Tait folded over the last sheet of this long letter with a sigh. Although he was pleased for Claude's sake that George Larcher was still in the land of the living, yet he was distinctly disappointed that no communication had been made likely to elucidate the mystery. Yet the result of this confession was an entire displacement of the point whence it was necessary to survey the case. The motives which had caused the supposed death of Larcher would not suffice to explain the death of Jeringham. The case had assumed a new aspect, but nevertheless it was as complex and inexplicable as ever. Tait thought of all this with inconceivable rapidity, but did not give utterance to his opinion in the presence of his friend.

"The letter is wonderful, so far," was his sole remark, "but it is a great pity that it ends so abruptly. I suppose your father will personally relate all other details, Claude, when you see him again."

The young man assumed a sitting position, and deliberately finished his wine before replying to this remark. He looked anxious and disturbed, and, now that he had recovered from the overwhelming surprise at finding his father alive, seemed less delighted than he should have been. A miracle had been wrought in his behalf; the dead had been restored to life; but he was by no means gratified by the occurrence.

"I don't know whether I shall see my father again," he said shortly.

"But, my dear friend – "

"Oh, I know all you would say," interrupted Claude hastily, with a frown; "but I am not prepared to admit your arguments. My mother is alive, my father is in existence, yet for twenty-five years I have looked on them as dead. Can you, then, wonder that I feel awkward toward them both; that I am by no means disposed to render them that filial affection which, you must admit, they but ill deserve?"

"The question is so delicate that I can only hold my peace," said Tait, after a pause. "I admit what you say. Still they are your own flesh and blood."

"I might answer you as

Hamlet

did on a like occasion," replied Claude, with a bitter smile; "but a quotation will not mend matters. What I have to consider is the advisability of seeing my father again."

"You must certainly see him again," said the other promptly.

"Why?"

"In the first place he is your father, whatever you may say, and in the second you had better tell him personally that you abandon further investigation of the case. After all, your object is gone; for though you might want to avenge the death of a parent, the murder of a scamp like Jeringham can matter nothing to you."

"Oh, that I abandon the case goes without speaking," said Claude quickly, "and you – "

"I act in the same way. The further we go into the case the more perplexing does it become. It is beyond me. Only at the Last Day will the mystery be solved. Still," added Tait meditatively, "I must admit a curiosity yet exists on my part to know who struck the blow. Of course your father's story corroborates Dicky Pental's, but the gardener mistook him for Jeringham by reason of the fancy dress."

"Does this letter suggest anything to you?"

"It narrows the field of inquiry, that is all. Your mother, your father, and Denis Bantry must necessarily be innocent, as they were in the house when the murder took place in the garden."

"If they are innocent, who is guilty?"

"We have a choice of two who were outside at the time. You can choose between Hilliston and Mona Bantry."

"Mona Bantry kill her lover! How do you make that out?"

"You forget your father's account of the scene in the sitting room," said Tait significantly; "then Mrs. Larcher asserted in the presence of Mona that she had come with Jeringham, furthermore, that he was in the garden. Mona, also jealous, acts as any other woman would have done in such a position. She goes into the garden to demand an explanation; there is a quarrel between her and Jeringham, and she kills him, then flies, not to hide her disgrace, but to evade the consequences of her act. That is a feasible theory, I think."

Claude shook his head. "I don't agree with you," he said emphatically. "You forget that we have my mother's account of the matter to place against that of my father's. If you recollect she also admitted finding my father and Mona in the sitting room; she also admits fainting, but there all resemblance between the accounts ceases. My mother distinctly says that she threatened her husband with the dagger, that it fell on the floor when she lost her senses. When she recovered them the dagger was gone. Now," continued Claude slowly, "if you remember, the crime was committed by means of the dagger, for it was found red with blood in the grounds, and then was taken possession of by the police. If my mother's account is the true one, Mona Bantry may certainly have picked up the dagger and have murdered Jeringham, as you suggest. But if my father's story is to be believed, Mona left the room before my mother fainted, and consequently could not have gained possession of the dagger. It follows as a natural consequence that she could not have committed the murder."

Tait nodded several times during this explanation, to show that he agreed with the points raised; but when Claude concluded he rubbed his chin in some perplexity.

"Here we come to a dead stop," said he impatiently. "It was asserted by the police that the murder was committed with the dagger worn by your mother as part of the fancy dress."

"Yes! If you remember, it was on that evidence she was arrested."

"Well, if she wore that dagger in the sitting room, Jeringham could not have been killed with it, because the murder must have taken place while your father was trying to pacify your mother."

Claude glanced at the letter again. "My father makes no mention of the dagger in this," he said, with a puzzled look.

"No. I should like to hear what he has to say on the subject, the more so as I incline to his story rather than to your mother's."

"For what reason?"

"In her conversation with you, Mrs. Bezel – or rather your mother – said that she had threatened your father with the dagger in the sitting room of The Laurels."

"Yes. Well?"

"If you remember the evidence given by her to the police at the time of the arrest was that she had lost the dagger at the ball, and knew not into whose hands it had fallen."

Claude looked nonplussed, and knew not what answer to make. That his mother had made two different statements he was compelled to admit. He further remembered that his father had made no statement whatsoever about the dagger. Yet on the possession of that dagger turned the whole of the case. Whoever picked it up, whether at the ball or in the sitting room, must have killed Jeringham. Assuming his father's account to be true, and Claude saw no reason to doubt its accuracy, Mona could not have committed the murder, nor could Mr. or Mrs. Larcher be guilty. It therefore followed that his mother had spoken truly to the police, and for some inexplicable reason falsely to him. The dagger must have been lost at the ball, and picked up by – whom?

"I can make nothing of it," he said, after due consideration. "The only way to get at the truth is to tell my father that his wife still lives, and bring them together. Out of their meeting good may come."

"You will then call and see your father," said Tait encouragingly.

"Yes. I must. I see no way out of it. He must be informed that my mother lives, and I am the proper person to tell him so. Though it is strange," added Claude suddenly, "that Hilliston never told him."

"Humph! That gentleman seems to serve both sides," said Tait gruffly. "Your mother speaks well of him, your father thinks no end of him, and both trust him, yet for what I can see he has deceived both."

"How?"

"Why, by keeping back the truth from each. He has let your father think your mother dead, and

vice versa

. What do you make of that?"

"I tell you I can make nothing of the whole confusion," said Claude crossly. "I will see my father and abandon the case, for I am sick of the affair. It is maddening. What a pity your lunatic did not wake up a few minutes earlier so as to see who struck the blow and thus have settled the matter? But it is not that which troubles me."

"No? What else disturbs your mind?"

"Jenny."

"Jenny?" echoed Tait, with feigned simplicity. "I am afraid I am dull. I don't see."

"You must be blind, then," retorted Claude, in an exasperated tone. "You know I love Jenny."

"Well?"

"Well, I can't love her. She is my half sister."

"Indeed!" said Tait, in nowise astonished at this announcement. "How do you make that out?"

"Why, isn't Jenny the daughter of Paynton, and isn't he my father?"

"He is your father, certainly, but I assure you Jenny is not his daughter. She is no relation to him."

"Tait! what do you mean?"

"Can't you guess?"

"No. Out with it, man! Don't keep me in suspense."

"Why," drawled Tait, enjoying the situation. "Jenny is the niece of Denis – in other words, she is the child of Mona Bantry and Jeringham."

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE GARNET SCARFPIN

That same evening Claude called to see his father. He decided to go alone, but asked Tait to repair to Rose Cottage within the hour, so that, the meeting with his newly found parent having taken place, a consultation could be held by the three regarding the proceeding with, or withdrawing, of the case. Tait especially stipulated that this arrangement should be come to, as he was desirous of seeing Mr. Larcher, senior, in order to disabuse his mind of the straight-forwardness of Hilliston. Privately, Tait believed that the lawyer would yet be found guilty of the crime. On no other grounds could he explain the attitude taken up by Hilliston since the papers had been placed in Claude's hands. The evidence of Miss Pike and Dick Pental failed to alter his idea on this point.

Tait himself was beginning to feel weary of the investigation. At every turn it took he was baffled by some fresh obstacle, and he was not ill-pleased to find that the matter was at an end so far as Claude was concerned. That young man had sworn to avenge the death of his father; but now that his father proved to be still in existence, the oath was null and void. So that, Claude married to Jenny, he would be quite willing to leave the solution of the mystery surrounding the death of Jeringham to Tait; but Tait himself determined to have nothing further to do with so wearisome a problem.

He waited considerably beyond the hour before leaving for the cottage, as he rightly considered the father and son would have much to say to one another. Moreover it was necessary to give Larcher time to overcome his emotion on learning that his wife was still in existence. Tait was by no means sure that the old gentleman would be pleased with this revelation. According to his own showing his relations with his wife had been none of the best; and to renew those relations after twenty-five years could hardly fail to be most unpleasant.

During this time Tait gave no thought to Jenny or Denis. As to the former, he was so satisfied that she was the daughter of Jeringham by Mona Bantry that he did not think it worth while to give the matter the benefit of the doubt. What he was curious to know was how Paynton, or rather Captain Larcher, came to stand in the position of an adopted father. Information on this point was conveyed to him before he reached the cottage by Denis himself.

The old servant walked briskly along the road, looking quite rejuvenated. He had heard the good news, and it had transformed his life. In place of a crabbed expression, his face appeared wonderfully cheerful, and he saluted Tait with a grin of pleasure. The other could not forbear commenting on his changed appearance, so clearly apparent even in the waning light of evening.

"Why, Kerry, you look ten years younger," he said, stopping short in his amazement, with an afterthought of Dick Pental's accusation.

"Ah, and I do that same, sir," said Denis, saluting in military fashion, "and you know why, sir."

"Are they reconciled?" asked Tait, guessing what was in the mind of the old servant.

"Begad, they are! Chattering together like two love birds, and my old master looking on with pride."

"Why, Kerry, I spoke of Captain Larcher."

"Augh, did you now, sir? I spoke of Master Claude, God bless him, and Miss Jenny, God bless her! God bless them both!" cried Kerry, taking off his hat, with a burst of affection, "and his honor along with them. Oh, glory be to the saints for this blessed day. But sure, I am forgetting my service, sir. The master is waiting to see you this very minute."

"I was just on my way," said Tait, signing to Kerry to go on. "We will walk there together. By the way, does Miss Jenny know she is not the daughter of your master?"

"She knew it all along, sir. Ah, and why should you look surprised at that, Mr. Tait? Is it because she is the niece of an old soldier like me?"

"No, no, Kerry! But, as you are aware, Miss Jenny knows the case from those newspapers she found; and in that report Jeringham – "

"I see what you mean, sir," said Kerry, touching his hat in a deprecating manner; "but sure she doesn't know all. She believes herself to be the child of my sister, Mona – who is dead, rest her soul, and of a Mr. Kennedy. We've invented a father for her, sir. 'Twould never do for her to know she was the daughter of the poor man who was killed."

"It is just as well, Kerry. Do you know who killed him?" Tait asked this question with a keen glance at the man.

"No, sir. How should I know. I ran out with the light when the captain called, but I don't know who struck him the cruel blow. He was a bad man, sir, deceiving my sister, and disgracing the Bantry family, but he is dead, and she is dead, so we'll let them rest, and the heavens be their bed!"

By this time they were at the garden door, and striking his hand over these sad memories Kerry led the visitor into the house, and showed him into the bookroom. Here were assembled Claude, his father, and Jenny, all looking supremely happy, though the old gentleman appeared to be rather shaken. He rose when Tait entered and held out his hand.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Tait," said he, in an unsteady voice, "and I thank you for the way in which you have aided my son. I feel that an apology is due to you for my behavior on your last visit."

"Don't mention it," replied Tait cordially, shaking the extended hand. "Under the circumstances you could not act otherwise. Well, Miss Paynton, am I to – "

"Don't call me Miss Paynton now, Mr. Tait," she said, smiling; "there can be no need for further concealment. I can take my own name, that of – "

"Miss Kennedy," said Tait quickly. "Do not look so surprised. Kerry told me all about it as I came along. I am at once astonished and delighted."

"I don't wonder at it," said Captain Larcher, patting Claude's hand. "You see I have found a son."

"And soon, sir, you will lose a daughter," observed Tait significantly.

"Oh, no," observed Claude, with a laugh; "when I marry Jenny we will all live together as a happy family."

"Marriage! Has it come to that?"

"You are astonished, I see, Mr. Tait," said the old gentleman, shaking his head. "I am myself. It is too soon – too sudden. They have only known each other a few weeks, and it is impossible that a union on so short an acquaintance can prove happy."

"We will have a long engagement," said Claude, "in order to prove if we truly love one another. But I am not afraid of the result."

"Neither am I," remarked Jenny, slipping her arm within that of her lover. "I am sure nothing will come between us. But come, Claude, and we will see my uncle, for I notice that Mr. Tait is anxious to speak to your father about that horrid case."

Captain Larcher nodded his approval of this, so Claude and Jenny left the room to seek Kerry, and be wept over by the old servant. Left alone with his host, Tait took a chair by the table, and they looked at one another in silence. The captain was the first to break it.

"There is no need for me to recapitulate the events of the day," he said, with a weary sigh, "as Claude told me you read my letter, and are in possession of all the facts. You may believe, Mr. Tait, that I feel considerably shaken. My interview with Claude has been rather trying. He has behaved in the most affectionate manner."

"Well, now your troubles are all at an end, Captain Larcher, and – "

"At an end, sir!" he interrupted sharply. "No, they will continue. My innocence is not yet proved, and I must still remain here under a feigned name, unless you agree to help me."

"Certainly I agree. Is it your intention and Claude's to go on with the case?"

"We have come to that decision, but I wanted to consult you before finally making up my mind. Do you think we ought to proceed?"

"I certainly do," said Tait promptly. "It is true that the police think that you are the victim. But if you want to assume your own name, inquiries would certainly be made. One is never safe in these criminal matters, even after the lapse of years. If you did declare yourself to be Captain Larcher, then it would come out that Jeringham is dead, and you would have to clear yourself. Besides, the evidence of Dicky Pental would implicate you, seeing that he mistook you in that fancy dress for Jeringham."

"True enough," replied Larcher, nodding. "And there is another reason. I have just learned that my wife is still alive, and is protected by Hilliston at Hampstead. I sent Claude out of the room so that I could ask you a plain question. Give me a plain answer, and tell me what are the relations between them."

"I don't care to answer that plainly," said Tait, with some hesitation; "but I think you can guess."

"Does Hilliston love my wife?"

"On the authority of Miss Belinda Pike, whom I saw at Horriston, I believe he does."

"And for her sake he had deceived me all these years?"

"It seems so. In fact, Captain Larcher, Hilliston has been playing a double game. He kept you and your wife apart by assuring each that the other was dead. That conduct alone stamps him as a villain. Then, again, he threw all kinds of obstacles in the way while we were investigating this case."

"What for?"

"My own opinion is that Hilliston committed the murder."

Captain Larcher clenched his hand, and thought for a few moments.

"It might be so," he muttered, more to himself than to Tait. "Hilliston was in the garden. If he loved my wife – a fact which I never suspected – he might have killed Jeringham out of jealousy."

"But the dagger! How did he obtain that?"

"No doubt at the ball. I assure you, Mr. Tait, that my wife had not the dagger when in the sitting room."

"She declares that she threatened you with it."

"Then she either forgets or speaks falsely. She wore it at the ball when I spoke to her there, but when she returned it was missing. Hilliston came with me, knowing Jeringham was with my wife. He might have picked up the dagger with the fullest intention of committing the crime. Now that I know he loved my wife I am not prepared to say how he acted in the garden while I was in the house."

"And the garnet scarfpin mentioned in the novel?"

"That belonged to Hilliston," said Larcher quickly. "I gave it to him myself. Denis picked it up in the garden, but I thought nothing of that, as I was aware Hilliston was in the grounds on that night. But now I believe – Oh, I am afraid to say what I believe. I may be wrong."

"There is one way of finding out the truth, Captain Larcher. Come up to town this week and see your wife. Then we may learn all."

The old gentleman leaned his head on his hand in deep thought for a few minutes.

"I will come," he said at length. "At whatever cost, I will force the guilty woman to own the truth."

CHAPTER XL

FACE TO FACE

The conversation between Tait and Captain Larcher was not finished that evening, as the old gentleman, worn out by the excitement of the day, early retired to bed. However, he declared that he would be shortly ready to journey to London; and Claude left the Cottage with Tait on the understanding that his father was to be called for next day. Before they parted for the night Claude made a remark about Hilliston.

"I hope he won't get wind of this," he said dubiously; "or he may get Mrs. Bezel – I can't call her mother – out of the way."

"Have no fear," replied Tait calmly. "Hilliston's hands are too full at present."

"What do you mean?"

"Why," said Tait, lighting his candle; "your father showed me a letter from Hilliston, apologizing for not coming over, as his wife was lying dangerously ill at the Connaught Hotel, at Eastbourne."

"He said something of that in his note to me. What is the matter with Mrs. Hilliston?"

"She has the smallpox."

"The smallpox!" echoed Claude, in a tone of horror. "Poor creature, she is a dead woman!"

"I don't know so much about that. She may recover."

"She may recover from the disease," said the young man gloomily; "but not from the blow to her vanity. Many a time has she told me that if she lost her looks she would kill herself. You mark my words, Tait, within the week we will hear of her death."

And with these prophetic words Claude retired to his room.

Tait had no time to think of this conversation, being occupied with anticipation regarding the meeting of Captain Larcher and his wife; but it so happened that Claude's prognostications occurred to him when the truth of the Horriston tragedy was discovered, and that was not long afterward. Perhaps, like the young men, Fate herself grew weary of an affair which had dragged on for twenty-five years. At all events she brought matters to a conclusion with almost inconceivable rapidity.

The first step toward the end was the meeting of husband and wife, which took place at Clarence Cottage, Hampstead, during the afternoon of the next day. In company with his son and Tait, the old gentleman drove to the railway station, some three miles distant, and took the up express. When established comfortably in a first-class smoking carriage – for Captain Larcher was fond of a pipe – he resumed the conversation with Tait which had been broken off on the previous night. This time the subject was Hilliston and his doings.

"I have been thinking over your suspicions regarding Hilliston," he said, addressing himself more directly to Tait, "and I confess that it is difficult to reconcile some of his actions with your view that he is guilty. Claude, as you know, was ignorant of the Horriston tragedy until enlightened by Hilliston."

"I know that, my dear sir," said Tait quietly, "Hilliston certainly placed the papers containing the account of the matter in Claude's hands, but he was forced to do so by the action of Mrs. Bezel – I beg pardon, Mrs. Larcher."

"Continue to call her Mrs. Bezel, if you please. I prefer it so. How did she force Hilliston to confide in Claude."

"Because she read the book 'A Whim of Fate,' and seeing the tragedy therein described, she wrote asking Claude to see her with the intention of telling him all. As you may guess, her story differs materially from that of Hilliston's, so of two evils, choosing the least, he determined to forestall her and inform Claude of the matter."

"And he did so by means of the press," said Claude eagerly. "In place of telling me the story himself he allowed me to gather what information I could from the scanty report of the

Canterbury Observer

. My dear father, the Genesis of the whole matter springs from the finding of those papers by Jenny. Had she not read them and told Linton the story he would not have written the book; had he not done so Mrs. Bezel would not have determined to tell me her version; and but for her threat to do so Hilliston would not have produced the papers."

"Humph! The action was compulsory on the part of Hilliston?"

"I think so, sir," said Tait complacently; "therefore it is quite in keeping with his usual character. The rat did not fight till it was driven into a corner."

"It is not in the corner," remarked Captain Larcher significantly, "but we'll drive it there and see if it will face our accusation. But what about Hilliston's introduction of Claude to me? Would it not have been to his interest to keep us apart?"

"Oh!" said Tait, with some contempt for Hilliston's diplomacy, "that was another case of necessity. He knew that Claude and I were bent on discovering the truth, so, fearing that we should do so by further investigation, he thought to stop the whole matter by bringing you face to face with your son."

"I don't see how that would accomplish his aim."

"Hilliston hoped it would do so in two ways," explained Tait glibly. "First, he hoped that you would give your consent to Claude marrying Jenny, and so lead his mind away from the case, and second, he trusted that when Claude found you alive he would no longer desire to pursue the investigation."

"He was right so far," said Claude seriously.

"If that was Hilliston's calculation, he made one great mistake," said Captain Larcher scornfully. "He did not think that I should wish to see my wife."

"He must have been satisfied that Claude would tell you she was alive."

"That, of course. But he thought I would stay at Thorston as Ferdinand Paynton, and be afraid to admit my identity even to my wife. I might have done so but for Claude. But I owe it to him to clear myself, and this meeting with my wife will be the first step toward doing so. Between us we must solve the mystery."

"It is none, so far as I am concerned," said Tait grimly. "I am sure as I am sitting here that Hilliston murdered Jeringham. The gardener was just too late to see him do the deed."

"But his motive?" asked Claude curiously.

His father and Tait stole a glance at one another. They neither of them wished to make any remarks about Mrs. Larcher and Hilliston's passion, preferring that Claude should be ignorant of that episode. Still when he asked so direct a question it was difficult to avoid a direct answer, but Larcher gave him one which was sufficiently evasive to stop further inquiries.

"We must try and find out his motive," he said quietly. "Depend upon it, Claude, there is a good deal of underhand work in this of which we know nothing."

"Do you think Mona committed the crime?"

"No, I do not. In no way could she have gained possession of the dagger with which it was committed."

"My mother says she had a dagger in the sitting room."

"That is a mistake," said Captain Larcher, using as delicate a word as he could think of. "She threatened me with the sheath of the dagger, and no doubt, being agitated at the time, she thought it was the weapon itself. But I noticed when she entered the room that the sheath was empty. Her story to the police at the time of the trial is more likely. She lost it in the ballroom. The question is, who picked it up? Judging from the knowledge I now have of his character I believe it was Hilliston who did so."

"Or Jeringham," said Tait suddenly.

"Impossible! How could Jeringham have found it?"

"He was with Mrs. Larcher all the ev