Part 19 (1/2)

Somehow I didn't like him to go on fancying quaint things about my character, and by the time he'd deposited Bertie on a huge sofa like a young bed, I had plunged into my story.

I told him all from beginning to end; and when I'd reached the latter, to my surprise Jim jumped up and shook my hands. ”Are you congratulating me?” I asked.

”No. It's because I'm so pleased I don't need to!”

”You mean?”

”Well, let's put it that I'm glad Burns may have to be congratulated some day on being engaged to the Baroness Scarlett, instead of to--the Princess Miramare.”

So, he _had_ known of my activities, and had misunderstood my interest in Terry! Brighteners alas! are always being misunderstood.

”I'd forgotten,” I said, primly, ”that the _women_ of the Scarlett family inherit the t.i.tle if there's no son. That would account for a _lot_!... And so you don't think my theory of what's going on at Dun Moat is too melodramatic?”

”My experience is,” said Jim, ”that nothing is ever quite so melodramatic as real life. I believe this Cecil girl must be a legitimate daughter of the chap who died in Australia. She must have proofs, and they're probably where the Scarlett family can't lay hands on them, otherwise she'd be under the daisies before this. That Defarge type you talk about doesn't stop at trifles, especially if it's made in Germany. And we both know Scarlett's reputation. I needn't call him 'Lord Scarlett' any more! But what beats me is this: why did the fly walk into the spider-web? If the girl had common sense she must have seen she wouldn't be a welcome visitor, coming to turn her uncle out of home and t.i.tle for himself and son. Yet you say she brought presents for the kid.”

”I wonder,” I thought aloud, ”if she could have meant to suggest some friendly compromise? Maybe she'd heard a lot from her father about the marvellous old place. Grandmother said, I remember, that Cecil Scarlett was so poor he lived in Australia like a labourer, though his father died here, while he was there, and he inherited the t.i.tle. Think what the description of Dun Moat would be like to a girl brought up in the bus.h.!.+ And maybe her mother was of the lower cla.s.ses, as no one knew about the marriage. What if the daughter came into money from sheep or mines, or something, and meant to propose living at Dun Moat with her uncle's family? I can _see_ her, arriving _en surprise_, full of enthusiasm and loving-kindness, which wouldn't 'cut ice' with Madame Defarge!”

”Not much!” agreed Jim, grimly. ”_She'd_ calmly begin knitting the shroud!”

So we talked on, thras.h.i.+ng out one theory after another, but sure in any case that there _was_ a prisoner at Dun Moat. Jim made me quite proud by applauding my plot, and didn't need to be asked before offering to help carry it out. Indeed, as my ”sole living relative” (he put it that way), he would now take the whole responsibility upon himself. The police were not to be called in except as a last resort: and that night or next day, according to the turn of the game, the trump card I'd pulled out of the pack should be played for all it was worth!

CHAPTER IX

THE RAT TRAP

Did you ever see a wily gray rat caught in a trap? Or, still more thrilling, a _pair_ of wily gray rats?

This is what I saw that same night when I'd motored back from Courtenaye Abbey to Dawley St. Ann.

But let me begin with what happened first.

Jim wished to go with me, to be on hand in case of trouble. But the reason why I'd hoped to find him at the Abbey was because we have a secret room there which everyone knows (including tourists at a s.h.i.+lling a head), and at least one more of which no outsiders have been told. The latter might come in handy, and I begged Jim to ”stand by,” pending developments.

I'd asked Terry to dine and had forgotten the invitation; consequently he was at the inn in a worried state when I returned. He feared there had been an accident, and had not known where to seek for my remains.

But in my private parlour over a hasty meal (I was starving!) I told him the tale as I had told it to Jim.

Of course he behaved just as I'd expected--leaped to his feet and proposed breaking into the wing of the garden court.

”They may kill her to-night!” he raged. ”They'll be capable of anything when they find the boy gone.”

I'd hardly begun to point out that the girl had never been in less danger, when someone tapped at the door. We both jumped at the sound, but it was only a maid of the inn. She announced that a servant from Dun Moat was asking for me, on business of importance.

Terry and I threw each other a look as I said, ”Give Captain Burns time to go; then bring the person here.”

Terry went at my command, but not far; he was ordered to the public parlour--to toy with Books of Beauty. Of course it was old Hedwig Kramm who had come.

Her eyes darted hawk glances round the room, seeming to penetrate the chintz valances on chairs and sofa! She announced that the son of Lord Scarlett was lost. Search was being made. She had called to learn if I had seen him.

”Why do you think of _me_?” I inquired arrogantly.