in the wake of the breathless page. At once they realized the situation, and plunged into the fog after the flying form of the soldier. The page followed also, but speedily returned with the news that the fugitive was running towards High Street.

"He's bound to be caught," said Mrs. Gilroy.

"I hope not," said Beryl, who was standing in the hall much disturbed. "After all, he is my cousin."

"And a murderer," added the housekeeper. "Wait here, policeman."

"But he's got away," said the officer, considerably ruffled by the escape. "I must follow."

"The others are after him," said Julius, drawing him back. "You can't follow in the fog. It's thicker than ever. Mrs. Webber."

"Oh, what's the matter?" asked a trembling voice, and a white face appeared at the window of the carriage which stood at the door. "Mr. Beryl!"

"Sir Simon has been murdered by his grandson," said Julius, running down the steps and speaking quietly.

Mrs. Webber threw herself back into the carriage and shrieked, "Oh, horrible! Drive away – drive away."

"No! no!" said Beryl, anxiously. "Lucy is upstairs with the corpse. Come and take her away. She can't remain here."

"Yes, I know," said Mrs. Webber, recovering from her momentary alarm, and getting hastily out of the carriage. "James, where is Francis?"

"He's gone off after the murderer, mum," said James, touching his hat; "but for the 'orses I'd have gone also."

"Wait – wait," said Mrs. Webber, hurrying up the steps. "How terrible – poor Sir Simon. Where is the body?" she asked, shuddering.

"In the sitting-room on the first floor," said Mrs. Gilroy.

"Where the red light is?" asked the lady.

"There is no red light," said Mrs. Gilroy.

"But I tell you there is," said Mrs. Webber. "I saw it when I heard the horrid cry of murder."

"The red light," said Julius, starting. "I wonder" – he hurried outside and looked up to the dark front of the house. "There's no red light, Mrs. Webber," he called out.

"I knew there wasn't," cried Mrs. Gilroy, sitting down, evidently exhausted. "You must be mistaken, ma'am."

Mrs. Webber ran out also. "I am not mistaken. Why" – she stared up also – "there is none. Yet I am sure – I'll ask Lucy," and she ran into the house again. "Come and show me where the poor man is."

This was to Mrs. Gilroy, who rose slowly and walked heavily up the stairs. "Are you in pain, Mrs. Gilroy?" asked Julius, who followed.

"Yes," she muttered, pressing her hand to her side. "Mr. Gore gave me a wrench when I struggled with him. My poor master," and sighing heavily, she panted up the stair.

In the room, Lucy was kneeling beside the dead, with the tears streaming down her cheeks and holding the limp hand. "How terrible it is!" she sobbed. "He was so well and bright when I left to go to the theatre, and now" – she broke down. Julius supported her to the sofa and strove to calm her.

"It is terrible," he said soothingly. "I think you had better go back with Mrs. Webber."

"No!" she said, drying her eyes. "I will wait here."

"Yes, do, miss," chorussed the cook and the housemaid, who were both in a state of wild alarm.

"Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Webber, laying her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Come home with me, dear."

Mrs. Webber was a small, dark, stern-looking little woman with a high color, although her face was very white at the present awful moment. She was possessed of considerable determination, as could be seen from her firm mouth. But Lucy, in spite of her youth and the crushing to which she had been subjected by Sir Simon, had the stronger will, and positively refused to leave the house.

"He was my only friend," she said, rising, "and I won't go away."

"You can do nothing, dear," said Julius, quickly.

"I can help the nurse with the body," she answered. "Don't say another word, Julius. My post is here. Send for someone at once to lay out the body, unless you – " She looked at Jane and the cook.

These cowards shrieked simultaneously, and with one accord fled to the lower regions, where they sat up for the rest of the night drinking strong tea, and discussing the tragic event with the gusto peculiar to their class. The policeman joined them here later, and asked after the courting of Jane.

Meantime Mrs. Webber, finding all remonstrance vain, had departed. Mrs. Gilroy remained alone with the dead body, and Julius, leading Lucy to another room, answered the inquiries of an inspector who had appeared on the scene. He noted all replies made, and explained that the fugitive had not yet been caught. "And I don't know if he will be," added Inspector Groom, shrugging his shoulders; "the fog is thick."

"And Bernard is very quick," said Lucy, sipping a glass of wine which she sorely needed. "Oh, I hope he'll get away!"

"Very natural," said Groom, nodding. "You don't want the scandal."

"I don't want Bernard hanged," said Miss Randolph.

"Ah! Then you think he is guilty."

"Mrs. Gilroy says he is," answered the girl, sobbing, "and I know Bernard was on bad terms with Sir Simon. Julius, perhaps after all Bernard may be innocent."

"I hope so," said Beryl, dubiously; "but according to Jane, Bernard has been hanging round the house for the last fortnight, and – "

"Ah!" said Groom, sharply, "hanging round the house, eh? I must speak to Jane. Who is she?"

"The housemaid. Bernard has been making love to her."

"I don't believe that is true," said Lucy.

"Young gentlemen do take strange fancies sometimes," said Groom, "and some housemaids are pretty."

Lucy's lip curled. "Jane is not pretty," said she, decidedly, "and Bernard is far too fastidious a man to lower himself in that way."

"Well, the long and the short of it is, that he has been hanging round the house," put in Beryl, biting his fingers impatiently. "Probably he came here this evening, and saw Sir Simon in answer to the signal of the Red Window."

"The Red Window!" echoed Lucy.

"Yes. You told me about the signal this evening."

"But I did not place a lamp in any window, and there is no Red Window here. Had I done that to attract Bernard, I should have told you."

"I don't think you would," said Beryl, with a significant expression; "but the fact remains, Mrs. Webber saw the Red Window."

"You did not."

"No. But a piece of red stuff may have been used to make the light, and then removed."

"Mrs. Gilroy may know about it."

But Mrs. Gilroy, when questioned, did not. She never knew anything about a red light. Sir Simon had expressed the wish to see the soldier, and had sent down to the kitchen before six. "He was then having tea with Jane."

"Did you see him?" asked the inspector.

"No. Had I done so I should have recognized him. But he always got out of the place when he heard me coming. Once he was concealed in a cupboard. On receiving Sir Simon's message sent by the page, he left the house – "

"Yes," interrupted Lucy. "I remember the message being brought back."

"And then he came after ten," went on Mrs. Gilroy. "I opened the door to him. He asked to see his grandfather."

"He was this man, then?" asked Groom.

"Mr. Bernard Gore? Yes, he was. He went to see the old gentleman, and I waited below. Then he left the house – "

"Did you let him out?"

"No. He went away quickly. Wondering at the length of the interview, I ran up the stairs and found Sir Simon dead. I came out at once, and found Mr. Gore almost on the doorstep – "

"Mr. Gore?" asked the inspector, looking up.

"Yes. Mr. Bernard Gore, the grandson of Sir Simon."

"And my cousin," said Julius. "You say he was at the door?"

"He was, Mr. Beryl. I made him come up the stairs and" – she made a gesture – "you know the rest."

Groom put the housekeeper through a thorough examination, and noted down her replies. She told a consistent story. Then he questioned Julius and Lucy regarding the quarrel between the deceased and his grandson. Finally he proceeded to the kitchen and questioned the servants. The result of these inquiries was that Inspector Groom left the house – with a policeman in charge – firmly persuaded of Bernard's guilt. All the evidence pointed to his committal of the crime. Groom was not ill-pleased. He thought he had secured a case likely to cause a sensation, and to prove remunerative to himself.

While the rope to hang the unfortunate young man was being woven, the outcast – for he was nothing else now – was racing through the fog. After the first plunge into the gray mist, he succeeded in shaking off the officers – all save one. This was a young fellow, quick on his legs. He followed Bernard towards the High Street, as had been reported by the page, who had seen the two dark forms shooting past him. Only a yard or two lay between pursued and pursuer, and Gore, in spite of all his efforts, could not increase the distance. But he was determined not to be taken. Undoubtedly he had been drawn into a trap, and howsoever innocent he was, it might be impossible to prove that he was guiltless in the face of the enmity of Mrs. Gilroy and Julius. Also, there was the evidence of Jane to be reckoned with, and she was doubtless a tool in the hands of her superiors. Bernard wanted to gain a place of refuge, so that he might think over his position and communicate with Durham and Conniston. They might be able to help him in this dilemma.

It was impossible to remain in the High Street, seeing that every moment he ran a chance of falling into the arms of a policeman. He therefore turned down a side street and raced through Cheniston Gardens. His pursuer, still close on his heels, followed, and by this time another officer had joined. Bernard made up his mind and ran for the river. He crossed Cromwell Road, Fulham Road, sped through Elm Park Gardens, and down to Chelsea. Many were after him by the time he reached the river's bank. Only one chance remained. He plunged into the stream and the fog covered his retreat.

"It's all up," said the policeman, who heard the plunge. "He'll be drowned."