A longish pause ensued between the two men. Hilliston seemed to be in no hurry to continue the conversation, and Claude, with his eyes fixed absently on his glass, pondered over the facts that Mrs. Hilliston had an aversion to Horriston, and that the lawyer had taken the third volume of the novel out of the house. The two facts seemed to have some connection with each other, but what the connection might be Claude could not rightly conclude.

From his frequent talks with Tait he knew that the third volume contained the episode of the scarfpin, which was instrumental in bringing the fictitious murderer to justice. The assassin in the novel was meant for Hilliston, and remembering this Claude wondered whether there might not be some reason for his removal of the book. Mrs. Hilliston had quailed at the mention of Horriston, and the explanation given by her husband did not satisfy Larcher. What reason could she have for taking more than a passing interest in the tragic story? Why, after ten years, should she pale at the mention of the neighborhood? Claude asked himself these two questions, but could find no satisfactory answer to either of them.

He was toying with his wineglass while thinking, when a sudden thought made him grip the slender stem with spasmodic force. Was it possible that Mrs. Hilliston could have been in the neighborhood five-and-twenty years before; that she could have heard some talk of that scarfpin which was not mentioned at the trial, but which Tait insisted was an actual fact, and no figment of the novelist's brain; and finally, could it be that Hilliston had purposely removed the third volume of "A Whim of Fate" so that his wife should not have her memory refreshed by a relation of the incident. It was very strange.

Thus thinking, Claude glanced stealthily at his guardian, who was musingly smoking his cigar, and drinking his wine. He looked calm, and content, and prosperous. Nevertheless, Claude was by no means so sure of his innocence as he had been. Hilliston's confusion, his hesitation, his evasion, instilled doubts into the young man's mind. He determined to gain a knowledge of the truth by questions, and mentally arranged these as follows: First he would try and learn somewhat of the past of Mrs. Hilliston, for, beyond the fact that she was an American, he knew nothing of it. Second, he would lead Hilliston to talk of the scarfpin, and see if the reference annoyed him; and, third, he would endeavor to discover if the lawyer was averse to his wife reading the novel. With his plans thus cut and dried, he spoke abruptly to his guardian:

"I am sorry Mrs. Hilliston's health is so bad."

"It is not bad, my dear fellow," replied the lawyer, lifting his head. "She is a very strong woman; but of course, the fatigue of a London season tells on the healthiest constitution. That is why I wish her to go to Eastbourne."

"Why not take her to Horriston?"

"Why should I? She connects the place with the story of your father, about whom I was forced to speak ten years ago; and, speaking personally, I have no desire to return there, and recall the horrors of the past."

"You were greatly affected by my father's death?"

"Naturally; he was my dearest friend. I would have given anything to discover the assassin."

"Did Mrs. Hilliston give you her opinion as to who was guilty?"

"No. I told her as little as I could of so painful a subject. She is not in possession of all the facts."

"At that rate why let her read 'A Whim of Fate'?"

"I don't wish her to read it," answered Hilliston quietly; "but I left the novel lying about, and she read the first two volumes. If I can help it, she shall not finish the story."

"Why object to her reading the third volume?"

"Because it would recall the past too vividly to her mind."

"I hardly follow you there," said Claude, with a keen look. "The fact to which you refer cannot exist for your wife. To her the novel can only be a second telling of the story related by you, when she wished to know who I was."

"That is very true. Nevertheless, it made so painful an impression on her excitable nature that I am unwilling that her memory should be refreshed. Take another glass of wine, my boy."

Hilliston evidently wished to turn the conversation, but Claude was too determined on learning the truth to deviate from his course. Slowly filling his glass with claret he pushed the jug toward Hilliston, and pursued his questioning:

"The American nature is rather excitable, isn't it? By the way, is Mrs. Hilliston a pure-blooded Yankee?"

"Yes," said Hilliston, with suspicious promptitude; "she was a Chicago belle, and married a millionaire in the pork line called Derrick. He died soon after the marriage, so she came to England and married me."

"It was her first visit to England, no doubt."

"Her first visit," replied Hilliston gravely. "All her former life was passed in New York, Boston, and Chicago. But what odd questions you ask," added the lawyer, in a vexed tone. "Surely you do not think that my wife was at Horriston twenty-five years ago, or that she knows aught of this crime save what I have told her?"

"Of course, I think nothing of the sort," said Larcher hastily, and what is more he believed what he said. It was impossible that Mrs. Hilliston, American born and bred, who had only been in England twelve years, should know anything of an obscure crime committed in a dull provincial town thirteen years before the date of her arrival. Hitherto his questionings had eventuated in little, so he turned the conversation into another groove, and tried to learn if Hilliston knew anything of Jenny Paynton.

"What do you think of John Parver?"

"He seemed an intelligent young fellow. Is that his real name?"

"No. His name is Frank Linton, the son of the vicar of Thorston."

"What! He belongs to the place whither you go with Tait," exclaimed Hilliston, with a startled air. "That is strange. You may learn there whence he obtained the materials for his novel."

"I know that. He obtained them from Miss Paynton."

"Who is she?"

"A literary young lady who lives at Thorston with her folks. But I fancy Linton mentioned that he had told you about her."

"Well he did and he didn't," said Hilliston, in some confusion; "that is, he admitted that the story was founded on fact, but he did not tell me whence he obtained such facts. I suppose it is your intention to question this young lady."

"Yes. I want to know how she heard of the matter."

"Pooh! Read it in a provincial newspaper, no doubt."

"I think not," replied Claude, with some point. "It is next to impossible that she should come across a paper containing an account of the trial. People don't keep such grewsome matters by them, unless they have an interest in doing so."

"Well, this young lady cannot be one of those persons. How old is she?"

"Four-and-twenty!"

"Ah!" said Hilliston with a sigh of relief, "she was not born when your father was murdered. You must see she can know nothing positive of the matter."

"Then how did she supply Linton with the materials for this book?"

"I can only answer that question by reverting to my theory of the newspaper."

"Well, even granting that it is so," said Larcher quickly, "she knows details of the case which are not set forth in the newspaper."

"How do you know this?" asked Hilliston, biting his lip to control his feelings.

"Because in the third volume – "

"Nonsense! nonsense!" interrupted Hilliston violently, "you seem to forget that the hard facts of the case have been twisted and turned by the novelist's brain. We do not know who slew your father, but the novelist had to end his story, – he had to solve the mystery, – and he has done so after his own fashion."

Rising from his seat, he paced hurriedly to and fro, talking the while with an agitation strange in so hard and self-controlled a man.

"For instance, the character of Michael Dene is obviously taken from me. It is not a bit like me, of course, either in speech, or looks, or dress. All the novelist knew was that I had given evidence at the trial, and that the dead man had been my dearest friend. The circumstances suggested a striking dramatic situation – that the dear friend had committed the crime for the base love of the wife. Michael Dene is guilty in the novel – but the man in real life, myself – You know all I know of the case. I would give ten years of my life, short as the span now is, to find the man who killed George Larcher."

This was strong speaking, and carried conviction to the heart of Claude, the more so when Hilliston further explained himself.

"On the night of the murder I was at the ball three miles off. I knew nothing of the matter till I was called upon to identify the corpse of your father. It was hardly recognizable, and the face was much disfigured, but I recognized him by the color of his hair and the seal on his finger."

"How was it that my father was dressed as Darnley?"

"John Parver explains that," said Hilliston sharply. "Jeringham – I forget his name in the novel – was dressed as Darnley, and I believe, as is set forth in the book, that George Larcher assumed the dress so that under his mask your mother might mistake him for Jeringham. Evidently she did so, as he learned that she loved Jeringham – "

"One moment," interposed Claude quickly, "my mother denies that Jeringham was her lover."

"Your mother?"

"Mrs. Bezel."

"True; I forgot for the moment that you knew she was alive. No doubt she is right; and Jeringham was only her friend. But in the novel he is her lover; Michael Dene, drawn from myself, is her lover. You see fact and fiction are so mixed up that there is no getting at the truth."

"I shall get at the truth," said Claude quietly.

"Never. After such a lapse of time you can discover nothing. Better let the dead past bury its dead. I advised you before. I advise you now. You will only torture your life, cumber it with a useless task. George Larcher is dead and buried, and dust by this time. No one knows who killed him, no one ever shall know."

"I am determined to learn the truth!"

"I hope you may, but be advised. Leave this matter alone. You do not know what misery you may be laying up for yourself. Why, you have not even a clew to start from! Unless," added Hilliston, with a sneer, "you follow the example of the novelist and elucidate the mystery by means of the scarfpin."

Again Tait was right. Hilliston had himself introduced the subject of the scarfpin. Claude immediately took advantage of the opening.

"I suppose that episode is fiction?"

"Of course it is. No scarfpin was found in the garden. Nothing was found but the dagger. You know that Michael Dene is supposed to drop that scarfpin on the spot. Well, I am the living representative of Michael Dene, and I assure you I never owned a garnet cross with a central diamond."

"Is that the description of the scarfpin?"

"Yes. Do you not remember? A small Maltese cross of garnets with a diamond in the center. The description sounds fictitious. Who ever saw such an ornament in real life. But in detective novels the solution of the mystery turns on such gew-gaws. A scarfpin, a stud, a link, a brooch – all these go to hang a man – in novels."

This assertion that the episode of the scarfpin was fiction was in direct contradiction to that of Tait, who declared it to be true. Claude was torn by conflicting doubts, but ultimately put the matter out of his thoughts. Miss Paynton alone could give a correct opinion as to whether it had emanated from her fertile brain, or was really a link in the actual case. Judging from the speech of Hilliston, and the silence of the newspaper reports, Claude believed that Tait was wrong.

The lawyer and his guest did not go to the drawing room, as Mrs. Hilliston sent word that she was going to bed with a bad headache. Under the circumstances Claude took his leave, having, as he thought, extracted all necessary information from Hilliston. Moreover, he was anxious to get back to Tait's chambers and hear what the little man had to tell him about Mrs. Bezel. Hilliston said good-by to him at the door.

"I shall see you at Eastbourne, I suppose," he said genially.

"Yes. I will drive over and tell you what Miss Paynton says."

The door closed, and Hilliston, with a frown on his face, stood looking at the floor. He was by no means satisfied with the result of the interview.

"I wish I could stop him," he muttered, clenching his fist; "stop him at any price. If he goes on he will learn the truth, and if he learns the truth – ah – "

He drew a long breath, and went upstairs to his wife. As he ascended the stairs it seemed to him as though he heard the halting step of Nemesis following stealthily behind.

CHAPTER XIX
TAIT BRINGS NEWS

As quick as a fast hansom could take him, Claude drove to Earls Street, and found Tait impatiently waiting his arrival. The little man had a look of triumph in his eyes, which showed that his interview with Mrs. Bezel had been to some purpose. Dormer had placed wine and biscuits on the table, and, made hungry by his long journey to Hampstead, Tait was partaking of these modest refreshments when Claude entered the room.

"I thought you were never coming," said he, glancing at his watch; "past ten o'clock. You must have had an interesting conversation with Hilliston to stay so long."

"I have had a very interesting conversation. And you?"

"Oh, I got back thirty minutes ago, after being more than an hour with your mother."

"Was she disappointed at my non-appearance?"

"Very much so, but I explained that you had to dine with Hilliston. She did not seem to like that either."

"Absurd! She thinks no end of Hilliston, and advised me to see as much of him as possible."

"Nevertheless, the idea that you were dining with him did not please her; I could only quiet her by telling all I know about Mrs. Hilliston."

When Tait made this remark Claude was taking off his cloak, but he paused in doing so to ask a question.

"What possible interest can my mother have in Mrs. Hilliston?"

"I don't know. But she asked me who she was, and where she came from. Insisted on a description of her looks, and altogether pumped me dry on the subject. I suppose she wished to know something of Hilliston's domestic felicity, and, as he has not enlightened her on the subject, applied to me."

This explanation, which was accepted implicitly by Claude, was by no means the truth. With his usual sharpness Tait had noted Mrs. Bezel was profoundly jealous of the lawyer's wife, and from this, and sundry other hints, had drawn conclusions by no means flattering to the lady herself. Still, as she was Claude's mother, he had too much good breeding, and too much liking for his friend, to state his belief – which was that the bond between Mr. Hilliston and Mrs. Bezel was not of so harmless a nature as they would have the world believe.

With this idea in his head, Tait began to look at the case from the point of view adopted by John Parver. Might it not be true that Hilliston was the secret lover of the wife and the murderer of the husband? Certainly the efforts he was making to stay Claude in solving the mystery gave color to the idea. If he were innocent of crime and illicit passion he would surely be anxious to hasten, instead of retarding, the discovery. Tait's private opinion was that Hilliston had the crime of murder on his soul, but for obvious reasons, not unconnected with Mrs. Bezel, he did not care to speak openly to Larcher. On the contrary, while admitting a disbelief in the lawyer, he feigned a doubt of his complicity in the matter which he was far from feeling.

Under these circumstances he had advised Claude to leave the matter alone, for he dreaded the effect on his friend's mind when he learned the truth.

Whether Hilliston proved innocent or not, the unraveling of the mystery would necessarily result in the disclosure of the relations existing between him and Mrs. Bezel. Tait shrank from pursuing investigations likely to lead to such a result, but the determination of Claude to avenge his father's murder left him no option. Against his better judgment he was urged along the path of discovery; but trusted when the time came to soften the blow of the inevitable result.

In silence he heard the story related by Claude of the evening at Hilliston's, and did not comment on the information thus given so speedily as Larcher expected. He thought it wiser to delay any remarks till he had told the young man of his interview with Mrs. Bezel.

"I need not go into details, Claude," he said, anxious not to say too much, "but will tell you as shortly as I can. Mrs. Bezel – it is more convenient to speak of her so than to call her your mother – is not pleased that you should try and solve this mystery."

"I know that. She thinks it is hopeless, and is unwilling that I should waste my time to no purpose. But she should have thought of that before inducing Hilliston to show me the paper. Now it is too late, and for my own satisfaction, if not for hers, I must go on with the matter. Did you relate our conversation with Linton?"

"Yes. And she takes the same view of it as Hilliston. That Miss Paynton got the case from a bundle of old newspapers."

"What do you think yourself?"

"I still hold to my opinion," said Tait quietly. "The affair was related to Jenny by someone who lived in Horriston at the time the murder took place. Else she would never have given Linton that fact about the scarfpin, which, as we know, is not mentioned in the report of the trial."

"Hilliston says that the episode is fiction."

"Mrs. Bezel says it is fact."

"What! Was a scarfpin of garnets really found in the grounds of The Laurels?"

"It was. Mrs. Bezel described the jewel to me, and asserted that it was discovered near the bank of the stream."

"Does she know to whom it belonged?"

"No! She had no recollection of having seen it before. Neither your father nor Jeringham wore a scarfpin of that pattern."

"It is curious that Hilliston should insist that such a pin never existed."

"It is very curious," assented Tait significantly, "especially as it was shown to him by Denis Bantry. This one fact ought to convince you that Hilliston is playing us false."

"My doubts were confirmed by his manner to-night," replied Claude gloomily. "I don't know what his reason may be, or how I can reconcile his present behavior with his kindness to my mother, but he certainly seems anxious to thwart us if he can."

Tait guessed what the reason was very well, but was too wise to explain himself. Granted that a bond existed between Mrs. Bezel and the lawyer, and the whole thing became clear, but Mrs. Bezel was Claude's mother, so Tait held his peace.

"Why wasn't the scarfpin produced at the trial?" asked Claude, seeing his friend made no answer.

"Only one man can answer that question – Denis Bantry."

"Does my mother know where he is?"

"No. She has not set eyes on him since she left Horriston."

"It is strange that he should have suppressed so important a piece of evidence," said Claude meditatively, "devoted as he was to my father. I should have thought he would have done his best to bring the murderer to justice."

"Perhaps he did not know who the murderer was. However, there is no doubt that the scarfpin must have told him something about which he judged it wise to hold his tongue. Perhaps Miss Paynton can enlighten us on the subject."

"Then she must know Denis Bantry."

"So I think," said Tait thoughtfully. "The episode of the scarfpin was only known to your mother, to Hilliston, and to Bantry. Jenny Paynton does not know your mother, who denied all knowledge of her. She cannot be acquainted with Hilliston, or he certainly would not have let her make use of the affair for Linton's book, even if he had told her. There only remains Denis Bantry. Now, I know that Jenny has lived all her life at Thorston, so if she saw this man anywhere it must have been there."

"Is there anyone in the neighborhood you think is he?" asked Larcher, greatly excited.

"None that I can call to mind. But then, I don't know the neighborhood very well. We must make a thorough exploration of it when we are down there."

"Certainly. But it seems to me that the only one who can put us in the right track is the girl."

"True enough. I only hope she will be amenable to reason."

Larcher poured himself out a glass of wine and drank it slowly. Then he lighted his pipe and returned to his chair with a new idea in his head.

"I wonder why Hilliston told that lie about the scarfpin, Tait?"

"Ask me something easier. I cannot say. We'll learn nothing from him. My dear fellow, it is no use asking further questions of your guardian or of your mother. We have found out all from them that we can. Nothing now remains but to see Jenny Paynton."

"Quite right. And we go to Thorston to-morrow?"

"By the ordinary train. I have written for the dogcart to meet us. By this time next week we may know a great deal – we may know the truth."

"That is, if Hilliston doesn't thwart us. He is going down to Eastbourne, remember."

"I know. But I intend to get what the Americans call the 'inside running,' by seeing Jenny to-morrow evening. The whole case turns on her explanation of the scarfpin episode.

"Well," said Claude, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, "we found Linton through his book, we found Jenny through Linton. Through her we may find Denis Bantry."

"And through Denis Bantry we may find the man who killed your father," finished Tait triumphantly.

"Well, I know what the name of the man will be."

"What will it be?"

"Jeringham."

Tait shrugged his shoulders. Knowing what he did he was by no means certain on that point.