Having, as he considered, prepared the ground by acquainting Claude with the notabilities of the neighborhood, Tait next proceeded to secure an interview with Kerry. This was by no means an easy matter, as, either by accident or design, Kerry eluded all the young men's attempts to interview him. Hitherto he had been accustomed to fish daily in the Lax, but now, doubtless by direction of his master, he forsook his customary sport for some considerable time. His absence speedily roused Tait's suspicions.

"Hilliston has succeeded well," said he, after one of these futile attempts to see the old servant. "He has put Jeringham on his guard."

"Paynton, you mean," observed Claude, looking up from his plate. They were at breakfast when this conversation took place.

"I thought you had determined in your own mind that he was Jeringham."

"No," said Claude, coloring a little; "I have come round to your opinion in the matter. If Paynton were Jeringham, I don't think Denis Bantry would be in his service."

"Ah!" remarked Tait sarcastically, "is that the result of reflection or of love?"

"Of love? I don't understand you."

"Yes, you do, Claude. You are in love with Jenny. The last week has only deepened your first impressions. I believe she likes you also, and so I foresee a marriage which will rob me of my friend."

"I am not so certain of that as you are," said Larcher, after a pause. "Miss Paynton has given me no hint of her feelings, and our acquaintance is yet young. Even if I did design to make her my wife, I would have to gain her consent, and that of her father. Judging from Paynton's present attitude that consent would most probably be refused."

Tait did not immediately reply, but stared out of the window with an absent look in his eyes. The remark changed the current of his ideas.

"I wonder who Paynton can be?" he said at length, with some hesitation. "That he is connected with the case I am certain from the way in which he has profited by the warning of Hilliston. Like yourself, I have my doubts regarding his identity with Jeringham, because of Denis Bantry. Who is he? I must go to Horriston to-morrow and find out."

"And what am I to do in the meantime?"

"Hunt out Kerry and learn the truth," said Tait coolly. "I think, after all, it will be best for you to see him alone. I am a stranger, and he won't speak before me; but to you, the son of his old master, he may open his heart. Once he does that you may learn the truth."

"I doubt it."

"Well, there is a chance. Whatever tie binds Denis to Paynton, you must not forget that he is Irish. The Irish are an impulsive and excitable race, so it is just possible that his feelings may carry him away in your presence, and he may tell you all we wish to know."

"Do you think he can solve the mystery?"

"Yes. He was in the house when Jeringham came home with your mother; he picked up the garnet pin, and, it may be, can tell us to whom it belongs. It may be the property of Hilliston, as is stated in the novel; on the other hand it may belong to your father or to Jeringham. Of one point I am sure, the person who owned the pin killed your father. Kerry, or rather Denis Bantry, knows the owner, and consequently the murderer."

"If so, why did he not denounce him?"

"There you puzzle me," said Tait, rising to his feet; "that is one of the many mysteries of this case. Only Denis can explain, and he may do so to you. I shall stay at home this morning, and prepare for my journey to Horriston; but you had better take your fishing rod and go to your post."

The post alluded to was on the banks of the Lax, where for the past week the young men had patiently waited for the appearance of Denis. On this morning Claude found himself alone for the first time; and sat down with a disconsolate air, for he had little hope that Denis would make his appearance. In this surmise he was wrong, for scarcely had he been seated half an hour when the Irishman came slowly along on the opposite bank of the river.

He was a little old man, gray as a badger, with stooped shoulders, and a cross-looking face. Without vouchsafing a look in Claude's direction, he prepared his fishing tackle and began industriously to whip the stream. Hardly knowing how to break the ice, Larcher silently continued his sport, and the two, divided by the water, stood like statues on opposite banks.

After a time Denis, who had been cunningly taking stock of Claude, and wondering why his letter had not produced the effect intended, moved down to where the stream narrowed itself between large stones. Determined to invent some excuse for speaking, Larcher followed after a time, and stepped out on to a bowlder, apparently to throw his line into a likely looking pool. Being within reach, he flung his line, and the next moment it was entangled in that of Kerry's.

"I'm sorry! Quite an accident," said Claude, noting the wrath on Kerry's face. "Let me disentangle it."

He jumped into the brown water and, before Kerry could make any objection, was across on the other side, gripping the lines. Without a word the Irishman let him separate the two lines, and then busied himself with fixing a fly. Nettled at this determined silence Claude spoke.

"I wish to speak with you," he said, tapping the other on the shoulder.

"Is it to me ye speak?" replied Kerry, with an admirable look of surprise; "and what has the like of you, sir, to say to me?"

"A great deal. Do you know who I am?"

"Sure, an' I do, sir. The friend of Mr. Tait, you are no less."

"But my name. Do you know it?"

"Bad luck to this stream, there's never a fish in it," grumbled Kerry, with a convenient attack of deafness.

Claude was in nowise angered.

"That is very clever, Kerry," he said; "but – "

"An' how do you know my name is Kerry?"

"Are you surprised that I should know it?"

"I am that," replied Kerry sharply. "I never set eyes on you before."

"Oh, yes, you did – twenty-five years ago."

"Begorra, that's a lie, anyhow!" muttered Kerry, under his breath, with an uneasy wriggle.

"It is not a lie, and you know it, my man," said Larcher firmly; "it is no use your pretending ignorance. I know who you are."

"Devil a doubt of it! Kerry, you called me."

"Yes! Because you are known by that name here. But at Horriston – "

Claude stopped. He saw the hands of the old man grip the rod so tight that the knuckles whitened. The name had produced the effect he intended. So, almost without a pause, he continued, and aimed another blow at Kerry's imperturbability. "At Horriston," he resumed, "you were known as Denis Bantry."

"Was I, now?" said Kerry, prepared for the attack. "Augh, to think of it! And where might Horriston be, sir?"

"You ought to know that, Denis."

"Your honor will be after giving me the name of a friend of yours."

"Quite right," rejoined Claude, seizing the opportunity. "You were – nay, you are – a friend of mine. I am the little lad you carried in your arms – to whom you told stories, and sang songs. Children forget a great deal, but I have not forgotten you, Denis."

In dogged silence the old man turned his head away, intently bent on his sport, but suddenly he raised the cuff of his coat and wiped away a betraying tear. Seeing that he had touched the man's sympathy, Claude followed up his advantage.

"You are not going to deny me, Denis, are you?" he said entreatingly. "I am down here on an errand which you must guess. If Hilliston – "

"The curse of Cromwell on him!" said Kerry, under his breath.

"If Hilliston told you to keep silent," said Claude, affecting to take no notice of the interjection, which confirmed his suspicions, "I, the son of your dead master, want you to speak. I wish to find out who killed my father. I wish to punish him, for you know his name."

Kerry turned furiously on the young man, but it seemed to Claude that his anger was feigned to hide a deeper emotion.

"It is a dirty informer you'd have me be," he cried, with a stamp of his foot, "to betray him whose bread I eat. I'll tell you nothing, for it's that much I know."

"Denis – "

"I'm not Denis! It's Kerry I am. I know nothing of Horriston, or of you, sir. Go away with ye, young gentleman, and don't be after disgracing an old servant to play the spy and cheat."

Then, still breathing fury, he rushed away, but paused some distance off to raise his hands to the sky with an appealing gesture. The impulsive Irish nature had broken through diplomatic reserve, and, fearful of saying too much, Kerry saved himself by flight. Claude guessed this and forebore to follow him.

"I have broken the ice at all events," he said to himself, when returning to the Manor to tell Tait. "The next time I may be fortunate enough to force the truth out of him. He knows it, I am certain. He hates Hilliston and loves me. I can easily guess with whom he sympathizes, in spite of his master. He is Denis, sure enough, but who is Paynton?"

It was impossible to say.

CHAPTER XXX
MRS. BEZEL AGAIN

On returning home Claude found that Tait, contrary to his expressed intention, had gone out. Dormer, who was packing a portmanteau for the Horriston journey, could not inform Larcher when his master would be back, but ventured an opinion that he would certainly return to luncheon. Meanwhile, he handed to Claude some letters which had just arrived, and with these the young man managed to pass a fairly uncomfortable hour. Uncomfortable, because one of the letters was from Mrs. Bezel, and proved of so puzzling a character that Larcher was in a fever of impatience to discuss it with Tait.

The little man returned to luncheon, as was surmised by Dormer, and was met in the hall by Claude with the open letter of Mrs. Bezel in his hand.

"My dear fellow, why did you go out?" said Larcher complainingly. "I have so much to tell you. I have seen Kerry, and now here is a letter from Mrs. Bezel."

"What! is she on the stage again?" said Tait eagerly. "Let me see the letter."

"Not yet," replied Claude, putting it promptly behind his back. "You must first tell me why you left the house, when you ought to be packing up for Horriston."

Tait shrugged his shoulders, bowed to the inevitable, and went into the dining room. Here he sat at the table and began to carve some cold beef, thereby throwing Claude into a rage.

"You cold-blooded little monster," he cried, tapping on the table, "will you satisfy my curiosity?"

"Why should I?" said Tait, grinning. "You won't satisfy mine."

"Then read the letter," retorted Claude, throwing it across the table. To his surprise Tait placed it on one side.

"Not yet!" he said, resuming his carving. "We must have a talk first. Have some beef."

"I don't want beef, but information."

"You shall have both," said Tait calmly. "Do you prefer beer or claret?"

"Beer!" replied Larcher resignedly, falling in with the tricksey humor of his friend. Tait was a man with whom it was impossible to quarrel.

"Dormer, fill Mr. Larcher's glass; put the claret jug beside me, and leave the room. We will wait on ourselves."

As stolid as a wooden image Dormer obeyed these instructions, and wheeled out of the room. Tait ate a few mouthfuls of beef, drank a glass of claret, and prepared to talk. His first remark was a bombshell.

"I have seen Paynton," said he slowly.

"The deuce you have!" cried Claude, in surprise; "and how did you manage to take his castle by storm?"

"Easily enough, by the help of a lie and a little strategy. I went out to see if you were at your post, and caught sight of Kerry crossing the fields. As I knew Jenny would be at the Lintons', – for she goes there to see the old lady every morning, – I guessed that Rose Cottage would be undefended; so back I ran to the house, picked up a book which I had promised to lend the young lady, and went to pay my visit."

"How did you get inside the gate? It is generally locked."

"It wasn't on this occasion," replied Tait complacently. "I opened it and walked in, to find old Paynton strolling in the garden. Catching sight of me, he turned back to re-enter the house, but, luckily, I was between him and the door, so we met face to face."

"What kind of a man is he to look at?"

"Oh, a fine-looking old chap, with white hair and beard, a skullcap, and a dressing gown. Quite the get up of a necromancer."

"Did he speak to you," asked Claude, having considered this description.

"He asked me politely what my business was; whereupon I presented the book, and mentioned that it was for his daughter. He replied that she was at the Lintons', and would be back soon, when he would give her the book himself. Then he asked me to excuse him, and bowed me out of the gate. But," added Tait, with emphasis, "not before I had mentioned that Mr. Claude Larcher was staying with me."

"Did my name produce any effect?"

"Rather! Paynton changed color, and mumbled something unintelligible. Then he turned his back and walked quickly into the house, leaving me to close the gate myself. Depend upon it, he knows something, Claude."

"But his name isn't mentioned in connection with the case."

"Of course not. Paynton is a feigned one. And, as I have said before, there are, no doubt, actors in the tragedy of whom we know nothing."

"There is one of that sort mentioned here," said Larcher, picking up Mrs. Bezel's letter. "Read that, Tait, and see what you make of it."

It proved to be a short note, hastily written, and ran as follows:

"My Dear Claude:

"If you are still in doubt as to who murdered your father, ask Mr. Hilliston to tell you about Louisa Sinclair, who lived at Horriston twenty-five years ago. She knows.

"Your affectionate mother,
"Margaret Bezel."

"Louisa Sinclair," repeated Tait slowly, having mastered the contents of this letter. "No, I never heard of her. It is strange that Hilliston has never mentioned her name."

"No doubt he had good reasons for not doing so," said Claude bitterly. "You need not look so astonished, Tait. I have long ago come round to your opinion of my old guardian. His intimacy with Paynton and the effect of his visit on Kerry would convince me – not to speak of that 'anonymous letter.'"

"Ah! Kerry refused to speak."

"He would not say a word, and, moreover, stated that he was not Denis Bantry; that he had never heard of Horriston. In fact, he acted his part excellently well till the last. Then he broke down, and, afraid of letting the cat out of the bag, he ran away."

"Exactly what his master did," said Tait thoughtfully. "Depend upon it, Claude, we will learn the truth from one of those two."

"If you think so, why go to Horriston?"

"Because I want to learn the real name of Paynton, and, moreover, here is an additional reason. I must find out Louisa Sinclair."

"There is no mention of her in the case."

"Quite true. And there is no mention of Paynton; but for all that he knows about it. Oh, you may be sure there are circumstances to be discovered at Horriston which never came to light at the trial."

"My mother is anxious for the mystery to be cleared up."

"So I see, and I am glad of it," said Tait, with an affectation of carelessness. "I thought she was too ill to take an interest in the matter."

"Am I to ask Hilliston about this woman?" said Claude, looking up in some doubt.

"No," replied his friend, after a few moments' deliberation. "Our success in this depends on keeping Hilliston in the dark concerning our movements. If we tell him too much he may thwart us, as he has done already in this Paynton business. Say nothing about Louisa Sinclair, or about my visit to Horriston. Tell him I have gone to town, and let him figure out the reason for himself. By the way, when do you see him?"

"On Friday evening. Both he and his wife are coming to dine, and stop all night at the vicarage. You may be sure Hilliston will put me through a thorough cross-examination regarding your absence."

"Refer him to Mr. Linton," said Tait coolly. "I am writing to that gentleman, telling him I am unexpectedly called to town on particular business. What that business is Hilliston will be anxious to know. I don't think he'll enjoy his evening at all. A guilty conscience mars all pleasure."

"When do you leave?"

"By the 4.20 train this afternoon. I'll write you about my discoveries as soon as I find out anything worth scribbling about."

"You'll find nothing," said Claude dolefully; "after five-and-twenty years."

"I'll find out who Louisa Sinclair is, and then astonish Hilliston with the extent of my information. Regarding Paynton, I am not so certain. That discovery rests between you and Denis Bantry."

"I'll do my best, but I am doubtful," replied Claude, and so the conversation terminated for the time being. It left a lasting impression on the two who took part in it.

Tait duly took his departure with Dormer, leaving Claude in possession of the house. As he leaned out of the window of the smoking carriage, he said a last word to his friend:

"Don't tell Hilliston about my going to Horriston," he said significantly; "but if you get a chance inform his wife of the fact."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you that when I come back," said Tait, as the train moved slowly off. "Give her the information, and observe the effect; it will astonish you."

But Tait counted without his host; he was ignorant of Mrs. Hilliston's powers of self-control.

CHAPTER XXXI
AN EVENING AT THE VICARAGE

The Vicar of Thorston was a severe man, a trifle narrow in his views, and imperious of temper; but he was also fond of good cheer and hospitality – virtues which cover a multitude of sins. Those who sat at his table were sure of a capital dinner and an excellent glass of wine; for his cook and cellar were both undeniable. Report said that Mr. Linton was afraid of his cook, for that good lady had a hot temper, and feared no man. Many were the battles between her and the vicar, but being a perfect mistress of the culinary art, she invariably came off victor. She had her faults, but she was a jewel of a cook, and was valued accordingly.

On this special evening the vicar had assembled ten people, including himself, round his hospitable board. Mr. and Mrs. Hilliston were the principal guests, and Claude was also honored with special attention. An old couple named Densham, garrulous and pleasant, had likewise been invited; and they, with their daughter and Jenny Paynton, completed the party. To Claude was assigned Miss Paynton, while to Frank Linton was given the Densham damsel, an arrangement which was anything but pleasing to that jealous young man, or indeed to Miss Densham, who thought the famous author a grumpy creature. He was too preoccupied to please her taste.

Claude thought he had never seen Mrs. Hilliston to such disadvantage. She appeared ill at ease, and was haggard and pale of face, looking every year of her age. Even the rich dress and splendid jewels she wore failed to conceal the ravages of time; and in the neighborhood of the fresh beauty of the two girls she seemed an old woman. She felt this herself, for Claude noted that she threw an envious glance at the blooming faces of her rivals, and surveyed her wan looks in the nearest glass with a sigh. To her the party was purgatory.

Nor did the lawyer appear to enjoy himself. He was moody and fretful, though every now and then he forced himself to be merry, but his laugh was hollow, and the careworn expression of his face belied his untimely mirth. Sometimes he stole a furtive look at Claude, and seemed to brood over the young man's changed manner; for, do what he could, Larcher, deeming his old friend an enemy, could not behave with his former cordiality. He was ill-suited for a diplomat.

The dinner passed off with moderate success. Frank was complimented on his book, and the prosy couple had to be told the main points of the story. This brief recital made at least three people uncomfortable; for Claude raised his eyes to encounter an angry glance from Hilliston, and a deprecating one from Jenny. They were relieved when the vicar, who by no means approved of such attention being bestowed on a trashy novel, even though his son was the author, turned the conversation into another channel. Mr. Linton liked to lead the conversation at his own table.

"I wish to speak to you particularly, Claude," whispered Mrs. Hilliston, as he held the door open for the ladies to retire; "do not be long over your wine."

"I will come as soon as I can," he replied, and returned to his seat, wondering what she could have to say to him. He was not left long in doubt, for Mr. Hilliston entered into conversation as soon as the glasses were filled and the cigars lighted. This was the moment for which he had longed for the whole evening.

"Why isn't your friend Tait here to-night?" he asked, in a casual tone, feigning a lightness he did not feel.

"Did not Mr. Linton tell you?" replied Claude, prepared for this query. "He had to go to town on business."

"On business," murmured Hilliston uneasily; "anything to do with this case you have taken up?"

"I can't say. Tait did not particularly state his errand."

The lawyer sipped his wine, looked thoughtfully at the end of the cigar, and pondered for a few minutes. He wished to speak of Claude's changed behavior toward himself, yet did not know how to begin. At length he bluntly blurted out a question, straightforward and to the point. This was undiplomatic, but at times human nature is too strong for training.

"We are not such good friends as of yore, Claude. How is that?"

"I think you can guess the reason," replied Larcher, not ill pleased to fight out the point, for he hated being forced into doubtful civility. "It is this case which has come between us. I do not think you are giving me what help you ought to, Mr. Hilliston."

"I can give you no help," said the lawyer, drawing his heavy brows together. "You know as much as I do. No doubt your meddlesome friend knows more."

"It is not improbable. But you can prove your honesty in the matter by doing me a favor."

"My honesty, sir, has never been called into question yet," said Hilliston, injudiciously losing his temper, always a prelude to defeat. "And I have no call to defend myself to one to whom I have been a father. Still I am willing to grant you what you wish, in reason."

"Very good! Then introduce me to Mr. Paynton."

"I'm afraid that is out of my power," replied Hilliston, shaking his head. "You know the man's ways, I think. He is a hermit, a misanthrope, and does not care for company. Why do you wish to know him?"

"For various reasons," answered Larcher, coloring with some embarrassment. He was by no means willing to take Mr. Hilliston into his confidence.

His old guardian looked at him shrewdly, and, remembering certain small circumstances connected with Jenny, guessed, with the skill of an experienced character reader, how the land lay. At once he formed a resolution to further Claude's interests in the matter, hoping, and not unjustly, that should the lad be taken in the toils of love, he might stop further investigation of the case, an end which Hilliston much desired to gain.

"Oh!" said he not unkindly, "sits the wind in that quarter? Well, I will aid you. In a few days I will try and induce Mr. Paynton to see you, and then perhaps you may succeed."

"Succeed in what?" demanded Claude sharply, hardly relishing this perspicuity.

"Why, in this love-suit of yours. Aye, aye, Claude, I can see what you aim at, old as I am. Well, she is a pretty girl, clever and worthy. I know of no woman who would make you a better wife. You have my best wishes for your success."

"And you will introduce me to her father?"

"I'll try to, but I won't promise confidently. Paynton is a strange creature and may refuse to see you. By the way," added Hilliston, as though struck with a sudden thought, "what was my wife saying to you at the door?"

"She was requesting me to speak to her in the drawing room. There is nothing wrong, I hope? She does not look well."

"Oh, nothing wrong, nothing wrong!" replied Hilliston easily, rising to his feet as the vicar moved toward the door. "She is fond of you, my dear boy, and is anxious about the case."

"Anxious about the case," thought Larcher, as he followed his host into the drawing room; "that is strange. She can have no interest in it. H'm! I'll try the effect of Tait's destination on her. He said I would be astonished at the result. I am beginning to be so already."

Perhaps Jenny had overheard the whisper in the dining room, and was sufficiently taken with Larcher to be jealous of his attentions to Mrs. Hilliston, old though she deemed her, for, before he could cross over to where the lawyer's wife was seated, Jenny beckoned to him with her imperious finger. He could do nothing but obey, despite the frown which darkened Mrs. Hilliston's face, as she saw, and, with womanly instinct, guessed the maneuver.

"Come and sit down here," whispered Jenny, under cover of the music, for Miss Densham was at the piano. "I have not seen you for several days."

"That is not my fault," said Claude, delighted at the interest thus displayed; "you stay so much indoors. I have been looking for you everywhere."

"Have you, indeed, Mr. Larcher?" said Jenny, with feigned surprise. "And why, may I ask?"

"Oh, for no particular purpose, unless, indeed, it was to ask you for further information concerning the novel."

"Hush. Not a word of that. I can't speak of it to you. I know who you are, Mr. Larcher, but I am ignorant of the tragedy save what I told to Frank, and later on to Mr. Tait."

"But you can guess – "

"I can guess nothing," interrupted the girl imperiously. "If you and I are to remain friends you must cease talking on that subject."

"I'll do anything to remain friends with you, Miss Paynton," was the significant reply.

"Then talk of anything save that terrible case. Oh, how I wish I had left it alone!"

"I'm glad you did not," said Claude bluntly. "If it had not been for that book – "

Before he could finish the sentence Jenny shot an indignant look at him, and deliberately rising from her seat crossed the room to where Frank Linton was frowning and tugging at his mustache. Claude was vexed at his folly in thus drawing down her anger on him, but accepted his beating like a man, and passed over to where Mrs. Hilliston waited with an expectant face. She remarked on his tardy coming with some bitterness.

"I see you prefer a younger face to mine," she said, drawing herself up. "Time was when I had no rival to fear."

"Dear Mrs. Hilliston, I could not disobey a lady. Besides – besides – "

"Besides you are in love with her. Oh, I can see that! Well, she is a pretty girl. So you intend to marry her?"

"It is early yet to talk of marriage. I don't even know if she likes me."

Mrs. Hilliston laughed, and looked at him smilingly. "Then you must be very ignorant of the way of women, my dear," she said meaningly. "A word in your ear, Claude. That girl loves you."

"In two weeks! Impossible!"

"I've known love to grow in two days," replied Mrs. Hilliston dryly. "Oh, yes, she loves you, and you love her, so you can marry as soon as you choose."

"First I must get Mr. Paynton's consent."

"I should not think that would be difficult," said the lady, looking at his eager face. "You are young, not ill-looking, not badly off, and so I should not think Mr. Paynton would desire anything better for his daughter. So much for the first obstacle, and the second?"

"I must solve the mystery of my father's death."

Mrs. Hilliston's manner changed on the instant, and from being gay she became severe and anxious-looking. Indeed, Claude thought that she paled under her rouge; but this might have been fancy.

"It is about that I wish to speak to you," she said hurriedly. "I want you to stop investigating this case. You will learn nothing; it would be of no use to anyone if you did solve the mystery. Stop troubling yourself with slander, Claude."

"Why?" he asked, astonished at her earnest tone.

"Because your conduct vexes my husband. He has been a father to you in the place of the one you lost, so you ought to consider him a little. Pray leave that mystery unsolved."

"If I would, Tait would not. He is now even more eager than I to find out the truth."

"Horrid little man!" said the lady viciously. "Where is he now?"

The time had now come to try the effect of Tait's destination, and fixing his eyes on Mrs. Hilliston as she slowly fanned herself, Claude uttered the fatal words.

"He is at Horriston."

The fan stopped, Mrs. Hilliston paled, but, preserving her self-control with a strong effort, replied quietly:

"At Horriston. And why?"

"To find out a person not mentioned in the case."

"Man or woman?" asked Mrs. Hilliston in a low voice.

"Woman."

She said no more, but turned away her head to reply to her husband, who came up opportunely. He also had heard the last few words of the conversation, and, ignoring the presence of Claude, husband and wife looked at one another with pale faces.

The shot had struck home, and Larcher saw that it had.