CHAPTER XV
THE PROFESSOR'S COURTING
Disappointed of the fortune, Bocaros had to keep on teaching at the suburban school. He disliked the drudgery of the task, and hated the boys who did not always treat him respectfully. The poor man had a miserable time, and the loneliness of his life at the Refuge did not tend to cheer him. What with his disappointment, the dampness of his house, his straitened circumstances, let alone the fact that he was in love, Professor Bocaros found life very hard.
He really adored Emily Doon. As she had told Jasher, Bocaros had rescued her from the insults of a ruffian, and since then she had been kind to the lawman. At first it did not enter her head to marry him, as she knew how desperately poor he was. But Bocaros was a gentleman, and Emily warmly desired to marry above her rank. She was a handsome, ambitious girl with some education, and from reading novels such as Mrs. Baldwin loved, she became imbued with the idea that she was destined for a romantic life. Her visions included a title, a large income, beautiful dresses, and the envy of every one she knew. She painted a picture of her calling as a countess on Mrs. Fane and of crushing that stately lady with patronage. Emily did not like Mrs. Fane very much, as she found her a somewhat severe mistress. Therefore she was anxious to marry as soon as possible. But those who sought her hand were in trade, and Bocaros was the only gentleman who seemed to admire her in a genteel and respectful way.
The conversation with Jasher put a different complexion on the affair. According to the professor's man of business, who certainly must know what he was talking about, Bocaros was a baron, and was likely to come in for money. It was true that no details had been given, but the mere hint was sufficient for Emily. She at once decided to encourage the professor instead of snubbing him, and to this end, having dressed herself in her best things, she went to pay a visit shortly after five o'clock, an hour when she knew Bocaros would be within.
The professor was seated over a small fire, staring darkly into its red heart, with folded arms. Outside, the twilight was darkening to night and the wind was rising. But Bocaros did not pay any attention to the doings of nature. He was wrapped up in the contemplation of his own troubles. Already he had finished his frugal meal and had put away the dishes as was his custom. Usually, having lighted his big pipe, he would read, but on this evening the book lay unopened and the pipe was laid aside. He began to feel keenly his poverty now that he was in love. There seemed to be no chance of his marrying Emily, and so far as he could see, unless he could bend his pride to accept money from Calvert he would have to pass the rest of his days in that damp house until too old to earn his bread. Then the wolf would rush in at the door and drive him to the workhouse. No wonder the poor man was angered by the good fortune of Arnold.
When a sharp knock came to the door, Bocaros, wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, took no notice. Again came the knock in a still more peremptory manner. This time he heard, and wondering who was calling on such a recluse as himself, he went to the door. Here he expected to find Tracey or Mrs. Baldwin, who were the only people who ever came to the dull little house in the fields. But when he saw Emily fashionably arrayed, smirking at the door and flashing her great eyes on him, the poor man was so amazed that he fell back a step and gasped.
"I hope I'm not unwelcome," said Miss Doon, with dignity.
"Ah, my dear young lady, enter my humble home," gasped the professor, wondering if this was all "a beautiful dream. How can you think but what I am honoured far beyond my worth."
"The foreign style of compliment," simpered Emily entering, "is what I would expect from one of the nobility."
"Bocaros did not hear. He conducted her to the study and made her sit in the big armchair. Then he heaped on coals and wood in reckless profusion, and volunteered to make his fair visitor a cup of tea.
"The English love tea," said the professor, hastening to the kitchen. "In a moment you shall have some, mademoiselle."
"How sweet," sighed Emily, who liked the foreign title. But when alone she cast her eyes round the room, and mentally decided that Bocaros was even harder up than she expected to find him. Emily was a shrewd girl where her vanity was not concerned, and had no notion of throwing herself away. Unless she knew for certain that Bocaros was a baron and that the money would really come to him, she decided that she would never permit him to make her his wife. She was fond of fine dress, in which her wages did not permit her to indulge. Already she was in debt, and should the professor propose she knew not how she would be able to get a trousseau together worthy of the occasion. "But I can get Fanny to help," thought the astute Emily. Fanny was Mrs. Varney. "She will do anything when she hears I have decided to marry a foreign nobleman like Count Fosco in the Woman in White!" which comparison was rather hard on the guileless Bocaros.
Shortly he returned with a cup of tea. Emily accepted the attention graciously. But the tea was inferior, the china was thick, so she made a wry face and drank very little of the comforting beverage. The professor did not notice her distaste. He closed the window, drew the threadbare curtains and lighted the lamp. Having made the room as comfortable as was possible he sat down and poked the fire into a brighter blaze, then smiled cheerfully at Miss Doon. She was secretly amazed at the result produced by her visit in the man's looks. He appeared to be years younger-there was a colour in his face, a softer light in his aggressive eyes, and his demeanour was almost gay. She thought that if he were better dressed and had more flesh on his poor bones, he might be a handsome man after a sort. She might do worse than marry him, always presuming that he really had a title, and was possessed-in the near future-of money.
"You have no idea what pleasure it gives me to see you seated at my poor hearth," said Bocaros, smiling brightly.
"It's very nice," replied Emily, also smiling. "But I suppose some day you will be able to afford a better house?"
"I might. One never knows, as you English say. And were I rich, do you know what I should do?"
"Marry, I suppose. When a gentleman has a house he always looks for a lady to share it."
"The difficulty is to get the lady."
"Oh, really, sir, in your case there should be no difficulty."
Bocaros brightened still more. "Do you really think so, mademoiselle? I am old, I am poor, I have no position, and-"
"But a baron has a position!"
"Who told you I was a baron?" asked Bocaros suspiciously.
"Mr. Jasher, your man of business. Isn't it true?"
"Yes," said the Greek slowly, and with his eyes on the fire, "it is strictly true. I am a baron in my country, as I come of a noble family. But I dropped the title when I came to teach in England. Yes! I told Jasher I was a baron. How did he come to tell you?"
"There was no need for Bocaros to ask this question. Jasher had reported the conversation to him, and had advised him to resume his title if he wished to make an impression on Miss Doon's worldly heart. As a matter of fact Bocaros was really entitled to the title he claimed. He belonged to a decayed family and the title was all that remained. As it was out of keeping in his position, and the man was proud, he never gave any one to understand that he had this rank, and was contented with the appellation of professor. Unused to the ways of women, it had never struck him that the title would be of value in Miss Doon's eyes when it was not gilded with money. But he saw from her looks that she really thought a great deal of it, and mentally thanked Jasher for having supplied him with this bird-lime to lure his fowl.
"How delightful!" said Miss Doon. "And your wife will be a baroness?"
"Oh yes. But where am I to find a wife?"
Emily's eyes told him, but with the ineradicable coquetry of a woman her tongue contradicted her glances. "Good gracious me, baron" – she rolled the sweet morsel on her tongue-"how should I know? Really I wish you would not look at me like that. It's hardly proper for a young lady to call on a foreign nobleman. I believe they are not to be trusted. The noblemen, you know-so gay and dashing they are."
Bocaros laughed a little sadly. "I fear I am anything but that," he said. "Not at all the bridegroom for you."
"Really, professor-I must call you by the dear old name-I hope you are not making a proposal."
"Does it offend you?" asked Bocaros timidly.
"I'm sure I don't know. I have never been proposed to before, as I have always been hard to suit."
"Would I suit you?"
"Miss Doon having extracted a direct question got to business at once, but veiled her common-sense under a delightful confusion. I really don't know, baron-I must call you by that name, it sounds so high-class-really I don't know. Of course I was born for a coronet."
"It would look well on that delicate head."
"I'm sure it would," replied Miss Doon, with conviction. "But you see, baron, I must have a gold coronet, and you" – she looked round the room.
"Yes," said Bocaros sadly. "I am poor-miserably poor. But," his eyes blazed so suddenly that she drew back startled, "you may be able to make me rich."
"Baron, I do not grasp your meaning."
Bocaros looked at her doubtfully. "Are you a strong-minded woman?" he asked; "are you willing to do something for money?"
Emily grew nervous. "What do you mean, professor?"
"I mean that I can obtain an income of some thousands a year if you will help me to get it."
The bait was too tempting for Miss Doon to resist, so she nibbled.
"So long as it is anything a lady can do," she observed modestly. "And I am confident, baron, that you would not like the future bearer of your noble coronet to do anything wrong."
"You could never do wrong in my eyes."
"Ah, but there are other eyes one has to consider," said Emily in a shrewd manner. "You had better speak plainly."
"I will, if you promise to hold your tongue. If what I am about to say gets abroad, farewell to the money and to my resuming my title."
"It's nothing wrong, I hope," faltered Emily, rather taken aback by this earnestness. "Although I am not a prude I should never think of doing anything to-"
"No, no! All I ask you to do is to give me some information."
"Information! Good gracious! what information can I give you?"
"Bocaros rose and began to walk with his hands in his pockets. I suppose you remember the White Room crime," he said slowly.
Miss Doon shrieked. "Oh, don't talk of it, baron. It has ruined my nerves. I can't-"
The professor interrupted ruthlessly. "Has it ruined the nerves of your mistress?" he asked sharply.
Emily sat up and became more of a servant and an artful woman. "What's that?"
"Must I put the matter plainly?" sneered the professor?
"Yes," she replied quietly, "if you wish me to understand."
"Then I will. The woman who was murdered was my cousin. She left me ten thousand a year-hush, don't interrupt. Arnold Calvert, however, got round her in some way and she altered her will, leaving the money, which was rightfully mine, to him. I hate him, and I want half the money at least. I have reason to believe that he killed this woman-hush, don't interrupt-and if I can bring the crime home to him, I can make him hush it up by his giving me five thousand a year. If you will help me to prove his guilt, I will marry you and make you a baroness as soon as the income is safe."
"Emily stared, and in her clever mind calculated the chances of benefiting by this confidence. I don't see how I can help," she said, to gain time.
"I do. Did you read the case as reported in the papers?"
"Yes. But it said nothing about Mr. Calvert."
"He was the young man who spoke to the constable. Now, when he left the house my cousin was lying dead in the White Room, and a woman, to distract the attention of the police, was singing. The song that she sung is a favourite of Mrs. Fane's."
Emily now began to see whither these remarks tended. "Yes?"
"Yes!" repeated the professor impatiently. "Is that all you have to say? Do you not understand?"
"No, I don't, really, I don't."
"Bah!" he turned his back roughly on her. "You are of no use to me."
"But I may be," said Miss Doon meaningly.
"Yes. If you like. Do you know what I want?"
"You want to make out that Mrs. Fane was singing in the room."
Bocaros nodded. "I know Mrs. Fane was supposed to be at the seaside. But you told Jasher that you did something for Mrs. Fane, and would not betray her. What was it you did?"
"I said I would not betray her," said Emily, not seeing how the affair would turn out to her advantage.
"Then you will never be my wife."
"If you loved me-"
"It is not a question of love," he interrupted imperiously. "How can I marry you and bring you to this hovel?"
"I should not come. Give me a good home and-"
"Well," he interrupted again impatiently, "the chance of obtaining a good home lies in your hands. I swear I will make you a baroness if you will help me to get the money."
Emily fenced. "Do you think Mr. Calvert is guilty?" she asked.
"Yes, decidedly. I am as sure of that, as I am that Mrs. Fane was in the room assisting him to escape."
"But why should she do that?"
"Because she loves him-"
"Oh, good gracious!" Miss Doon started from her seat. "Really, that is impossible."
"I tell you she loves him," repeated Bocaros grimly, "and that is why she is so averse to her sister marrying him. Calvert got to know that the will was made in his favour, and lured Flora to the White Room. There Calvert or Mrs. Fane killed her-don't shriek."
"I must," said Miss Doon excitedly. "Do you think that Mrs. Fane-Oh, I can't believe-And yet-"
"Ah! Then she was up in town on that night?"
"I never said so," retorted Emily promptly.
"What is the use of fencing in this way?" cried Bocaros roughly. "I am sure that my guess is correct. I was certain after what you let slip to Jasher, and-"
"She has been a good mistress to me," said Emily, crying.
"Because she chose to. But she is a hard and cruel woman!"
"She's all that. She would kill me, did she know that I told."
"Bah! Once in the hands of the law she can do nothing. Come, Emily, my dear wife that is to be, tell me. She was in town."
"Yes," confessed Emily. Then, having taken the leap, she hurried on: "I will tell you all now, but mind you keep your promise. If you don't, I will deny everything; and you can't do without me."
The professor kissed her hand gravely. "I have no wish to do without you, my dear," he said. "Go on; tell me all."
"When we were at the seaside," said Miss Doon, sitting down again, "I noticed that the mistress was worried. She got worse and worse, and always quarrelled with her husband."
"Was he with her all the time?"
"Yes. On the twenty-fourth-"
"The time of the murder," said Bocaros, under his breath.
"Mr. Fane received a letter which made him turn pale. I took the letters up to him in the morning-room, as the man asked me to. When he opened the letter he turned pale, and put it into his pocket. Mrs. Fane was in the room. She looked sharply at him, but said nothing. But when I left they had a quarrel. At all events, Mrs. Fane looked furious all the day. Mr. Fane said he was ill with a cold-"
"Was he really ill?" asked the professor suspiciously.
"Well, he had a cold, but not a bad enough one to make him go to bed as he did. He took to his room, and Mrs. Fane attended to him herself. All day she was with him. Just before six she came out of his room, and told his man that he was asleep and was not to be disturbed. She then called me into her room, and told me that she had to go away on business. She did not want it to be known that she was out of the house, and asked me to put on one of her dresses and sit all the evening in the drawing-room till she came back."
"Did she explain why she went to town?"
"No. Nor did I ask. I never thought that anything was wrong. I fancied she might have gone up to see Mr. Frederick Mason, as she was always calling on him. She had quarrelled with her husband, so I thought the letter he received was about some business that was wrong-"
"What business?"
"The business of Mason & Son. Mr. Fane is a partner with Mr. Mason, but Mrs. Fane attends to matters. As I say, she often went to see her brother, and I thought she did so on this night unbeknown to Mr. Fane. For that reason, as I supposed, she wanted me to pretend to be her, so that neither he nor the servants would think she had been out of the house. I said Mr. Fane might want me, but she said he would not, as she had given him a sleeping-draught, and he would not awaken till the morning. Well, she paid me so well that I agreed. I put on her dress and sat in the drawing-room. She told the servants to go to bed when they liked, as she would require nothing more. So all the evening I was not disturbed, and the servants, thinking I had gone out-I made up a story for them," said Emily artfully-"never came near me. My mistress caught the six train up."
"At what time did she come back?"
"After midnight. She caught the last train down."
"Did she seem disturbed?"
"Not at all. She simply came in and said that she had done her business. Then she paid me the money and sent me to bed, after hearing that all was well, and that the other servants suspected nothing. Then she remained in the drawing-room looking over some papers."
"You suspected nothing wrong?"
"I did not," replied Miss Doon, with assurance. "Not until you spoke of her singing the song did I think anything wrong."
"Yet you read the report at the inquest."
"I did. But it never struck me that-"
"I see," interrupted Bocaros, rubbing his hands. "Well, you can be quite sure, Emily, that Mrs. Fane came to Ajax Villa on that night. Can she drive a motor-car?"
"Yes. She had one down at Westcliff-on-Sea."
"Then it's her, without a doubt. She stole Tracey's motor-car, and leaving it in Charing Cross station-yard, went along by the underground to Liverpool Street, where she caught the last train. Jasher told me that Tracey's own idea is, that a woman did this, and that a woman killed Mrs. Brand. Ah! with your evidence we'll have her."
"What will you do?"
"Do?" said the professor. "I'll get five thousand a year from Calvert, or have both him and Mrs. Fane arrested. Your evidence will hang her and give him a life-sentence."
CHAPTER XVI
A SURPRISE
Tracey, in the interests of the lovers, continued to live in the cottage at Hampstead. Webb had let him the house furnished, and Luther made himself comfortable in a bachelor fashion. He cooked his own meals, and made his own bed, and kept the house as neat as a new pin. One day Gerty came to see him, accompanied by her mother. How she induced that lymphatic woman to come was a mystery. Tracey was not easily astonished, but he was fairly taken aback when he saw stout Mrs. Baldwin being towed up the path by Gerty. It was like a breathless steam-tug conducting a three-decker out of port.
"What I've suffered," said Mrs. Baldwin, sinking into a basket-chair which almost collapsed under her weight, "no one can understand."
"Oh come, mother," said Gerty cheerfully, "you had a cab to the top of the hill, and my arm to the door."
"You are nothing to lean upon," sighed Mrs. Baldwin. "If it was Rufus, now. He had an arm like a blacksmith, and the soul of a poet."
Tracey giggled. He was amused by Mrs. Baldwin's whimsical ways. "Will you tell me what brought you here?" he asked, with his arm round Gerty.
"You may well ask that," said Mrs. Baldwin, fanning herself with her handkerchief; "and if you have such a thing as wine-"
"Only whisky-old Bourbon," snapped Luther, and supplied Mrs. Baldwin with a brimming glass in spite of her asseveration that she never took such strong drink. If not, she appreciated it, and finished the glass while talking.
"Gerty must tell you what I want," she said, nursing the glass.
Luther turned to his fiancée with an inquiring look. Something very strange must have occurred to bring Mrs. Baldwin so far.
"Mother is upset," said Gerty: "she fancies she saw her husband."
"My second," explained Mrs. Baldwin. "Not Gerty's father, who was a gentleman, but Rufus."
"The man with the blacksmith's arm and poet's soul," said Luther. "I thought he was dead and buried long ago."
"No," said the old lady. "I have never seen any announcement of his death. He is alive, and I saw him. Two nights ago I was reclining in the parlour, trying to soothe my nerves with a novel. Rufus appeared at the window, which was open, the night being warm. I shrieked aloud at the sight of his face. He ran away," finished Mrs. Baldwin, sighing.
"Didn't you light out after him?"
"I went out to rebuke him for his desertion of the twins. But he was gone like a dream. I have come to you to ask if you will advertise for Rufus. Assure him that all will be forgotten."
"Is there anything to forget?" asked Gerty.
Mrs. Baldwin suddenly sat up with energy, and her eyes glittered. No one would have thought that she possessed such spirit. "Yes," she said, in a hard voice, "there is much to forget. Rufus treated me like a brute. He always was a brute."
"Then why do you wish to forgive him?"
"Because I do," said Mrs. Baldwin doggedly.
"Were I you," said Luther, after a pause, "I would leave the cuss alone. Think of your children."
"I want him back," said Mrs. Baldwin, and softened her tone. "All will be forgiven and forgotten."
But, even as she said this, Tracey saw a nasty glitter in her eye. He was not so sure that Mrs. Baldwin was actuated by Christian intentions in wanting her lost husband back. In spite of her apparent good-nature, she was petty and spiteful. It might be, that she wished her husband back to make things hot for him. "Tell me really why you wish him to return?" said Luther.
Mrs. Baldwin breathed hard, and looked at her daughter. "Send Gerty out of the room," she said suddenly, and forthwith this was done. When alone with Tracey, who was more puzzled than ever, Mrs. Baldwin again became energetic. "There was a diamond necklace," she said.
"Ah," replied the American, whistling; "I see, Rufus nabbed it?"
Mrs. Baldwin took no notice. "I want my necklace back," she said; "it was given to me by Gerty's father, and I intend to present her with it on her wedding-day. You are to marry her, Mr. Tracey; so if you want Gerty to look a lady, as she always is, you will catch Rufus, and make him give up the necklace."
Tracey smiled, and shook his head. "It's not to be done, Mrs. Baldwin. Your husband's been gone for years, and the necklace has long ago been sold. Besides, you would have to prosecute him. Think of the children, ma'am."
"I want back my diamond necklace," said Mrs. Baldwin, who was like a very obstinate child. "Oh, how I hated that man!" In her rage she forgot her pretended weakness. "Mr. Tracey," she rose to her feet in a kind of cold fury, worthy of Mrs. Fane, "Rufus was a brute. Why I married him I don't know. He said he had money, and he hadn't. I found out that at one time he had been in gaol for burglary. No wonder he took my diamond necklace. I want him caught and punished. I have always spoken well of him all these years for the children's sake, but I have never forgotten his brutal ways, Mr. Tracey." In real earnest, she laid her fat hand on his arm. "That man struck me. He spent my money; he made love to the servants. He was all that was bad-a thief, a liar, a profligate, a-"
"That's all right," said Luther soothingly, and led her back to her seat, where she sat and sobbed. "The man was a bad egg. In that case let him alone, for the children's sake. Can he touch your money?"
"No. Gerty's father left it all in my own name. I am free of him in every way."
"Then you let him alone. He has deserted you for over seven years, so he can't come back to make things unpleasant, and-"
"Let him come," said Mrs. Baldwin viciously. "I want him to come. I'll make things unpleasant for him-the brute."
"But you never said anything of this before, ma'am?"
"No," replied the woman heavily. "Because he passed out of my memory, so to speak. But when I saw his face at the window, it all came back to me-all-all. I want him caught and punished;" she caught Tracey's arm. "He is a burglar, mind, and he may break into my house and kill me. You don't know what a scoundrel he is."
"Yet you always gave us to understand that he was a good sort."
"For the children's sake. That's why I sent Gerty out of the room. I don't want her to know, although he is no kith or kin of hers."
"Then you leave things as they are, ma'am, for the children's sake."
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, between her teeth. "If I catch him, and the law won't punish him, I'll do so myself. I'll keep a pistol by me. I'll shoot him if he attempts to enter my house! Yes, I will."
"Tracey was amazed at the change in the woman. The lazy, good-natured creature he knew was gone, and in her place stood a woman as vindictive as the adventuress of an Adelphi drama. He asked for a description of Rufus Baldwin, but by this time Mrs. Baldwin had changed her mind.
"No, I shan't tell you any more," she said quietly. "You forget what I have said. Don't advertise. The law won't punish him, and I dare say my diamond necklace has gone to pieces by this time. I'll keep a pistol beside me, and shoot him if he comes."
"No! no! He won't come again."
"Yes he will. He came the other night. I saw him at the window. I cried out at the sight of his wicked face. But I won't scare him away next time. No, I'll wait and let him come near me, then I'll kill him. That's what I'll do," and then she began gradually to relapse into the lazy woman who had entered. "How hot it is."
In compliance with her request Tracey went out to call Gerty. He was astonished by the sudden changes in Mrs. Baldwin's demeanour, and asked Gerty a question. "Say, does your momma drink?"
"No. Certainly not, Luther. Why do you ask?"
"Well, she's that queer."
"Something has upset her, I know," said Gerty quickly; "what is it?"
Mrs. Baldwin appeared at the door and answered that question. "Don't tell her," she said sharply. "Gerty dear, you are too inquisitive. I am upset by the appearance of Rufus-that's all."
"Is Luther to advertise?" asked Gerty, wondering.
"No," Mrs. Baldwin walked to the gate, "I have a better way than that-a much better way," and she opened the gate.
"Say," Tracey detained Gerty, "do you sleep in your mother's room?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because she's got a kind of craze about that husband of hers. You make some excuse and sleep in her room for a week or so till she forgets that the man came back. And if you see anything queer wire me, I'll be down in a shake. You catch on, Gerty B.?"
"No. What do you-"
Before Tracey could reply Mrs. Baldwin hailed them. "Here's Mr. Calvert. Gerty, come away," so the girl reluctantly had to go to her mother, but not before she whispered Tracey to write and explain.
"Can't, my dear," he whispered back uneasily. "I promised to hold my tongue. But keep an eye on your mother. Now do."
"There was no time to say any more, as Mrs. Baldwin was coming up the path with Arnold. She was telling him of her sufferings at great length, and nothing remained of the virago who had displayed such fierceness in the white room, save an unusually high colour. Tracey nodded to Calvert, who looked rather excited. Then came the toil of getting Mrs. Baldwin away, which took as long a time as it usually does to launch a ship. At last the cab drove off, and Gerty waved a farewell handkerchief to Tracey. Then the young men went into the house.
"I don't envy you Mrs. Baldwin, Tracey," said Calvert.
"I guess you've hit the bull's-eye," replied the American gloomily; "she's not such a fool as she looks, that old ma'am."
"Oh, she doesn't look a fool," said Arnold easily, "only lazy."
"And she ain't that neither. I guess there's spirit in the old party. You could have knocked me down flat when she rose on her hind legs."
"Was she-er-on her hind legs?" inquired Calvert delicately.
"Considerable! But it's private business. Only I hope I won't be mixed up with another murder case. One's good enough for me, anyhow!"
"Do you mean to say-" began Arnold startled.
"That she knows anything to the circus we're running? No, I don't. She's got her own little Sheol-sulphur, match, and all. Let her slide. I dare say it's all bunkum."
"What is?"
"Calvert, if you ask any more questions I'll chuck the case."
"Oh, beg pardon," said Arnold, astonished at seeing the usually good-tempered man so roused, "don't mind my asking questions. I forgot the business was private."
"Won't be long," said Tracey savagely, "if she's on the kind of job she's trying to carry out. Well," he raised his voice, "what's the best news with you?"
"This," replied Calvert quietly, and from his pocket produced a scrap of paper. Tracey without displaying any wonder looked at it. It was half a sheet of pink writing-paper and contained only one line written across lengthways. "If you get the money look under the coffee stain!" Tracey read and re-read this, then raised his puzzled eyes. "What's this, Calvert?"
"That," replied the young man calmly, "is a piece of paper which I received from Merry this morning!"
"Was it enclosed in an envelope?"
"Arnold handed the envelope which he was holding. It was addressed to 'Arnold Calvert' in a woman's hand of the sloping Italian kind. The writing on the paper was also in the same handwriting. I guess as Merry gave you this, and it's a woman's hand, that it comes from your dead cousin," said Tracey.
"I thought so!"
"Didn't she give it to Merry?"
"No, I went to the office this morning to look at some deeds connected with the property. They had to turn out the deed-box. It is large and hadn't been turned out to the very bottom for some time. As we searched, Merry picked up that envelope which was closed. He gave it to me. Merry says he never saw it before, so I expect poor Flora slipped it into the box one day when he was out of the room."