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The Mandarin's Fan

by Fergus Hume · English · Gutenberg #36346 · 442,103 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Mandarin's Fan

Author: Fergus Hume


        
Release date: June 7, 2011 [eBook #36346]
                Most recently updated: December 15, 2013

Language: English

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Produced by Amber N Black, Suzanne Shell and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
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Transcriber's Note.

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, however it should be noted that this text contains extremely
non-standard and erratic punctuation, capitalization, and spelling. In
most places these errata have been transcribed as printed. There is a
listing of the major changes, including those made for ASCII compliance,
at the end of this document.

All changes were made with the objective of maintaining the author's
original intent and to more easily allow you, the reader, to understand
this novel.




[Illustration: [_Frontispiece_
"WELL, SAIL IN. WE'RE READY FOR THE PLAY." (_page_ 198)]




POPULAR NOVELS BY FERGUS HUME

Author of 'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,' etc.

In Crown 8vo, pictorial cloth. Price 6s. each.

THE RED WINDOW

=Second Impression=

'For a skilfully conceived plot, succession of stirring incidents and
series of surprises, not one of Mr. Fergus Hume's books is surpassed by
"The Red Window." ... Is the best book of the kind issued this
season.'--_Newcastle Daily Journal._

THE YELLOW HOLLY

=Third Edition=

'A story of thrilling interest.'--_To-Day._

'An exciting detective story.'--_Academy._

A COIN OF EDWARD VII.

=Third Edition=

'A clever detective story. The book holds one spellbound to the
end.'--_Yorkshire Herald._

THE CRIME OF THE CRYSTAL

=Third Edition=

'Mr. Fergus Hume once more shows his skill in weaving an intricate plot
which holds the reader enthralled until the last line. If this book were
judged upon its merits it should obtain a popularity even greater than
"The Mystery of a Hansom Cab."'--_Court Circular._

THE PAGAN'S CUP

=Third Edition=

'For the lover of mystery the author of the "Mystery of a Hansom Cab"
has prepared a feast in his new book. The story is beyond doubt
enthralling, and will in every case be read at a sitting.'--_Glasgow
Herald._

THE RED-HEADED MAN

=Third Edition=

'Is perhaps the best piece of work that Mr. Fergus Hume has given us
since he wrote "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab." The plot is very ingenious.
Devoid of suspicion of padding, brightly and smoothly written, Mr.
Fergus Hume's latest tale contains not a single dull chapter.'--_World._

'A highly ingenious and well-constructed tale.'--_Scotsman._

SHYLOCK OF THE RIVER

=Fifth Edition=

'Quite the most brilliant detective story Mr. Hume has given us since he
made such a remarkable hit in "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab."'--_Literary
World._

THE MASQUERADE MYSTERY

=Third Edition=

'Is as good as, if not better than, "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab." ...
It is an excellent story.'--_World._

=In Crown 8vo, Cloth, 2s. 6d. Cheap Edition=

A MARRIAGE MYSTERY

'Is ingeniously put together.... Mr. Hume's new book is good of its
kind.'--_Athenaeum._

'The plot is very clever and well worked out'--_Vanity Fair._

London: DIGBY, LONG & Co., 18 Bouverie Street, Fleet St., E.C.




THE
MANDARIN'S FAN

by

FERGUS HUME

AUTHOR OF

"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," ETC.

_SECOND EDITION_

LONDON

DIGBY, LONG & CO.

18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C.

1905




CONTENTS


CHAPTER.                              PAGE.

    I. THE ADVERTISEMENT                1

   II. DR. FORGE                       13

  III. MISS WHARF AT HOME              27

   IV. RUPERT'S SECRET                 40

    V. CONCERNING THE FAN              53

   VI. BURGH'S STORY                   65

  VII. THE WARNING                     78

 VIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE BALL       90

   IX. THE END OF THE BALL            104

    X. A MYSTERIOUS CASE              118

   XI. THE CANTON ADVENTURE           132

  XII. AT THE INQUEST                 147

 XIII. THE WILL                       160

  XIV. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER            172

   XV. THE ROTHERHITHE DEN            185

  XVI. THE FAN MYSTERY                196

 XVII. A DISAPPEARANCE                208

XVIII. A SURPRISE                     220

  XIX. A VISITOR                      232

   XX. THE MANDARIN EXPLAINS          244

  XXI. WHO IS GUILTY?                 259

 XXII. AFTER-EVENTS                   274

XXIII. THE CHASE                      287

 XXIV. THE FULFILLED PROPHECY         300




THE MANDARIN'S FAN




THE MANDARIN'S FAN




CHAPTER I

THE ADVERTISEMENT


One July evening in the first year of the present century, two gentlemen
were seated on the terrace of the mansion, known as Royabay. A small
rose-wood table was placed between the deep arm-chairs, and thereon
appeared wine, coffee, and a box of cigars. The young host smoked a
briar and sipped coffee, but his guest, very wisely, devoted himself to
superlative port and a fragrant cigar. Major Tidman was a battered old
soldier of fortune, who appreciated good quarters and made the most of
civilised luxuries, when other people paid for them. He had done full
justice to a dinner admirably cooked and served, while Ainsleigh, the
master of the feast had merely trifled with his food. Now, the wary
Tidman gave himself up to the perfect enjoyment of wine, cigar and the
quiet evening, while his host restlessly changed his position a dozen
times in ten minutes and gloomed misanthropically at the beautiful
surroundings.

And these were very beautiful. From the moss-grown terrace shallow steps
descended to smooth lawns and rainbow-hued flower-beds, and solemn pines
girdled the open space, wherein the house was set. And under the
radiance of a saffron coloured sky, stood the house, grey with centuries
of wind and weather, bleaching sun and drenching rains. With its Tudor
battlements, casements, diamond-paned and low oriel windows, half
obliterated escutcheons; its drapery of green ivy, and heavy
iron-clamped doors, it looked venerable, picturesque and peaceful.
Tennyson sang in the Palace of Art of just such a quiet "English home
the haunt of ancient peace."

On the left, the circle of trees receded to reveal the majestic ruins of
an abbey, which had supplied the stones used to construct the mansion.
Built by the weak but pious Henry III., the Norman-French name Royabbaye
(King's Abbey) still designated the house of the courtier who had
obtained the monastery from another Henry, less pious, and more prone to
destroy than to build. The country folk had corrupted the name to
Royabay, and its significance was almost lost. But the owner of this
fair domain knew its meaning, and loved the ancient place, which had
been in the Ainsleigh family for over three hundred years. And he loved
it the more, as there was a possibility of its passing away from him
altogether.

Rupert was the last of the old line, poor in relations, and poorer still
in money. Till the reign of George the first the Ainsleighs had been
rich and famous: but from the time of the Hanovarian advent their
fortunes declined. Charles Ainsleigh had thrown in his lot with the
unlucky Stewarts, and paid for his loyalty so largely as to cripple
those who succeeded him. Augustus, the Regency buck, wasted still
further the diminished property he inherited, and a Victorian Ainsleigh
proved to be just such another spendthrift. Followed this wastrel,
Gilbert more thrifty, who strove, but vainly, to restore the waning
fortunes of his race. His son Markham, endeavouring to acquire wealth
for the same purpose, went to the far East. But he died in
China,--murdered according to family tradition,--and on hearing the
news, his widow sickened and died, leaving an only child to battle with
the ancestral curse. For a curse there was, as dire as that which
over-shadowed the House of Atreus, and the superstitious believed,--and
with much reason,--that young Rupert as one of the Ainsleighs, had to
bear the burden of the terrible anathema.

Major Tidman knew all these things very well, but being modern and
sceptical and grossly material, he discredited such occult influence.
Expressing his scornful surprise, that Rupert should trouble his head
about such fantasies, he delivered his opinion in the loud free
dictatorial speech, which was characteristic of the bluff soldier.
"Bunkum," said the Major sipping his wine with relish, "because an old
monk driven to his last fortifications, curses those who burnt him, you
believe that his jabber has an effect on the Ainsleighs."

"They have been very unlucky since," said Rupert gloomily.

"Not a bit of it--not a bit. The curse of Abbot Raoul, didn't begin to
work,--if work it did, which I for one don't believe,--until many a long
day after this place came to your family. I was born in this
neighbourhood sixty and more years ago," added the Major, "and I know
the history of your family. The Ainsleighs were lucky enough till Anne's
reign."

"Till the first George's reign," corrected the young man, "so far as
money goes, that is. But not one of them died in his bed."

"Plenty have died in their beds since."

"But have lost all their money," retorted Rupert.

"It's better to lose money than life," said Tidman evasively.

"I'm not so certain of that Major. But you should talk with Mrs. Pettley
about Abbot Raoul's curse. She believes in it."

"And you Ainsleigh?"

Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "We certainly seem to be most unlucky,"
said he, declining to commit himself to an opinion.

"Want of brains," snapped the Major, who was one of those men who have a
reason for everything, "your people wasted their money, and refused to
soil their hands with trade. Such pig-headedness brings about
misfortune, without the aid of a silly old fool's curse."

"I don't think Abbot Raoul was a fool," protested the host mildly, "on
the contrary, he is said to have been a learned and clever man. Aymas
Ainsleigh, received the abbey from Henry VIII., and burnt Abbot Raoul in
his own cloisters," he nodded towards the ruins, "you can see the
blackened square of grass yonder, as a proof of the curse. Herbage will
not grow there, and never will, till the curse be lifted."

"Huh," said the Major with supreme contempt, "any chance of that?"

Rupert smiled. "A chance that will never occur I fear. The curse, or
prophecy, or whatever you like to call it----"

"I call it rubbish," interpolated the sceptic.

"Well doubting Thomas, it runs like this,--rude enough verse as you will
see, but you can't expect a doomed man to be particular as to literary
style," and Rupert recited slowly:--

    "My curse from the tyrants will never depart,
    For a sword in the hands of the angel flashes:
    Till Ainsleigh, poor, weds the poor maid of his heart,
    And gold be brought forth from the holy ashes."

"I spare you the ancient pronunciation Major."

Tidman filled another glass with wine, and laughed scornfully. "I expect
the old monk made up the second line to rhyme with ashes," he said
expanding his broad chest. "I've heard that rubbishy poetry before. But
haven't the Ainsleighs always married poor girls?"

"Some did, but then they had money. It must be a poor Ainsleigh to wed a
poor girl to fulfil the third line. My father and grandfather were both
poor, but they married rich brides."

"And what became of the cash?"

"It went--I don't know how--but it went."

"Gold turns to dry leaves in the hands of fools," said Tidman sagely,
"there's some sense in the old fairy tales. But the fourth line? how can
you get gold from ashes?"

Young Ainsleigh rose and began to pace the terrace. "I'm sure I don't
know," he said, "that's the curse. If I marry Miss Rayner, I certainly
fulfil the third line. She is poor and I am a pauper. Perhaps when the
enigma of the third line is solved by such a marriage the fourth line
will be made clear."

"I shouldn't hang on to that poetry if I were you, Ainsleigh. Let some
one else solve the third line, and the fourth also if he likes. My
advice to you is to marry a dollar heiress."

Rupert looked savage. "I love Miss Rayner, and I marry her, or no one."

Tidman selected another cigar carefully. "I think you are wrong," said
he decisively, "you have only a small income it's true, but you have
this grand old place, a fine old name, and you ain't bad-looking. I
guess Miss Jonathan of N'Yr'k would just jump at you."

"I love Olivia Rayner," repeated Ainsleigh doggedly.

"But the obstacles my dear Don Quixote," argued the Major lighting the
cigar, "you are poor and she, at the most, will inherit only a few
hundreds a year from that aunt of hers. And that mass of granite Miss
Wharf, don't like you, nor does her companion, the Pewsey cat."

"Why do you call her a cat--the harmless creature."

"Because she _is_ a cat," said Tidman sturdily, "she'd scratch if she
got a chance for all her velvet paws. But she hates you as old Miss
Wharf does. Then there's Lady Jabe--"

"Oh heavens," said Rupert and made a wry face.

"You may well say that. She's a bullying Amazon of uncertain age. But
she'll do her best to catch Olivia for her nephew Chris Walker."

"Oh he's a nice enough fellow," said Rupert still pacing the terrace.
"I've got nothing to say against him, except that he'd better keep out
of my way. And after all Olivia would never marry a clerk in a
tea-merchant's firm."

"But he's nephew to Lady Jabe."

"What of that. She's only the widow of a knight and hasn't a penny to
leave him. Why should she want him to marry Olivia?"

"Because Miss Wharf will leave Olivia five hundred a year. Lady Jabe
will then live on the young couple. And see here Ainsleigh, if you marry
Olivia with that income, you won't be taking to wife the poor girl
mentioned in the curse."

"Oh hang the curse," said Rupert crossly.

"By all means," said Tidman serenely, "you didn't bring me here to talk
of that did you?"

"No. I want to ask your advice?"

"I've given it--unasked. Marry a dollar-heiress, and let old Jabe make
Olivia her niece-in-law. By doing so you will be released from your
pecuniary difficulties, and will also escape the hatred of Miss Wharf
and that Pewsey cat, who both hate you."

"I wonder why they do?"

"Hum," said Tidman discreetly. He knew pretty well why Miss Wharf hated
his host, but he was too wise to speak, "something to do with a love
affair."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Ask me another," replied Major Tidman vulgarly, for he was not going to
tell a fiery young man like Rupert, that Markham Ainsleigh, Rupert's
father, was mixed up in the romance, "and I wish you would sit down," he
went on irritably "you're walking like a cat on hot bricks. What's the
matter with you?"

"What's the matter," echoed Ainsleigh returning to the arm-chair. "I
asked you here to tell you."

"Wait till I have another glass. Now fire ahead." But Rupert did not
accept the invitation immediately. He looked at the lovely scene spread
out before him, and up to the sky which was now of a pale primrose
colour. There was a poetic vein in young Ainsleigh, but troubles from
his earliest childhood had stultified it considerably. Ever since he
left college had he battled to keep the old place, but now, it seemed as
if all his trouble had been in vain. He explained his circumstances to
the Major, and that astute warrior listened to a long tale of mortgages
threatened to be foreclosed, of the sale of old and valuable furniture,
and of the disposal of family jewels. "But this last mortgage will
finish me," said Rupert in conclusion. "I can't raise the money to pay
it off. Miss Wharf will foreclose, and then all the creditors will come
down on me. The deluge will come in spite of all I can do."

Major Tidman stared. "Do you mean to say that Miss Wharf--"

"She holds the mortgage."

"And she hates you," said Tidman, his eyes bulging, "huh! This is a nice
kettle of fish."

Rupert threw himself back in the deep chair with an angry look. He was a
tall finely built young man of twenty-five, of Saxon fairness, with
clear blue eyes and a skin tanned by an out-door life. In spite of his
poverty and perhaps because of it, he was accurately dressed by a crack
London tailor, and looked singularly handsome in his well-fitting
evening suit. Pulling his well-trimmed fair moustache, he eyed the tips
of his neat, patent leather shoes gloomily, and waited to hear what the
Major had to say.

That warrior ruminated, and puffed himself out like the frog in the
fable. Tidman was thickset and stout, bald-headed and plethoric. He had
a long grey moustache which he tugged at viciously, and on the whole
looked a comfortable old gentleman, peaceful enough when let alone. But
his face was that of a fighter and his grey eyes were hot and angry. All
over the world had the Major fought, and his rank had been gained in
South America. With enough to live on, he had returned to the cot where
he was born, and was passing his declining days very pleasantly. Having
known Rupert for many years and Rupert's father before him, he usually
gave his advice when it was asked for, and knew more about the young
man's affairs than anyone else did. But the extent of the ruin, as
revealed by the late explanation, amazed him. "What's to be done?" he
asked.

"That's what I wish you to suggest," said Rupert grimly, "things are
coming to a climax, and perhaps when the last Ainsleigh is driven from
home, Abbot Raoul will rest quiet in his grave. His ghost walks you
know. Ask Mrs. Pettley. She's seen it, or him."

"Stuff-stuff-stuff," grumbled the Major staring, "let the ghost and the
curse and all that rubbish alone. What's to be done?"

"Well," said the young man meditatively, "either I must sell up, and
clear out to seek my fortune, leaving Olivia to marry young Walker,
or--"

"Or what?" asked Tidman seeing Rupert hesitating.

For answer Ainsleigh took a pocket-book from the lower ledge of the
table and produced therefrom a slip of printed paper.

"I cut that out of 'The Daily Telegraph,'" said he handing it to the
Major, "what do you make of it?"

Tidman mounted a gold pince-nez and read aloud, as follows:--

"The jade fan of Mandarin Lo-Keong, with the four and half beads and the
yellow cord. Wealth and long life to the holder, who gives it to Hwei,
but death and the doom of the god Kwang-ho to that one who refuses.
Address Kan-su at the Joss-house of the Five Thousand Blessings, 43
Perry Street, Whitechapel."

"A mixture of the Far East and the Near West, isn't it?" asked Rupert,
when the Major laid down the slip and stared.

"Lo-Keong," said Tidman searching his memory, "wasn't that the man your
father knew?"

"The same. That is why I cut out the slip, and why I asked you to see
me. You remember my father's expedition to China?"

"Of course. He went there twenty years ago when you were five years of
age. I was home at the time--it was just before I went to fight in that
Janjalla Republic war in South America. I wanted your father to come
with me and see if he couldn't make money: but he was bent on China."

"Well," said Rupert, "I understood he knew of a gold-mine there."

"Yes, on the Hwei River," Major Tidman snatched the slip of print and
read the lines again, "and here's the name, Hwei--that's strange."

"But what's stranger still," said Rupert, bending forward, "is, that I
looked up some papers of my father and learn that the Hwei River is in
the Kan-su province."

"Address Kan-su," murmured Tidman staring harder than ever. "Yes. It
seems as though this had something to do with your father."

"It _must_ have something to do with him," insisted Rupert, "my father
found that gold-mine near the Hwei River in the Kan-su province, and
Lo-Keong was the Boxer leader who protected my father from the enmity of
the Chinese. I believe he sent my father's papers to England--at least
so Dr. Forge says."

"Forge," cried Tidman rising, "quite so. He was with your father. Why
not see him, and ask questions."

"I'll do so. Perhaps he may tell me something about this fan."

"What if he does?"

"I might find it."

"And if you do?" asked the Major, his eyes protruding.

Rupert sprang to his feet and took up the slip. "Wealth and long life to
the holder who gives it to Hwei," he read: then replaced the slip in his
pocket-book, "why shouldn't I find that fan and get enough money to pay
off Miss Wharf and others and keep Royabay."

"But it's such a mad idea?"

"I don't see it. If it hadn't to do with my father it would be," said
Ainsleigh lighting his pipe, "but my father knew Lo-Keong, and by the
names Hwei and Kan-su, it seems as though the locality of the gold-mine
had something to do with the matter. I'll see old Forge and try to find
this fan." "Oh," said Tidman, a light breaking on him, "you think
Lo-Keong may have given the fan to your father?"

"Yes, and Forge may know what luggage and papers were sent home, at the
time my father died--"

"Was murdered you mean."

"We can't be sure of that," said Rupert his face flushing, "but I'll
find that out, and get hold of the fan also. It's my chance to make
money, and I believe Providence has opened this way to me."




CHAPTER II

DR. FORGE


Royabay was distant five miles from Marport, a rising watering place on
the Essex coast. In fact so large was the town, and so many the
visitors, that it might be said to be quite risen, though the
inhabitants insisted that it had not yet attained the height it yet
would reach. But be this as it may, Marport was popular and fashionable,
and many retired gentlepeople lived in spacious houses along the cliffs
and in the suburbs. The ancient town, which lay in a hollow, was left to
holiday trippers, and these came in shoals during the summer months.
There was the usual pier, the Kursaal, the theatre, many bathing
machines and many boarding houses--in fact the usual sort of things
which go to make up a popular watering-place. And the town had been in
existence--the new part at all events--for only fifteen years. Like
Jonah's gourd it had sprung up in a night: but it certainly showed no
signs of withering. In fact its attractions increased yearly.

Major Tidman was a wise man, and had not travelled over the world with
his eyes shut. He had seen colonial towns spring up and fade away, and
knew how the value of land increases. Thus, when he returned to his own
country with a certain sum of money, he expended the same in buying
land, and in building thereon. This policy produced a lot of money, with
which the Major bought more land and more houses. Now, he possessed an
avenue of desirable villa residences in the suburbs which brought him in
a good income, and which, by reason of their situation, were never
empty. The Major did not live here himself. He was a bachelor and fond
of company: therefore he took up his quarters in the Bristol Hotel, the
most fashionable in Marport. As he had shares in the company which built
it, he managed to obtain his rooms at a comparatively moderate rate.
Here he lived all the year round, save when he took a trip to the
Continent, and, as the Bristol was always full of people, the Major did
not lack company. As he was a good-humoured little man, with plenty of
small talk and a fund of out-of-the-way information, he soon became
immensely popular. In this way the crafty Major had all the comforts of
home and the delights of society without bearing the burden of an
establishment of his own. His sole attendant was a weather-beaten
one-eyed man, who acted as his valet, and who knew how to hold his
tongue.

Sometimes the Major would walk up town and inspect his property with
great pride. It was balm to his proud heart to walk up and down the
spacious avenue, and survey the red brick villas smiling amidst trim
gardens. Tidman's birth was humble,--his father had been a small tenant
farmer of the Ainsleighs,--and he had started life without even the
proverbial shilling. For many years he was absent from his native land,
and returned to find fortune waiting for him on the door step. To be
sure he brought a nest-egg home with him. Nevertheless, but for his
astuteness in buying land and in building he would not have acquired
such a good income. So the Major had some cause for self congratulation,
when he paced up and down Tidman's Avenue.

Two days after his dinner with Rupert Ainsleigh, the Major spick and
span as usual,--he always looked as though he had stepped out of a
bandbox,--was strutting up the Avenue. Half way along he came face to
face with a withered little woman, who looked like the bad fairy of the
old nursery tales. She wore a poke bonnet, a black dress and, strange to
say, a scarlet shawl. Her age might have been about fifty-five, but she
looked even older. With her dress picked up, and holding a flower in her
hand, she came mincing along smiling at the world with a puckered face
and out of a pair of very black and brilliant eyes. She looked a quaint
old-fashioned gentlewoman of the sort likely to possess a good income,
for it seemed that no pauper would have dared to dress in so shabby and
old-fashioned a manner. Consequently it was strange that the gallant
Major should have showed a disposition to turn tail when he set eyes on
her. She might indeed have been the veritable witch she looked, so pale
turned Major Tidman's ruddy face. But the old dame was not going to let
him escape in this way.

"Oh good morning," she said in a sharp voice like a saw, "how well you
are looking dear Major Tidman--really so very well. I never saw you look
younger. The rose in your button-hole is not more blooming. How do you
keep your youth so? I remember you--"

But the Major cut her short. He had enough of flattering words which he
guessed she did not mean, and didn't want her to remember anything, for
he knew her memory extended disagreeably to the time when he had been a
poor and humble nobody. "I'm in a hurry Miss Pewsey" he said twirling
his stick, "good-morning ma'am--morning."

"If you're going to see Dr. Forge," said Miss Pewsey, her black eyes
glittering like jet. "I've just come from his house. He is engaged."

"I can wait I suppose, Miss Pewsey," said Tidman bristling, "that is,
supposing I am calling on the doctor."

"Then you really are: not on account of your health I'm sure. I do hope
you aren't ill, dear Major. We all look forward to you shining at the
ball, which is to take place at the Hotel Bristol."

"I may be there, Miss Pewsey. I may be there,--in fact," the Major
flourished his stick again, "I am one of the stewards."

Miss Pewsey clapped together a pair of small claws encased in shabby
cotton gloves. "There," she cried in a shriller voice than ever. "I knew
it. I said so to my Sophia. Of course you know I always call dear Miss
Wharf my Sophia; we have been friends for years--oh yes, for years. We
grew on one stem and--"

"You'll excuse me, ma'am--"

"Oh yes--I know you are so busy. But I was saying, that you can give me
a ticket for my nephew, Mr. Burgh--"

"The tickets are for sale at the hotel," said Tidman gruffly.

"Yes, but my poor nephew is poor. He also has come from foreign parts
Major as you did, and just as poor. You must give him a ticket--oh
really you must." Miss Pewsey spoke with an emphasis on every other
word, and between her teeth as though she was trying to prevent the
speech escaping too rapidly. "Now, Major," she coaxed.

"I'll see, ma'am--I'll see."

"Oh. I knew you would." She clasped her hands again, "come and see my
Sophia--dear Miss Wharf, and then you can give Clarence--that's my
nephew's name, sweet isn't it?--you can give him the ticket. But don't
bring _him_," added Miss Pewsey jerking her old head backward in the
direction of Dr. Forge's residence, "he's there."

"Who is there, ma'am?" demanded the Major with a start.

"Why that horrid Mr. Ainsleigh and--"

Miss Pewsey got no further. The Major uttered something naughty under
his breath, and taking off his hat with a flourish, bowed his way along
the road, pursued by the shrill injunctions of the lady not to forget
the ticket.

Tidman walked more rapidly and less jauntily than usual, and stopped at
Dr. Forge's gate to wipe his red face, which had now assumed its normal
colour.

"By George" said the old soldier, "that woman will marry me, if I don't
take care. She ain't safe--she shouldn't be allowed out. Pewsey--a
cat--a cat--I always said so. Lavinia Pewsey cat, to Benjamin Tidman
gentleman. Not if I know it--ugh--ugh," and he walked up the steps to
ring the bell. While waiting, his thoughts went from Miss Pewsey to
Rupert. "I thought he had gone to town about that fan business," said
the Major fretting, "what's he doing calling on Forge without telling
me," and Tidman seemed very much annoyed that Rupert should have taken
such a liberty.

True enough, he found young Ainsleigh sitting with Dr. Forge. The doctor
was a tall lean man with sad eyes, and a stiff manner. He was dressed in
a loose white flannel suit, in a most unprofessional way. But everyone
knew that Forge had money and did not practise, save when the fancy took
him. With his watchful grey eyes and sad face and lantern jaws, Forge
was not a prepossessing object or a medical attendant to be desired.
Also his hands had a claw-like look, which, added to his thin hooked
nose, made him look like a hawk. He spoke very little though, and what
he did say was to the point: but he was not popular like the Major. A
greater contrast than this mummy and handsome young Ainsleigh, can
scarcely be imagined.

The Major came puffing into the room and looked around. It was a small
apartment furnished with Chinese curiosities. Rice-paper painted in the
conventional Chinese fashion adorned the walls: a many-tasseled lantern
gay with colour, dangled from the roof, and in each corner of the room a
fat mandarin squatted on a pedestal. The furniture was of bamboo, and
straw matting covered the floor. A bookcase filled with medical volumes
looked somewhat out of place in this eastern room, as did the doctor's
writing table, a large one covered with papers and books, and strange
looking Chinese scrips. The room was as queer as its owner, and the
atmosphere had that indescribable eastern smell, which the Major
remembered to have sniffed up at Canton under disagreeable
circumstances. Perhaps it was the revival of an unpleasant memory that
made him sit down so suddenly, or it might have been the cold grey stony
eyes of Forge.

"Well Major," said Rupert who looked handsome and gay in flannels, and
who seemed to have lost his melancholy looks, "who would have thought of
seeing you here?"

"I came to ask Forge to keep the exterior of his house a little more
tidy," said the Major with dignity, "the steps have not been cleaned
this morning, and there is straw in the garden, while the shrubs and
flowers are dying for want of water."

Forge shrugged his thin shoulders, and nodded towards some egg-shell
china cups and a quaint looking tea-pot. But he did not speak.

"No," replied the Major to the silent invitation. "I never drink tea in
the afternoon--"

"Or at any time," said Forge in a melancholy way. "I know you of old.
Ainsleigh, take another cup."

"Not in the Chinese fashion," said Rupert smiling, "you drink it too hot
for my taste and I like milk and sugar. But now I've told you about the
fan, I'll leave you to chat with Tidman."

"The fan," said Tidman sitting up as straight as his stoutness would let
him, "ah yes--I forgot about that. Well?"

"Well," echoed Rupert lighting a cigarette, "I called at the joss-house
in Perry Street Whitechapel, and a nice sort of den it is. A Chinaman,
heard my explanation about my father's connection with Lo-Keong, and
then told me that the fan had been stolen from that gentleman, who is
now a Mandarin."

"Lo-Keong was well on the way to the highest post when I saw him last"
said Forge preparing a roll of tobacco, "he was much in favour at the
court."

"But I thought he was a Boxer," said Tidman, "and surely----"

"Oh he gave up the Boxers, and curried favour with the Dowager Empress.
That was seven years ago, when I was last in China. I met you there
Tidman."

Again the disagreeable recollection of Canton crossed the Major's
memory, and he nodded. "What about the fan?" he asked Rupert again.

"It's of great value," said Ainsleigh, "at least this Chinaman told me
so. Lo-Keong is now a Mandarin, and is high in favour with the Dowager
Empress--"

"And consequently is hated by the Emperor," murmured Forge.

"I don't know, doctor, I'm not up in Chinese politics. However, the fan
was lost by Lo-Keong some years ago, and being a sacred fan, he wants it
back. This Chinaman Tung-yu--"

"Oh," said the Major, "then you didn't see Hwei or Kan-su?"

"Those are names of a river and a province," said the doctor.

"I know," snapped Tidman, "but they were in the advertisement."

"Tung-yu explained that they were used only for the purpose of
advertisement," said Rupert, "but to make a long story short, I told him
that I had seen the fan--"

"You saw the fan," asked Tidman directing a side look at Forge.

"A dream--a dream," said the doctor.

"No," insisted the young man. "I feel sure I have seen that fan, I can't
think where. Perhaps it is amongst my father's effects sent from China
by Lo-Keong years ago----"

"Twenty years ago," said Dr. Forge, "and Lo-Keong would hardly send his
own fan. I remember the things coming. I came home immediately before. A
Chinaman brought your father's papers and luggage to Royabay. He left
them with your mother and went away."

"Were you not with my father when he died?" asked Rupert, "I always
understood you were."

"No. I was at Pekin at the time. Your father and I were working the mine
together, and I went about some imperial concessions. While there I
heard that your father was dead."

"Was he murdered?" asked Rupert earnestly.

"I really can't say, Lo-Keong said that he died of dysentery, but he was
always a liar. He wouldn't be so high in favour with the Court if he
wasn't. Lying is a fine art in the Far East, and--"

"Yes--Yes," said Tidman impatiently, "but what has all this to do with
the fan?"

"I think it's all of a piece myself," said Rupert, "and I intend to get
to the bottom of it. I have seen that fan somewhere--but I can't
think--I can't," he reflected and shook his head, "no. But I have seen
it doctor, so its no use your shrugging your shoulders. I want to
find it and get that five thousand pounds."

"What?" cried the Major leaping up on his stout little legs.

"Lo-Keong is willing to give five thousand pounds for the return of his
fan," said Ainsleigh, who had walked to the door, "and I intend to earn
it."

"Against my advice," said Forge looking up oddly.

Rupert laughed. "Oh you are afraid," he said smiling.

"Of you, not of myself. I know what the Chinese are, and have studied
the race for years. I know how to deal with them; but you will get into
trouble if you meddle with this fan business."

"And so I say," cried Tidman emphatically.

"Why, what do you know of the Chinese, Major?" asked Rupert.

"More than I like to think of," said the little man wiping his bald
head. "I went out to China for a trip seven years ago and met with an
adventure in Canton--ugh!"

"What sort of an adventure?"

"Ugh!" grunted the Major again, "don't talk about it. It makes me cold
to think of it. The Chinese are demons. Forge got me out of the trouble
and I left China never to set foot in it again I hope. Ainsleigh, if you
want that curse of yours to be realised, meddle with the fan. But if you
want to keep your life and your skin, leave the matter alone."

"I'm going to get that five thousand pounds," said Rupert, obstinately,
"as soon as I can recollect where I saw that fan. The memory will come
back to me. I am sure it will. Doctor you won't help me."

"No," said Forge decisively. "I advise you to leave the matter alone."

"In that case I must search it out myself. Good-day," and Ainsleigh
strolled out of the room, lightheartedly enough, as he whistled a gay
tune. Major Tidman looked grimly at the closed door, and then still more
grimly at the doctor, who was paring his nails.

"Our young friend is ambitious," he said.

Forge laughed gently. "You can hardly blame him. He wants to marry Miss
Rayner and save his ancestral home, so I am quite sure he will search
for the fan."

"He won't find it then," said the Major petulantly.

"Won't he?" questioned Forge sweetly, "well, perhaps not. By the way you
want to see me Major. Mrs. Bressy tells me you called at least twice
yesterday."

"Yes. She didn't know when you would be back."

"I never tell her. I like to take the old lady unawares. She is a
Dickens' character, with a fondness for drink, and for taking things
which don't belong to her. I always go away and come back unexpectedly.
Yesterday I was in Paris. Now I am at Marport. Well?"

The Major had contained himself with difficulty all this time, and had
grown very red in the face. The colour changed to a lively purple, as he
burst out. "See here Forge what's the use of talking to me in this way.
You have that fan."

"Have I," said Forge smiling gently.

"Yes. You know well enough that the very fan--the jade fan with the five
beads, was the cause of my getting into trouble in Canton. You got me
out of the trouble and you asked me to give you the fan, when I thanked
you."

"And you refused," said Forge still smiling.

"Well I did at first," said Tidman sulkily. "I risked my life over the
beastly thing, and--"

Forge raised a thin hand. "Spare yourself the recital. I know."

"Well then," went on Tidman excitedly. "You asked again for it when you
came home, and I gave it to you. Ainsleigh is quite right. He _did_ see
the fan. I showed it to him one day before you arrived. I see he has
forgotten, but any stray thought may revive his memory. I don't want him
to have the fan."

"Why not?" asked Forge shutting his knife with a click.

"Because I want the five thousand pounds for myself. I'm not so well off
as people think, and I want--"

"You forget," said Forge gently, "you gave me the fan."

"And have you got it?"

"I have," he nodded towards a cabinet of Chinese work adorned with
quaint figures, "it's in there."

"Give it to me back."

"No. I think I'll keep it."

"What do you want to do with it?" asked Tidman angrily.

Forge rose and looked stern, "I want to keep it from Lo-Keong," he said
savagely, "there's some secret connected with that fan. I can't
understand what the secret is or what the fan has to do with it: but it
means life and death to this Mandarin. He'd give ten thousand,--twenty
thousand to get that fan back. But he shan't."

"Oh," groaned the Major, "why did I give it to you. To think that such a
lot of money should go begging. If I had only known what the fan was
worth."

"You knew nothing about it save as a curiosity."

"How do you know," demanded the Major.

Forge who had turned towards the cabinet wheeled round and looked more
like a hawk than ever as he pounced on the stout man. "What do _you_
know?" and he clawed Tidman's plump shoulders.

"Let me go confound you," blustered the Major, "what do you mean by
assaulting a gentleman--"

"A gentleman." Forge suddenly released the Major and laughed softly,
"does Benjamin Tidman, old Farmer Tidman's son call himself so. Why I
remember you--"

"Yes I know you do, and so does that infernal Pewsey cat."

Forge suddenly became attentive. "Miss Pewsey if you please. She is my
friend. I may--" Forge halted and swallowed something. "I may even marry
her some day."

"What," shouted Tidman backing to the wall, "that old--old--"

"Gently my good Benjamin, gently."

"But--but you're not a marrying man."

"We never know what we are till we die," said Forge turning again
towards the black cabinet, "but you needn't mention what I have said. If
you do," Forge snarled like an angry cat and shot one glance from his
gray eyes that made Tidman shiver: then he resumed his gentle tone.
"About this fan. I'll make a bargain with you."

"What's that?" asked the Major avariciously.

"I'll show you the fan, and if you can guess it's secret, I'll let
you give it to this Tung-yu or Hwei or Kan-su or whatever he likes to
call himself."

"But you don't want Lo-Keong to have the fan," said the Major
doubtfully.

Forge opened the cabinet slowly. "So long as I learn the secret he can
have the fan. I want to ruin him. He's a devil and--ah--" he started
back. "The fan--the fan--"

"What is it?" asked Tidman, craning over Forge's shoulder at an empty
drawer, "where is the fan?"

"Lost," cried Forge furiously, and looked like a dangerous grey rat.

"Five thousand pounds gone," moaned the Major.

"My life you fool--my life," cried the doctor, "it is at stake."




CHAPTER III

MISS WHARF AT HOME


The best houses in Marport were situated on the Cliffs. They stood a
considerable way back and had small plots of ground before them
cultivated or not, according to the taste of those who owned them. Some
of these gardens were brilliant with flowers, others had nothing but
shrubs in them, presenting rather a sombre appearance, and a few were
bare sun-burnt grass plots, with no adornment whatsoever. A broad road
divided the gardens from the grassy undulations of the cliffs, and along
this thoroughfare, rolled carriages, bicycles, and motor-cars all day
during the season. Then came the grass on the cliff-tops which stretched
for a long distance, and which was dotted with shelters for nervous
invalids. At one end there was a round band-stand where red-coated
musicians played lively airs from the latest musical comedy. Round the
stand were rows of chairs hired out at twopence an afternoon, and
indeed, all over the lawns, seats of various kinds were scattered. At
the end of the grass, the cliffs sloped gradually and were intersected
with winding paths, which led downward to the asphalt Esplanade which
ran along the water's edge, when the tide was high, and beside
evil-smelling mud when the tide was out. And on what was known as the
beach--a somewhat gritty strand,--were many bathing machines. Such was
the general appearance of Marport which the Essex people looked on as a
kind of Brighton, only much better.

Miss Sophia Wharf owned a cosy little house at the far end of the
cliffs, and just at the point where Marport begins to melt into the
country. It was a modern house comfortably furnished and brilliant with
electric lights. The garden in front of it was well taken care of, there
were scarlet and white shades to the windows and flower boxes filled
with blossoms on the sills. Everyone who passed remarked on the beauty
of the house, and Miss Wharf was always pleased when she heard them envy
her possessions. She liked to possess a Naboth's Vineyard of her own,
and appreciated it the more, when others would have liked to take it.
She had an income of one thousand a year and therefore could live very
comfortably. The house (Ivy Lodge was it's highly original name) was
her own, bought in the days when Marport was nothing but a fishing
village. She knew everyone in the neighbourhood, was a staunch friend to
the vicar who was high church and quite after her own heart in the use
of banners, incense, candles and side-altars, and on the whole was one
of the leading ladies of the place. She had the reputation of being
charitable, but this was owing to Miss Pewsey who constantly trumpeted
the bestowal of any stray shilling being by her patroness.

Miss Wharf was a lady of good family, but had quarrelled with her
relatives. She was a tall, cold, blonde woman who had once been handsome
and still retained a certain portion of good looks, in spite of her
forty and more years. She lived with her niece Olivia the child of a
sister long since dead, and with Miss Pewsey, to whom she gave a home as
a companion. But Miss Wharf well knew, that Lavinia Pewsey was worth her
weight in gold owing to the way she praised up her good, kind, devoted,
loving, sweet, friend. The adjectives are Miss Pewsey's own, but some
people said that Sophia Wharf did not deserve to have them attached to
her. The lady had her enemies, and these openly declared, as the Major
had done, that she was a mass of granite. Other people, less prejudiced,
urged that Miss Wharf looked after Olivia, who was a penniless orphan.
To which the grumblers retorted that Miss Wharf liked someone to vent
her temper on, and that the poor girl, being too pretty, did duty as a
whipping boy. This was possibly true, for Olivia and her aunt did not
get on well together. In her own way the girl looked as cold as Miss
Wharf, but this coldness was merely a mask to hide a warm and loving
nature, while Miss Wharf was an ice-berg through and through. However,
on the whole, Sophia Wharf was well liked, and took care to make the
most of her looks and her moderate income and her reputation as a
charitable lady. And Miss Pewsey was the show-woman who displayed her
patroness's points to their best advantage.

The drawing-room of Ivy Lodge was a flimsy, pretty, feminine, room,
furnished in a gim-crack fashion, of the high art style. The floor was
waxed, and covered with Persian praying mats, the chairs were gilt and
had spindle legs, the settee was Empire, the piano was encased in green
wood and adorned with much brass, the sofa was Louis Quinze and covered
with brocade, and there were many tables of rose-wood, dainty and light,
heaped high with useless nick-knacks.

The walls of pale green were adorned with watercolour pictures, and many
mirrors draped with Liberty silk. Everywhere were large bowls of
flowers, miniatures of Miss Wharf at various times of her life,
curiosities from China and Japan and the near East, and all sorts of
odds and ends which Miss Wharf had collected on her travels. Not that
she had been to the East, for the evidences of civilisation in those
lands came from Dr. Forge and Major Tidman, but Miss Wharf had explored
Germany, Switzerland and Italy and consequently had brought home
cuckoo-clocks, quaint carvings, pictures of the Madonna, Etruscan idols
and such like things with which every tourist loads himself or herself.
The result was, that the drawing-room looked like a curiosity shop, but
it was considered to be one of the prettiest drawing-rooms in Essex.

Miss Wharf looked too large and too substantial for the frail furniture
of the room. She had a double chin and was certainly very stout. Very
wisely she had a special arm-chair placed in the window--from which she
could see all that was going on,--and here she sat working most of the
day. She was great on doing fancy articles for bazaars, and silk ties
for such gentlemen as she admired, for Miss Wharf, old maid as she was,
liked male society. The Major was her great admirer, so was young
Walker, Lady Jabe's nephew. Sophia was not very sure of this last
gentleman, as she shrewdly suspected--prompted by Miss Pewsey--that he
admired Olivia. Rupert also admired Olivia and wanted to marry her, a
proceeding which Miss Wharf objected to. Miss Pewsey supported her in
this, for both women were envious of the youth which had passed from
them for ever. But Miss Wharf had also another reason, which Miss Pewsey
knew, but of which Olivia was ignorant. Hitherto Sophia had kept it from
the girl but this afternoon in a fit of rage she let it out. The
explosion did not come at once, for Lady Jabe was in the room drinking
tea, and Miss Pewsey was flitting about, filling odd vases with flowers.
Olivia sat on the settee very straight and very cold, looking dark and
handsome, and altogether too splendid a woman for her aunt to tolerate.

"Can't you do something?" said Miss Wharf turning her jealous eyes on
the girl. "I should think you must be tired, twiddling your thumbs all
day."

"I'll do whatever you wish me to do," said Olivia coldly.

"Then help Lavinia with the flowers."

Olivia rose to do so, but Miss Pewsey refused her assistance in a shrill
speech spoken as usual between her teeth and with an emphasis on every
other word. "Oh no dear, dear, Sophia," cried Miss Pewsey, "I have just
finished, and I may say that my eye for colour is better than
Olivia's--you don't mind my saying so, darling," she added to the girl.

"Not at all," replied Miss Rayner who detested the sycophant. "I never
give the matter a thought."

"You _should_ think," said Lady Jabe joining in heavily. She was a tall
masculine-looking woman with grey hair and bushy grey eyebrows, and with
an expression of face that suggested she should have worn a wig and sat
on the bench. She dressed in rather a manly way, and far too young for
her fifty years. On the present occasion she wore a yachting-cap, a
shirt with a stand-up, all round, collar and a neat bow; a leather belt
and a bicycling skirt of blue serge. Her boots and shoes were of tanned
brown leather, and she carried a bamboo cane instead of a sunshade. No
one could have been more gentlemanly. "You should think," added she once
more, "for instance you should think of marriage."

Miss Wharf drew herself up in her cold way. "I fancy that Olivia, few
brains as she has, is yet wise enough not to think of marriage at
twenty."

"It would not be much good if I did," said Olivia calmly. "I have no
money, and young men want a rich wife."

"Not all," said Lady Jabe, "there's Chris----"

"Chris is out of the question," said Miss Rayner quickly.

"And pray why is he?" asked Sophia in arms at once. She never liked
Olivia to have an opinion of her own.

"Because I don't love him."

"But Chris loves you," said Lady Jabe, "and really he's getting a very
good salary in that Tea-merchant's office. Chris, as you are aware,
Olivia, is foreign corresponding clerk to Kum-gum Li & Co. He knows
Chinese," finished Lady Jabe, with tremendous emphasis.

"Oh," Miss Pewsey threw up her claws, "how delicious to be made love to
in Chinese. I must really ask Mr. Walker what is the Chinese for 'I love
you.'"

"Olivia prefers to hear it in English," said Miss Wharf, spitefully.

"Quite so, aunt," retorted her niece, her colour rising, "but don't you
think we might change the subject. It really isn't very interesting."

"But indeed I think it is," said Lady Jabe smartly, "I come here to
plead the cause of poor Chris. His heart is breaking. Your aunt is
willing to----"

"But I am not," said Miss Rayner quickly, "so please let us say no more
about the matter. Mr. Walker can marry Lotty Dean."

"But she's a grocer's daughter," said Lady Jabe, who was herself the
widow of an oil-merchant, "and remember my title."

"Lotty isn't going to marry you, Lady Jabe."

"Nor Chris, if I can help it," said the other grimly.

Miss Wharf was just about to crush Olivia with a particularly
disagreeable remark, when the door opened and two gentlemen entered. One
was Christopher Walker, a slim, boyish-looking young fellow, in that
callow stage of manhood which sees beauty in every woman. The other, who
followed, was Miss Pewsey's nephew.

There was nothing immature about him, although he was but twenty eight
years of age. Clarence Burgh was tall, thin, dark and had the appearance
of a swashbuckler as he swaggered into the room. His black eyes snapped
with an unholy light and his speech smacked too much of the Lands at the
Back of Beyond, where he had passed the most part of his life. He was an
expert rider, and daily rode a bucking squealing, kicking stallion up
and down the road, or took long gallops into the country to reduce the
fire of the unruly beast. Burgh was bad all through, daring, free, bold,
and had a good deal of the untamed savage about him; but he was
emphatically a man, and it was this virile atmosphere about him, which
caused his withered aunt to adore him. And indeed Miss Wharf admired him
also, as did many of the women in Marport. Clarence looked like a
buccaneer who would carry a woman off, and knock her down if she
objected to his love-making. Women like that sort of dominating lord of
the world, and accordingly Mr. Burgh had nothing to complain of, so far
as feminine admiration went, during his sojourn in Marport. But he
had set his affections on Olivia, and hitherto she had shrunk from him.
All the same, brute as he was, she admired him more than she did
effeminate Chris Walker, who smacked of the city and of a
feather-bed-four-meals-a-day existence.

"Oh," squeaked Miss Pewsey, flying to the hero and clasping him round
the neck, "how very, very sweet of you to come."

"Hadn't anything else to do," said Clarence gracefully, casting himself
into a chair. All his movements were graceful like those of a panther.
"How are you Miss Wharf--Miss Rayner--Lady Jabe. I guess you all look
like a garden of spring flowers this day."

"But flowers we may not pluck," sighed Chris prettily.

Burgh looked at him with contempt. "I reckon a man can pick what he has
a mind to," said he drily, and then shifted his gaze to see how Olivia
took this speech. To his secret annoyance, she did not let on she heard
him.

"Will you have some tea, Mr. Burgh," asked Miss Wharf.

"Thanks. It seems to be the sort of thing one must drink here."

"You drank it in China didn't you?" asked Lady Jabe.

Burgh turned quickly. "Who told you I had been in China?" he asked.

"My nephew Chris. He heard you talking Chinese to someone."

The dark young man looked distinctly annoyed. "When was that?" he asked
Chris.

"Two weeks ago," replied the other, "you were standing at the corner of
the Mansion House talking to a Chinaman. I only caught a word or two in
passing."

"And I guess you didn't understand," said Clarence derisively.

"There you are wrong. I am in a Chinese firm, and know the language. As
a matter of fact I write their foreign letters for them."

"The deuce you do," murmured Burgh looking rather disturbed; but he said
no more on the subject, and merely enquired if the ladies were prepared
for the ball at the Bristol which was to take place in six days. "I hear
it's going to be a bully affair."

"Oh charming--charming," said Miss Pewsey. "Major Tidman is one of the
stewards. I asked him for a ticket for you Clarence dear."

"I'll go, if Miss Rayner will dance with me."

"I don't know that I am going myself," said Olivia quietly.

"Nonsense," said her aunt sharply, "of course you are going. Everyone is
going--the best ball of the season."

"Even poor little me," said Miss Pewsey, with her elderly head on one
side.

"Huh," said the irreverent Clarence, "ain't you past hoppin' aunt?"

"I can look on and admire the younger generation dear."

"It will be a splendid ball," prattled Chris sipping his tea and
devouring very crumbly cake, "the Glorious Golfers are going to spend a
lot of money in decorating the rooms. I met Mr. Ainsleigh. He is
going--a rare thing for him. He goes nowhere as a rule."

Miss Wharf glanced sharply at her niece, but beyond a faint flush, she
could detect no sign of emotion. "People who are as poor as young
Ainsleigh, can't afford to go out," she said deliberately. "I think the
wisest thing that young man could do, would be to marry a rich girl,"
and she again looked at Olivia.

"He is certainly very handsome," said Lady Jabe pensively, "very much
like his mother. She was a fine-looking woman, one of the Vanes of
Heathersham."

"I remember her," said Miss Wharf, her colour rising, "and I never
thought she was good-looking myself."

"Not to compare to you dear," said the sycophant.

But this time Miss Pewsey made a mistake. The remark did not seem to
please Miss Wharf. "I don't care for comparisons," she said sharply,
"its bad taste to make them. I like Mr. Ainsleigh, but I don't approve
of his idling."

"He has never been brought up to do anything," said Lady Jabe.

"Then he ought to turn his hands to making money in some way. That place
is mortgaged and at any time may be sold. Then he won't have a roof over
his head."

"I have never met Ainsleigh," said Burgh musingly, "I guess I'd like to
have a jaw along o' him. Wasn't his father murdered in China?"

Miss Wharf became suddenly pale. "It is said that he was, but I don't
believe it."

"Then he's alive," said Clarence pertinaciously, and looking at her.

"No. He's dead, but he died of dysentery, according to Dr. Forge who was
with him when he died--somewhere in the north I believe."

Burgh evidently stored this in his memory and looked keenly at the woman
whose bosom rose and fell and whose colour came and went under his
steady gaze. Miss Pewsey saw that the persistent look was annoying her
patroness, and touched her nephew's arm gently. The touch recalled Burgh
to his senses and he looked away. This time his eyes rested on Olivia.
Her colour was high and apparently she had been listening with interest
to the conversation. "Huh," thought the swashbuckler, "and it was about
young Ainsleigh," and he stored this in his memory also.

To make a sensation, which he dearly loved to do, Chris Walker announced
that he would bring a distinguished visitor to the ball of the Glorious
Golfers. "He's a Chinaman," said he pompously, "and was mixed up in the
Boxer rebellion."

None of the ladies seemed impressed, as none of them knew anything about
the Boxers, or their rebellion. But Burgh looked up. "Who is he anyhow?"
he demanded, compressing his lips.

"A Chinese gentleman called Tung-yu."

"What a very extraordinary name," said Miss Pewsey, and suddenly began
to take a deep interest in matters Chinese. While she chatted with Chris
who was willing to afford her all information, Burgh folded his arms and
leaned back apparently thinking deeply. His face was not pleasant to
behold. Olivia saw the evil look and shivered. Then she rose and was
about to steal from the room, when her aunt called to her sharply.
"Don't go Olivia I want to speak with you."

"And I want to take my usual walk," said Lady Jabe rising and settling
her collar, "Chris?"

A tap on the shoulder brought the slim young man to his feet, and giving
his arm to his masculine aunt the two departed. Burgh rose also. "I
guess I'll make tracks also?" he said smartly. "Walker, you and I can
have a yarn together, later."

Miss Pewsey followed her nephew to the door. "Do you wish to ask young
Mr. Walker more about Tung-yu?" she asked.

Clarence wheeled round quickly. "What do you know of him aunt?"

"It's such a strange name," simpered Miss Pewsey, looking very innocent,
"and I am interested in China. You were out there a long time Clarence."

"Amongst other places, yes. I hung round a bit."

"Then you must tell me all about the natives," said Miss Pewsey, "I want
to know of their robes and their fans and--"

"Fans," said Burgh starting: but Miss Pewsey with an artificial
laugh flitted back into the room, leaving him uneasy and non-plussed. He
walked away frowning darkly.

Olivia would have walked away also frowning, as she was indignant at the
way in which her aunt had spoken of Rupert. But Miss Wharf gave her no
chance of leaving the room or the house. Olivia had never seen her aunt
so pale or upset. She looked as white as chalk, and controlled her
emotion with difficulty. Lavinia Pewsey glanced at the two, guessed
there was about to be a row, and glided away. She always kept out of
trouble.

"Now," said Miss Wharf when they were alone, "I want an explanation."




CHAPTER IV

RUPERT'S SECRET


Olivia was astonished to see the emotion of her aunt, for, as a rule
Miss Wharf was cold and self-contained. The two had never got on well
together, and the elder woman was undeniably jealous of the youth and
superior good looks of the younger. But as Olivia owed bed and board to
her aunt, she always behaved as well as possible to one who was very
trying in many ways. It is only just to say, that Miss Pewsey made
matters much worse by tale-bearing, and probably had she been out of the
house, Miss Wharf and her niece might have got on better. But they could
never have been congenial companions. The difference between their
natures was too great.

"Yes" said Miss Wharf throwing herself back in her seat, and feeling
irritated by the silence of Olivia. "I want an explanation."

"What about?" asked the girl seating herself opposite and folding her
hands, which, Miss Wharf noticed with bitterness, were more slender and
delicate that her own.

"You know well enough."

"If it's about Rupert--"

"There," snapped the aunt, "I knew you would guess. Yes it is about
young Ainsleigh, and how dare you call him Rupert?"

"Because I love him," said Olivia firmly, and looked directly into the
cold blue eyes of her aunt.

"Then you must put this love out of your head. You shall never marry
him--never--never--never."

"If I choose, and I do choose," said Olivia calmly, but with a fine
colour. "I shall certainly marry him. I am of age--"

"Yes, and a pauper."

"Rupert would not marry me for my money."

"He is wise; for you have none."

"It is kind of you to speak to me in this way," said Olivia, "to remind
me of obligations. I am aware that my parents died poor and left me a
penniless orphan. I am aware that you took me in and educated me and--"

"And acted like a mother to you," said Miss Wharf vehemently.

"No. You never acted like a mother. With you, I have had a most unhappy
life."

"Olivia," the elder woman started furiously from her chair, "how dare
you say that. Have I grudged you clothes or food. Did I not send you to
a first-class school and--"

"So far as material things are concerned you have done everything Aunt
Sophia, and I thank you for what you have done--"

"A fine way you have of showing it," scoffed Miss Wharf.

"But a mother you have never been," went on Olivia calmly, "you have
never given me a kind word; you speak to me before visitors as you
should not do: you make me slave for you and run messages and talk of me
to others as though I were a servant. What love have you ever shown me?"
demanded Olivia, starting up in her turn, and also becoming excited. "I
long for love. My heart yearns for it. I would like to be a daughter to
you, but always you have kept me at arm's length. Aunt Sophia let me go.
I can earn my bread as a governess, or as a typist. It will be better
for us both."

"No," said Aunt Sophia, looking as hard as stone.

"I shall not let you go. If you have any gratitude in you, you will
remain and help me to manage the house."

"You have Miss Pewsey."

"She is not a relative, you are."

"And so you treat me worse than you do her. Well, Aunt Sophia, I am not
ungrateful though you seem to think I am. I shall stop with you. I only
ask for a little more consideration."

"I give you every consideration. As for love, I cannot give it to you or
to anyone. I gave all the love my nature was capable of feeling to
Markham Ainsleigh, and he rejected my love. Yes, you may look
astonished, but it was this man's father who broke my heart."

"And that is why you don't want Rupert to marry me."

"That is the reason," said Miss Wharf sitting down and growing more her
calm stony self. "I was almost engaged to Markham Ainsleigh: but he saw
Violet Vane and fell in love with her. He left me and made her his wife.
Can you wonder that I hate the son of the woman who stole my love away
from me?"

"Rupert is the son of the man you loved----"

"And of the man who cheated me. Look at my lonely life, at my starved
heart. I hate the Ainsleighs--there's only one left but I hate him. And
when I heard Markham was murdered in China I was glad--yes, very glad."

"What an unforgiving nature you have."

"I have every right to be unforgiving. Markham ruined my life. And do
you think I'll let you marry Rupert--the son of that woman. No! Marry
him, and I leave what money I have to Miss Pewsey."

"You can if you like, Aunt Sophia. I don't want your money."

"Reflect," said Miss Wharf violently. "I have a thousand a year. Half of
that goes to a distant relative, and the remainder you shall have if you
will give this man up. Five hundred a year is not to be thrown away."

"I cannot give Rupert up," said Olivia firmly.

"Think girl," pleaded Miss Wharf, her face becoming red and wrinkled
with the violence of her passion, "there are other men who love you.
Young Walker would make you a good husband, and Lady Jabe is most
anxious for the match."

"I like Chris," said Olivia, "and I have known him all my life. But I
can't marry him. I want a master when I marry."

"Then take Clarence Burgh," said Miss Wharf, "he will be your master."

"No. He's a brute."

"He's a man--much more of a man than Rupert Ainsleigh."

"I deny that" said Olivia fiercely.

"He is. Clarence has been all over the world. He has fought
everywhere--"

"So has Major Tidman. Do you advise me to marry him?"

"He would make you a better husband than Rupert, old as he is. That
young Ainsleigh is a dreamer. He is on the point of losing his estates,
yet he sits at Royabay doing nothing."

"He intends to do something, and save the estates."

"Never. He is not the sort of man to work. Olivia if you will take Chris
Walker, or Clarence Burgh for your husband I shall leave you five
hundred a year. If you refuse I give you nothing."

"I prefer nothing--and Rupert."

"Then you shall not have him. I'll ruin him first."

Olivia started. "You can't ruin him. You talk wildly."

"Oh do I," sneered Miss Wharf, "that shows you know little of me or of
my business. Listen. I bought up a mortgage on the Royabay estate. It
cost me money which I could ill afford to pay away. But I bought it so
as to ruin the son of that woman Vane who took Markham from me. I always
intended to buy the estate, or at least to drive Rupert from the place,
but if you will give him up, I shall forego my revenge. Now what do you
say?"

"Nothing," faltered Olivia, who had turned very pale. "I don't know what
to say."

"Will you give the man up."

"I won't see him, if that will please you."

"No. It doesn't please me. You must give him up, and engage yourself to
Mr. Walker or to Mr. Burgh."

"I cannot--I cannot--" said poor Olivia.

Miss Wharf stamped her foot and bit her lip. "You are as obstinate as
your mother was before you," she said savagely. "I shall give you one
month to make up your mind, and that is very generous of me. If you
surrender Rupert and choose one of the other two, I will not
foreclose the mortgage and will leave you five hundred a year."

"When can you foreclose?" asked Olivia anxiously.

"By the end of the year. So it rests with you, if Rupert Ainsleigh
leaves his home in six months or keeps it. Now you can go."

Olivia Rayner was not a girl who would stand dictation. But for some
reason or another she meekly bowed her head and went out, leaving Miss
Wharf to calm down over her needle-work.

The girl went to her own room, and lay down to think over the situation.
What she thought or what plan she conceived, it is difficult to say; but
she came down to dinner quite composed. Her aunt looked at her sharply,
and Miss Pewsey with suspicion, but neither of them made any remark
bearing on the storm. On the contrary Miss Wharf chatted about the ball
and talked of her dress and even advised Olivia about her costume. "You
will look very well in white," said Miss Wharf.

"But not so lovely as my Sophia in pale blue," said Miss Pewsey with her
usual emphasis. "I know you will be the belle of the ball darling
Sophia."

"I have been the belle of several balls in my time," said Miss Wharf
good-humouredly.

"And will be still," purred Miss Pewsey like the cat she was, "my dear
nephew said you were a rattling fine woman."

"It sounds like one of Mr. Burgh's speeches," said Olivia with great
contempt. She knew that the buccaneer loved her, and therefore disliked
him the more.

"Oh Olivia how can you," cried the little old maid, throwing up her
hands, "when poor, dear, darling, Clarence worships the ground you walk
on. He's got money too, and wants a wife!"

"Let him marry Lotty Dean then."

"That retired grocer's daughter," cried Miss Pewsey, drawing herself up,
"no indeed. I may be poor, but I am of gentle blood Olivia. The Pewsey's
have been in Essex for generations. My papa was rich and could afford to
send me to a fashionable school when I met my own Sophia. But poor sweet
papa lost his money and then--oh, dear me." Miss Pewsey squeezed out a
tear. "What sad times I have had."

"You're all right now, Lavinia," said Miss Wharf stolidly, eating fruit
and sipping port wine.

"Yes dearest Sophia, thanks to your large and generous heart. I have no
one in the world but you and Clarence. He is the son of my only sister,
and has travelled--"

"In China," said Olivia.

Miss Pewsey narrowed her eyes and looked as though about to scratch.

"In China, of course. But why do you make that remark, Olivia?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I observed that Mr. Burgh has not very
pleasant recollections of China," she said deliberately, "he was not
pleased to find that Mr. Walker could talk the language, and he was
uncomfortable when the name Tung-yu was mentioned."

Miss Pewsey bit her lip. "Do you know anything of Tung-yu?"

"No. Why should I. All I know, is that Chris Walker says he will bring
the man down here for the ball."

The little old maid looked hard at the girl, but Olivia bore her
scrutiny composedly. She wondered why Miss Pewsey stared so hard, and
laid such emphasis on the Chinese name, but the matter slipped from her
mind when she retired to her room. She would have wondered still more
had she known that Miss Pewsey came up the stairs and listened at the
door of the bed-room.

Olivia had arranged to meet Rupert near the band-stand, as their
meetings were secret because of Miss Wharf's dislike. Certainly the
young man had come to the house, and Miss Wharf had received him with
cold dignity: but when he showed a marked preference for Olivia's
company, she gave him to understand that she did not approve. Henceforth
Rupert stopped away from Ivy Lodge, and met Olivia at intervals near the
band-stand. So Olivia, putting on a dark dress and a veil, slipped out
of the house, and took her way along the brilliantly lighted front. She
had often gone before and always had left her aunt and Miss Pewsey
sitting in the drawing-room, Miss Wharf working and the companion
reading the newspaper. Miss Wharf never by any chance looked at a
newspaper herself, but left it to Miss Pewsey to cull the choice news
for her delectation.

So Olivia, feeling quite safe, stepped lightly along to where the crowd
gathered round the stand. It was a perfect night and very warm,
therefore many people were seated in the chairs and strolling across the
grass. Olivia went to a certain corner, and, as she expected, found her
lover. He was not in evening-dress, but for the sake of the meeting had
assumed a dark serge suit. As she advanced, he recognised her and came
forward taking off his hat. Then he gave her his arm and the two
strolled to the far end of the green where they sat down under the fence
which was round the flag-staff. There, removed from everyone, they could
talk in moderately loud tones.

"My darling," said Rupert, possessing himself of Olivia's hand. "I
thought you would not come. You were late."

"I could not get away before. Miss Pewsey watches me like a cat does a
mouse, and with the same disposition to pounce, I expect."

"She's a detestable woman," said Rupert angrily, "why can't she leave
you alone?"

"I don't know. Rupert, she wants me to marry her nephew."

"What, that bounder who rides so furiously," cried Rupert fiercely, "you
don't mean to say that he dares----"

"Not in words, but he looks--oh," Olivia shivered, "you know the sort of
look a man like that, gives you."

"I'll twist his neck if he insults you."

"Then Miss Pewsey would complain to my aunt and I should get into
trouble. Oh, Rupert," she said softly, "I am so afraid."

"Of that man. Nonsense."

"No--of everything. I can keep Mr. Burgh off--"

"Who is he?" asked Rupert jealously.

"Miss Pewsey's nephew. I can manage him, bold as he is. But it is you I
am afraid of. Listen," and Olivia told the young man what she had
learned from Miss Wharf that afternoon. "She can ruin you," said the
poor girl, almost crying, "and she will if she learns the truth."

Rupert pressed the hand he held. "Why not tell her the truth," he said.
"I'm willing to face poverty if you are."

"Rupert, are you mad? If Aunt Sophia learned that we were married--hark,
what was that?" and Olivia rose, and nervously peered into the shadows,
"I thought I heard a noise."

"It's nothing. Only some rats in the long grass within the fence. No
one's about. They're all over at the band. But about our marriage,
Olivia. Miss Wharf must learn sooner or later."

"Yes. But you know I asked you to keep it quiet that I might not have
trouble with her. It was selfish of me, for it would have been braver of
me to have faced her anger and then have told all the world that we were
married at that Registry Office. But I'm glad now I didn't. She would
have ruined you."

"She can't do anything till the end of the year."

"But why didn't you tell me she held this mortgage?"

"Well, I thought that before the end of the year I might manage to pay
it and the other mortgages off. Then we could announce that we were
married, and live at Royabay on what small income I have."

"I don't mind about the income," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, for that Olivia
secretly was. "I'd live on a shilling a day with you, darling. But aunt
threatens if I marry you to cut me out of her will. She would do so at
once if she knew the truth, and leave the money to Miss Pewsey."

"Let her. I daresay that old maid has schemed for it. She's a wicked old
woman that and worthy of her bounder of a nephew. Never mind about the
money or the mortgage. Let us announce the marriage. I don't like the
position you occupy. It is not fit that my wife should be exposed to the
attentions of a cad like this Burgh."

"Wait till the end of the year," said Olivia feverishly, "then you may
be able to get money, to put things straight. It is best to keep the
matter quiet now. Oh how I wish we had money Rupert."

"I may be able to make it out of the fan?"

"What fan?" asked Olivia looking at him.

Rupert laughed. "I forgot you don't know." He took the slip of paper
from his pocket-book and lighting a match he read the description of the
fan. "I went up to the place," he continued dropping the lucifer, "and
saw a Chinaman, Tung-yu--"

"What," said Olivia starting, "why that is the man Mr. Walker is going
to bring to the ball. He's a clerk in the firm of Kum-gum Li and
Company."

"That's strange. I thought he was the keeper of the joss-house in Perry
Street, Whitechapel. Humph! Does Walker know of the fan?"

"I don't know. But he knows this Tung-yu, and I think, so does Mr.
Burgh. He seemed much annoyed when he heard the name."

"What about?"

"I can't say. And Rupert. Mr. Burgh speaks Chinese--"

"He must be very clever then for I hear it is a most awful language to
get hold of. Was Burgh ever in China?"

"Yes. He brought the fan from that place?"

"Fan." Rupert turned round sharply, "what fan?"

"The one you talk about," said Olivia innocently.

"I recognised it at once from the description you read just now."

"Are you sure," said Rupert much excited, for he never expected to hear
of the missing fan from Olivia of all people.

"Quite sure--positive. The fan is painted green on one side and the
sticks on the other are overlaid with thin jade, so I suppose it gets
its name from the mineral. Then it has a cord of yellow silk with four
beads and half a bead, and----"

"It is the same. Where did Burgh get it?"

"I don't know. He says he brought it from China, and offered it to me. I
refused it----"

"I should think so," said Ainsleigh fuming, "well?"

"Then he gave it to my aunt."

"And has Miss Wharf got it now?"

"I think so, but I have not seen it lately. I expect if she has, she
will use it at the ball."

"And Tung-yu who advertises, is coming to the ball," mused Rupert,
"there doesn't seem much chance for me. I expect your aunt will make the
money after all."

"It won't be much. Who would give a large sum for that fan?"

"Tung-yu will. He is ready to give five thousand pounds."

"Oh," said Olivia with real regret, "and I refused it."

"I'm glad you did," cried Rupert angrily, "I would rather everything
went than that you should accept presents from that bounder. Well I fear
my chance is gone Olivia. I'm ruined."

"Dearest I will face the ruin with you," and in the shadows they kissed.




CHAPTER V

CONCERNING THE FAN


Rupert returned to Royabay in rather a melancholy frame of mind. He
found himself in a very difficult situation, and there did not seem to
be any chance of his extricating himself therefrom, now that Miss Wharf
possessed the fan. It was strange that she should have received it from
Clarence Burgh, and Rupert wondered how that dashing young gentleman
became its owner. However, there was little use speculating on this.
Miss Wharf had the fan, and probably she would keep it, unless the large
sum of money offered by Tung-yu tempted her to do business. Ainsleigh
wondered also, if the old maid had read the papers, and if she had seen
the advertisement.

"But what does it matter to me," said Rupert, as he turned up the
avenue. "I won't get the money, and Miss Wharf will see me hanged first
before she will let me make such a sum. While I am poor, she holds me in
her clutches, and thinks by means of that mortgage to prevent my
marriage with Olivia. What would she say if she knew that we were
already married. I was wrong to consent to keep the affair secret, even
though Olivia wished it. In any case Miss Wharf can do nothing, till the
end of the year, and the truth is bound to come to her ears sooner or
later. Then she will strike and spare not. I believe that's the motto of
the Wharfs, and it fits her spiteful temper excellently."

Then Rupert went on to reflect on what Olivia had told him of Aunt
Sophia's romance with Markham Ainsleigh. The young man had never heard
of it before, as he knew little of his father, who had gone to China, a
few years after his heir was born. In fact Markham only waited till
there was a male Ainsleigh to carry on the succession and to inherit
what remained of the estates, and then steamed to the Far East to seek
fortune. But fortune had proved unkind and the poor man had
died--whether of dysentery or by violence, it is difficult to say. Some
people said one thing and some another, but even Rupert did not know the
truth. Dr. Forge, who had worked the mine in the Kan-su province along
with Markham, knew the absolute truth, and he ascribed the death to
dysentery, so Rupert, for the time being at all events, was willing to
accept this explanation. He had no reason to doubt the loyalty of
Theophilus Forge who had been a college chum of his father's.

Thinking in this way and considering whether it would not be advisable
to proclaim his marriage so as to release his wife from the odious
attentions of Clarence Burgh, the young man arrived at the house. He was
met in the hall by Mrs. Petley, who announced that Major Tidman was
waiting to see her young master. Rupert nodded in an absent-minded way
and was going to the library where the Major was kicking his heels, when
Mrs. Petley caught him by the arm. "It's walking again," said Mrs.
Petley, whose fat face was pale, "and say what you like Master Rupert,
trouble is coming."

She was a stout old dame with a red face suggestive of drink, a most
unfair thing to be said of her as she drank nothing stronger than gin
and water, one tumbler a night before retiring. But Mrs. Petley had been
a cook in her early days; later on she assumed the position of Rupert's
nurse, and finally, having married Petley the butler, she became
housekeeper of Royabay. She was a common vulgar old woman, but loyal to
the core, and adored Rupert. When he had to dismiss the greater part of
his servants he retained John Petley, and John Petley's wife, who
continued to serve him faithfully and always hoped for better days. Mrs.
Petley, being intensely superstitious, was always influenced by the
appearance of Abbot Raoul whose walking was supposed to predict bad luck
to the Ainsleighs. If the ghost did not appear Mrs. Petley was happy,
but when it did she always prognosticated evil. And it must be admitted
that Rupert usually had more trouble with his creditors when Abbot Raoul
_did_ visit his old haunts. He seemed to be a most malignant spirit. But
Rupert as an educated man, was not going to admit occult influence.

"Nonsense Mrs. Petley," said he, shaking her off, "so far as trouble is
concerned Abbot Raoul might remain visible for ever. Am I ever out of
trouble?"

"No, that you ain't, worse luck. But this walking means something extra
special as I said to John."

"Where did you see the old beast, I mean Abbot Raoul of course."

Mrs. Petley started. "Hush deary," she whispered looking round in a
fearful manner, "don't speak evil of speerits. It may be round, and you
might anger it. I saw it in the cloisters."

"Near the place?" asked Rupert.

"Aye, standing on the black square where its mortal body was burnt poor
soul. It was pointing to a tree."

"To what tree--there are plenty in the cloisters."

"To the copper beech, as you might say Master Rupert. And angry enough
he looked. I nearly fainted."

"You should be used to the ghost by this time Mrs. Petley."

"Ghosts is things custom won't help you with," said Mrs. Petley
mysteriously, "they freeze your blood every time. Just as I was thinking
of a good scream and a faint, it vanished."

"Into thin air like the witches in Macbeth," said Rupert lightly. "Well
it doesn't need Abbot Raoul to come and tell me trouble is near. I'm
likely to have a good deal by the end of the year."

"Oh Master Rupert what is it?" gasped the old woman.

"Nothing I can tell you at present," said Ainsleigh carelessly, "I have
a good mind to seek Abbot Raoul myself and see if he can't help me; but
I'm not psychic as you are Mrs. Petley. I see nothing."

"And a good thing too," said the ex-cook solemnly, "if it spoke to you it
would be to make matters worse, though worse they can't be."

"Oh yes they can," said Rupert grimly. "I may have to leave--"

"Never," cried Mrs. Petley smiting her fat hands together. "Royabay can
never do without an Ainsleigh within its walls."

"It will have to content itself with Abbot Raoul, and I hope he'll jolly
well frighten the creditors."

"Drat them," said Mrs. Petley vigorously, "but Master Rupert why did it
pint to the copper beech."

"I can't say. Ask it when next you see it. But I must go to Major
Tidman. He'll be angry if I keep him."

Mrs. Petley tossed her head and snorted. "The idear of old Farmer
Tidman's son, being angry with the likes of you Master Rupert. I mind
him when he was a brat of a lad and--"

"Yes--yes--but I must go," said Ainsleigh rather impatiently and left
Mrs. Petley talking to the air.

Major Tidman, whose ears must have burnt at the thoughts which occupied
Mrs. Petley's brain, was seated in the most comfortable arm-chair he
could find, and smoked a good cigar. He had a bottle of port and a glass
before him, and apparently had made himself at home while waiting.

"Hope you don't mind my making free with the wine-list," said Tidman,
who looked rather uneasy, as he rose. "I've waited two hours."

"What about?" said Rupert, throwing his cap down and sinking wearily
into a near chair, "anything wrong?"

"I am," said the Major, "all wrong my dear boy. You see in me a beast
and a false friend."

"Indeed. How do you make that out?"

"I have been concealing things from you," said the Major ruefully, "and
all to make money. I'm really getting avaricious, Ainsleigh," added the
Major desperately, "and it's spoiling my character."

"Well," said Rupert filling his pipe, and wondering what this out-burst
meant, "Byron says that avarice is a fine old gentlemanly vice. If you
have only that fault to blame yourself for, you are very lucky."

"But I should have told you about the fan."

Rupert blew out the match he had just lighted and sat up. "What's that
about the fan?" he asked sharply.

"I know something about it," said Tidman fortifying his courage with a
glass of wine, "and I should have spoken the other evening after dinner
when you read that advertisement. But I thought I'd get the fan myself
and secure the five thousand pounds--though to be sure I didn't know
what that Tung-yu would pay for it at the time."

"No," said Rupert drily, "I told you that later. Well, Major, you
haven't treated me quite on the square, but I forgive you. I expect
neither of us will make money out of that fan."

"No," said Tidman still more ruefully. "Forge has lost it."

Rupert looked puzzled. "Forge? What do you mean?"

"Oh, this is part of my confession of trickery," said the Major rubbing
his bald head. "You see Ainsleigh, I held my tongue when you read out
about the fan, but I knew where it was all the time."

"And where was it?" asked the young man staring.

"Forge has it--or rather Forge had it," said the Major, and he related
his interview with the doctor when Rupert had departed. "So you see,"
added the Major sadly "I'm punished for my wrong-doing. I'm very sorry,
as I like you, Ainsleigh, and after all I'd be glad to see you make the
money, though I'm not so well off myself as people think, and five
thousand pounds would help me a lot. However, I hope you will think I
have made amends for my momentary lapse from squareness by thus
confessing."

"Oh that's all right Tidman. But treat me openly for the future. How did
you know that Forge had had the fan?"

Rupert did not tell what he had heard from Olivia for the moment. He
first wished to hear all that the Major had to say. Tidman had certainly
acted wrongly, as he should not have taken advantage of Rupert's
confidence, but now he apparently wished to behave properly and
Ainsleigh put the Major's temporary deceit out of his mind.

"I gave Forge the fan," blurted out the Major.

"The deuce you did," said Ainsleigh looking puzzled. "And where did you
get it?"

"In Canton seven years ago," confessed Tidman, "I was travelling there
for my health, and I had an adventure."

"What was that?"

But Tidman did not seem inclined to speak out. "I'll tell you on another
occasion," he said with a shudder, "it was not a very pleasant
adventure, and Forge, who was in Canton at the time, got me out of it. I
stuck to the fan though."

"Oh, so the fan was the cause of the adventure?"

"Partly" admitted Tidman reluctantly. "I'll tell you later as I say," he
wiped his forehead, "I can't tell you now, it's too awful. I got the fan
though and Forge took a fancy to it. He asked me for it in Canton and I
refused. He asked again in England and I gave it to him. He's had it all
these seven years, locked up in that black japan cabinet with the gold
figures--"

"I know. Its in that Chinese room of his. Well?"

"After you went away the other day I asked him to give me the fan back,
as I wanted to get the money from Tung-yu. Forge refused, as he said the
fan has something to do with a secret--"

"Whose secret?"

"Lo-Keong's secret. He is the real owner of the fan you know. Forge
seems to hate Lo-Keong, and said the fan would get him into trouble."

"But how--how?" asked Ainsleigh impatiently.

The Major wiped his face again, "I don't know--I can't say. But Forge
said there was a secret connected with the fan--"

"You said that before," cried Rupert becoming exasperated.

"I don't know what I am saying, and that's the truth," stammered Tidman
becoming hotter and redder, "but Forge said if I found the secret he
would give me the fan. He then opened the cabinet and found that the fan
was gone."

"What did he say?"

"He turned as white as a sheet, and said that his life was at stake."

Rupert rose to pace the room. The mystery of the fan piqued him, "I
wonder what he meant by that?" he asked himself.

"Something horrid if it has to do with the Chinese," said the Major,
"you have no idea what brutes they are. But Forge thought that Mrs.
Bressy, the old woman who looks after him, might have sneaked the fan,
as she is fond of taking things and pawning them. But she swore she had
never set eyes on it."

"Wasn't the cabinet locked?"

"Yes. That's the strange part, and Forge has the key on his watch-chain.
The lock wasn't broken, and no other key would fit it, so how it was
opened, is a mystery. But the fan's gone."

"Quite so," said Rupert, facing the Major sharply, "and Miss Wharf has
the very fan you speak of."

Tidman fell back in his chair and gasped till he was purple in the face.
"Wh--a--a--t," he drawled out. "Sophia Wharf?"

"Yes. Olivia told me, when I explained how I wished to find the fan and
make money. It seems that young Burgh----"

"A detestable young cad," snapped Tidman.

"I agree with you. He dares to admire my--to admire Olivia," said Rupert
nearly letting his secret slip out, "and, to gain her good graces, he
offered her this fan. She refused, and he then presented it to Miss
Wharf, who took it and who has it now."

"Oh," groaned the Major, "and it's worth five thousand. What luck some
people have."

Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "The luck will not come our way," he
replied carelessly, "and to tell you the truth I don't much care. I
expect Miss Wharf will sell the fan to Tung-yu."

"But she doesn't know about his wishing to buy it?"

"She may have seen the advertisement, and you know Tung-yu is coming to
the ball at the Bristol."

Major Tidman rose like a jack-in-the-box. "Who says so?" he asked.

"Young Walker. Tung-yu is not the keeper of the Whitechapel Joss-house
as I thought. He is a clerk in the firm of Kum-gum Li."

"Chris Walker also works for them," interpolated the Major.

"Certainly, and he is bringing Tung-yu to the ball. I don't know why,
and I don't much care," added Ainsleigh somewhat crossly. "I am about
tired of this fan business. What will you do?"

Major Tidman buttoned his coat. "I'm going straight to Forge," he said,
"and I shall tell him that young Burgh had the fan. I know how he got
it."

"Do you, indeed," said Rupert yawning.

"Yes. Miss Pewsey stole it from the cabinet."

"Nonsense. Why should she do that?"

"Because she's always about Forge's house. He told me that he might
marry her--ugh," the Major sneered, "fancy marrying that old cat."

"Different people have different tastes," said Ainsleigh coolly, "but if
Forge is going to marry Miss Pewsey all the more reason she should not
steal the fan."

"But she did," insisted the Major. "I'm sure she stole it and gave it to
that scamp of a nephew so that he might gain Miss Rayner's goodwill. You
see, Miss Pewsey would like to see Burgh married to Olivia, as she--Miss
Pewsey I mean--could then finger the five hundred a year Miss Wharf will
leave her niece."

"He had better be certain that Olivia will inherit the money first,"
said Rupert grimly, thinking of the secret marriage, "and Miss Pewsey
hates Olivia."

"She hates everyone," said Tidman shrugging his plump shoulders, "but
she hasn't a penny to bless herself with, and when Miss Wharf dies she
will be cast on the world. Even five hundred a year is a consideration
to her, and if her nephew can secure that by marrying Olivia, why, all
the better for Miss Pewsey."

But Rupert shook his head. "If Miss Pewsey had that scheme in her head,
she would be more friendly with Olivia," he said, "and she can set her
mind at rest: Burgh will not marry Olivia."

"He's a dangerous rival Ainsleigh."

"Pooh. I can manage that young man and half a dozen like him. You don't
think I'd give up the girl I love, to anyone, Tidman."

"No," said the Major, looking at the frank brave face of his host, "but
Burgh is unscrupulous, and will make mischief. However, perhaps Forge
will deal with him for this fan business. When Forge learns that Miss
Pewsey has stolen his fan, he won't marry her. I'll have the
satisfaction of spoiling her plans at all events."

"She seems to have a great many plans according to you," yawned
Ainsleigh, "but frankly I think you have found a mare's nest. I don't
believe anything will come of the matter. It's moonshine."

Tidman marched to the door. "We'll see," said he determinedly. "I
believe trouble is coming to you through young Burgh," and he departed.

Rupert left alone lighted his pipe and thought of Mrs. Petley's fancy
concerning the ghost. "If this is the trouble," said he to himself. "I
don't mind. Burgh won't get Olivia unless over my dead body. As to this
fan--pah!"

But he little knew what disasters the fan would bring to him. Abbot
Raoul's ghost was not walking for nothing.




CHAPTER VI

BURGH'S STORY


Next morning Major Tidman was seated in his well-furnished room in the
Bristol Hotel. From the window he commanded a fine view of the mouth of
the Thames, of the pier, and of the picturesque lower town. But the view
did not gain the attention of the Major, worthy as it was of his notice.
He seated himself at the table which was spread for breakfast, and
proceeded to make a good meal. Perhaps he did not eat so well as usual
for the Major was worried, as was evident from the cross expression of
his face. On the previous night he had gone to see Forge, and had told
him how Miss Wharf became possessed of the fan. The doctor had listened
to him quietly, but had refrained from making any observation, even when
Tidman reminded him of his remark, as to his life being at stake. The
interview had on the whole been unsatisfactory, and Tidman was not at
all pleased. He wished to learn the truth about the fan.

"There's some secret connected with it," muttered the Major, while he
devoured buttered eggs rapidly, "and that secret means a lot of money.
Five thousand pounds is worth having. I could buy that plot of waste
land near the church and build an hotel there. I believe it would pay.
Then there's Forge's life, which, as he says, hangs on the fan, though
in what way I can't find out. If I got the fan, I might be able to get
something out of him. I would make Forge and Tung-yu bid against one
another, and perhaps I'd get even more than is offered. Ainsleigh can't
say anything against me now, as I am acting quite square and above
board. He's got no enterprise," thought the little man with some scorn,
"or he'd get Olivia to take the fan from her aunt and make the money out
of it. But if he won't, I will, so I'll see Miss Wharf to-day and try
what I can do. I daresay I'd get it from her for a five pound note--that
is if she hasn't seen the advertisement. She's keen after money, too--as
keen as I am. Humph," added Tidman, filling himself a second cup of
coffee. "I wonder why Tung-yu was such a fool as to tell Ainsleigh he
was willing to give five thousand. Anyone, not knowing the value of the
fan, would get it cheap. There's a mystery about it, and the mystery
means money. I must get to the bottom of the affair. Forge is no good,
as he is holding his tongue: even when I told him that Miss Pewsey stole
it, he did not seem to mind. But he'll never marry her after this, so
I've spoilt her chance of marriage, the cat. Though why Forge should
marry an old fiend who is eighty, if she's an hour, I can't make out.
But Forge was always secretive," ended the Major in disgust, and reached
for the _pate-de-foi-gras_.

His meal was interrupted by a smart young waiter, who intimated that a
lady and gentleman wished to see the Major. Tidman was rather surprised
at a call being paid at ten o'clock in the morning: but he was still
more surprised, when at the heels of the waiter appeared Miss Pewsey and
Dr. Forge. The latter looked much his usual self, hungry, dismal, and
like a bird of prey: but Miss Pewsey had a colour in her cheeks and a
fire in her black eyes, which made her look younger. It seemed that her
errand was not a peaceful one.

"To what am I indebted--?" began the courtly Major, when the little old
maid cut him short with vinegary politeness.

"Indebted," she said, standing very straight and stiff, and quite
ignoring the chair placed for her. "Oh, indeed,--how very polite we are.
Judas!" she snapped out the word with flaming eyes. "Oh, Judas!"

"Really, Miss Pewsey----"

"You'd like to see me in the dock would you?" cried Miss Pewsey tossing
her head and trembling with wrath, "I'm a thief am I--oh you military
fat Judas."

"Did you come here to insult me?" asked Tidman growing purple.

"If you put it in that way I did," sniffed the lady, "and also to ask
plainly, what you meant by stating to my promised husband here, that I
stole a fan from his cabinet?"

Tidman changed from purple to scarlet. He had not reckoned on the doctor
speaking to Miss Pewsey, and he turned a look of reproach on his friend.
The doctor immediately took up the challenge, "I see you think I have
been too free with my tongue," said he deliberately, "it is not my
custom as you know. But I told you Major that I was engaged to Miss
Pewsey, and I thought it only right that she should know the aspersions
you have cast on her character."

"A character," cried the lady, "which has stood the test of years and
which stands deservedly high. I am a Pewsey of Essex," she added as
though the whole county belonged to her, "and never before have I been
accused of thieving--Judas," she shot out the name again, and the Major
quailed. He saw that he was in the wrong, owing to Forge's betrayal, and
had to make the best of it.

"I am extremely sorry," he said apologetically, "quite a mistake."

"Oh, indeed. A jury will give their opinion on that," sniffed the
maiden.

"No! No I beg of you----"

"The damages will be laid at five thousand pounds."

"The price of the fan," said Tidman starting.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Miss Pewsey, her eyes glittering.

"I mean, just nothing."

"Oh yes, you do. Make a clean breast of it Benjamin Tidman. Oh, to think
that the son of a farmer, who was almost a labourer, should dare to
speak evil of a Pewsey of Essex. But the law--the law," said the irate
lady shaking a thin finger, "and five thousand pounds."

"Get it out of the fan."

"Is it worth that?" asked Forge coldly.

"You heard what young Ainsleigh said," answered Tidman as coldly.

"Yes I remember; but we have not come about the price, but about your
libel on this lady."

"I apologise," said Tidman, seeing nothing else was to be done.

"Apology isn't money," snapped Miss Pewsey.

"Oh, if you want money, again I refer you to the fan."

The Major was getting angry. He didn't very much care if Miss Pewsey did
bring an action at the moment, though with saner thoughts he would have
been horrified at the idea. "I apologise," said he again, "but I was
misled by Dr. Forge."

"How were you misled by me?" demanded Forge impassively.

"You said you had the fan in your cabinet, and that it had been stolen.
Mrs. Bressy swore she did not take it, and I thought--"

"That I was the thief," cried Miss Pewsey shrilly, "oh how clever of
you--how very, very clever. You thought that I got the key from the
watch-chain of Dr. Forge where he always carries it, to open the cabinet
and steal a fan, I knew nothing about it. I never even knew of the
existence of the fan--there Judas," snapped the lady once more.

"Then I was mistaken, and Dr. Forge was mistaken also."

"I confess that I did make a mistake," said the doctor with a sad face,
"but that does not excuse your libelling the lady I hope to call my
wife. My memory is not so good as it was, and I fear that the drugs I
take to induce sleep have impaired what memory I have left. I suffer
from neuralgia," added the doctor turning to Miss Pewsey, "and in China
I contracted the habit of opium smoking, so--"

"Marriage will put that right," said the lady patting his hand. "I do
not expect a perfect husband--"

"I never knew you expected a husband at all," said Tidman injudiciously.

"Ho," cried Miss Pewsey drawing herself up. She had been standing all
the time, "another libel. I call Dr. Forge to witness it."

"I really think Tidman you'd better hold your tongue," said the doctor
gently, "but I must explain, that I quite forgot that I had parted with
the fan. Yes. I received it from you, seven years ago when I brought you
home after that adventure in Canton. Two years later I returned to
China, to see Lo-Keong on business, and I took the fan with me. He
received it."

"No," said the Major shaking his bald head, "I can't believe that,
Forge. You declared that you hated Lo-Keong and that the fan would harm
you and him also."

"I do hate the man," cried Forge looking more like a bird of prey than
ever, "but I got a concession about a gold mine, by giving back the fan.
I wanted the money more than Lo-Keong's life. As to my own life, it was
in danger from the enemies of the Mandarin, who want the fan to ruin
him. That was why I spoke as I did. Are you satisfied?"

"Not quite," said Tidman who was puzzled, "how did the fan come to
England again?"

"My nephew Mr. Burgh will tell you that," said Miss Pewsey, "when he has
administered the beating I have asked him to inflict."

"Beating," shouted the Major snatching a knife from the breakfast table,
"let that young whelp dare to hint such a thing, and I'll kick him round
Marport."

"Clarence is not the man to be kicked."

"Nor am I the man to be beaten. I have apologised and that is quite
enough. If you are not satisfied Miss Pewsey, you can bring your action
and I'll defend it. Beating indeed," snorted Tidman, "I'd like to see
anyone who would dare to lay a hand on me," and he looked very fierce as
he spoke.

"Very good," said Miss Pewsey in a stately manner, "if you will tell me
all about the fan, I shall ask Clarence to spare you the beating."

"Clarence can go to--" the Major mentioned a place which made Miss
Pewsey shriek and clap her fingers to her ears. "I am not the least
afraid of that cad and bounder--that--that----"

"Libel again Major Tidman."

"Pooh--Pooh," said Forge rising, "let us go Lavinia."

"Not till I hear about the fan. For the sake of my dear Sophia who has
the fan, I want to hear."

"All I know, is, that the fan was advertised for----"

"I saw the advertisement," said Miss Pewsey, "but I said nothing to dear
Sophia, although I recognised the fan from the description in the
newspaper. She never looks at the papers, and trusts to me to tell her
the news."

"So you kept from her a piece of news out of which she could make five
thousand pounds."

"Really and truly," said Miss Pewsey clutching her bag convulsively and
with glittering eyes, "who says so--who pays it--who--?"

"One question at a time," interrupted Tidman, now quite master of
himself. "Tung-yu, the man Ainsleigh saw at the Joss House in Perry
Street Whitechapel, offered five thousand pounds for the return of the
fan. Ainsleigh saw the advertisement and--"

"I know how he came to inquire about the fan," said Miss Pewsey, "Dr.
Forge told me, but I did not know the amount offered."

"Will you tell Miss Wharf now."

"No," said Miss Pewsey very decisively, "nor will any one else. My
Sophia's health is delicate and if she had a shock like that inflicted
on her, she would die."

"What the offer of five thousand pounds--"

"The chance of being killed," said Miss Pewsey, "but I will leave my
nephew Mr. Burgh to explain that Major Tidman. I accept your apology for
thinking me a--but no," cried the lady, "I can't bring myself to
pronounce the nasty word. I am a Pewsey of Essex. All is said in that, I
think. Good morning, Major. My abstinence from bringing an action lies
in the fact, that you will refrain from unsettling my Sophia's mind by
telling about the fan. Good-morning. My Theophilus will we not go?"

Before the Major could recover from the bewilderment into which he was
thrown by this torrent of words, Miss Pewsey taking the arm of the
melancholy doctor had left the room. When alone Tidman scratched his
chin and swore. "There's something in this," he soliloquised. "I believe
the old woman wants to get the money herself. By George, I'll keep my
eyes on her," and the Major shook his fist at the door, through which
the fairy form of Miss Pewsey had just vanished.

Later in the day Tidman dressed to perfection, walked up the town
twirling his stick, and beaming on every pretty woman he came across.
The stout old boy was not at all appalled by the threat of Miss Pewsey
regarding her buccaneering nephew's attentions. When he saw the
gentleman in question bearing down on him, he simply stopped and grasped
his stick more firmly. If there was to be a fight, the Major resolved to
have the first blow. But Burgh did not seem ready to make a dash. He
sauntered up to Tidman and looked at him smilingly, "Well met old pard,"
said he in his slangy fashion.

"My name to you, is Major Tidman," said the old fellow coolly.

"I guess I know that much. Can't we go a stretch along the lower part of
the town?"

"If there's any row to come off," said the Major, keeping a wary eye on
the young man. "I prefer it to take place here. On guard sir--on guard."

Clarence shrugged his shoulders and produced a cigarette. "Oh that's all
right," said he striking a match. "I guess my old aunt's been at you.
I'm not going in for any row--not me."

"Just as well for you," said the Major sharply, "how dare you threaten
me, you--you--"

"Now I ask you," said Clarence, "if I have threatened you? Go slow. I
guess the old girl's been piling on the agony. She's got old Forge to
fight her battles. When I make trouble," added Clarence musingly, "it
will be for a pretty girl like Olivia."

"You can have your desire for a row by telling that to young Ainsleigh."

"Huh," said Burgh with contempt, "I guess I'd lay him out pretty smart.
I tell you, Major, I'm dead gone on that girl: but she treats me like a
lump of mud."

"And quite right too," said Tidman coolly, "you aren't worthy of her.
Now Ainsleigh is."

Clarence pitched away his cigarette with an irritable gesture. "Don't
get me riz," said he darkly, "or I'll make the hair fly with Ainsleigh."

"Pooh. He's quite able to look after himself."

"Can he shoot?" demanded the buccaneer.

"Yes. And use his fists, and fence, and lay you out properly. Confound
you, sir, don't you think I've travelled also. I've been in the Naked
Lands in my time, and have seen your sort growing on the banana plants.
You're the sort to get lynched."

"Oh, tie it up," said Burgh with sudden anger, for these remarks were
not to his mind. "I want to tell you about the fan."

"Why do you want to talk of that?" asked Tidman with suspicion, "I don't
care a straw for the fan."

"Oh, I reckon you do, Major. But you're well out of it. If you'd kept
that fan there would have been trouble--yes, you may look, but if you'd
held on to that article you'd have been a corpse by now."

Tidman sneered, not at all terrified by these vague threats. "What do
you mean by this drivel?"

"Let's come to anchor here," said Clarence pulling up beside a seat in a
secluded part, near the old town beach. "I'll spin the yarn."

"About the fan," said the Major sitting promptly. "I confess I am
curious to know how it came to England again, after Forge took it again
to the Far East. Didn't he give it to Lo-Keong?"

"So he says," said Clarence with a side-long look at his companion. "I
don't know myself. All I know is, that I got it from a pirate."

"From a pirate?"

"That's so. I was in Chinese waters a year or so ago, and I reckon
pirates swarm in those parts--"

Tidman shivered. "Yes," he admitted, "I had an adventure myself in
Canton with a pirate of sorts."

"Old Forge told me something about it," said Clarence lighting a fresh
cigarette, "but my yarn's different. I was out with some of the boys in
Chinese water, and a pirate tried to board us. We were down Borneo way,
looking out for a ruby mine said to be in those parts. My pals--there
were two of them, and myself engineering the job--hired a boat and cut
across to Borneo. The pirates tried to slit our throats and our Chinese
crew tried to help them. But we used our Winchesters and six shooters
freely, and shot a heap. The pirates cleared off and we brought our
barky into port safe enough."

"But about the fan?"

"I'm coming to that. The Boss pirate was shot by me--a big six foot
Northern Chinee, got up, to kill, like a tin god. He had this jade fan,
and directed operations with it. When his pals cleared I found him as
dead as a coffin and nailed the fan. It was pretty enough, but didn't
appeal to me much. I clapped it away in my box, and when I reached
England I offered it to Aunt Lavinia. She wants me to marry Miss Rayner,
and said I should offer it to her, and cut out that aristocratic
Ainsleigh chap. Olivia--ripping name, ain't it--well, she didn't catch
on, so I thought I'd gain the goodwill of old Miss Wharf, and passed it
along to her."

The Major listened in silence to this story, which seemed reasonable
enough. "Strange it should have come back to England, and to a small
place like this, where Forge had it," he mused. "A coincidence I
suppose. By the way did you see the advertisement?" he asked.

"You bet I did, and it made me sick to think I'd parted with the fan.
Leastways, it made me sick till I saw Hwei!"

"You mean Tung-yu."

"No, I don't. I mean the Chinee as calls himself Hwei, who put that
advertisement in every newspaper in London, and the United Kingdom."

"What, in everyone?" said the Major, "must have cost----"

"A heap you bet, Major. Well I struck Hwei--"

"That's the name of a river, man."

"Maybe: but it's what this celestial calls himself. I struck him near
the Mansion House, and knew him of old in Pekin I reckon, where we
chin-chined over some contraband biznai. I spoke to him in Chinese--I
know enough to get along on--and he told me he had come to this country
about Lo-Keong's fan. I never said I'd got it, though by that time I'd
seen the advertisement. I know Chinamen too well, to give myself away in
that fashion. I pumped him, and learned that Hwei intended to scrag the
chap who held the fan, so I concluded to lie low."

"But he offered wealth to whomsoever gave it up."

"Maybe. I don't know exactly how the thing figures out. I guess Hwei
does the killing, and Tung-yu the rewarding. But you can take it from
me, Major, that unless Miss Wharf gets rid of that fan she'll have her
throat cut. So I guess, you must be glad you didn't handle the biznai,"
and Clarence puffed a serene cloud of smoke.

"It's more of a mystery than ever," said the Major. And so it was.




CHAPTER VII

THE WARNING


The idea that the end of the year would see him ruined and homeless was
terrible to Rupert. Even if his home had been an ordinary house, he
would have been anxious; but when he thought of the venerable mansion,
of the few acres remaining, of the once vast Ainsleigh estates, of the
ruins of the Abbey which he loved, his heart was wrung with anguish. How
could he let these things depart from him, for ever? Yet he saw no way
out of the matter, although he had frequent consultations with his
lawyers. One day, shortly before the ball at the Bristol, he returned
from town with a melancholy face. Old Petley ventured to follow his
young master into the library, and found him with his face covered with
his hands, in deep despair.

"Don't take on so, Master Rupert," said the old butler, gently, "things
have not yet come to the worst."

"They are about as bad as they can be, John," replied Ainsleigh. "I have
seen Mr. Thorp. It will take thirty thousand pounds to put matters
right. And where am I to get it? Oh," the young man started up and
walked to and fro, "why didn't I go into the law, or take to some
profession where I might make money? Forge was my guardian, he should
have seen to it."

"Master Rupert," said the old butler, "do you think that gentleman is
your friend?"

"What makes you think he isn't, John?"

Petley pinched his chin between a shaky finger and thumb. "He don't seem
like a friend," said he in his quavering voice. "He didn't tell you or
me, Master Rupert, how bad things were. When you was at college he
should have told you, and then you might have learned some way of
getting money."

"My father trusted him, John. He was appointed my guardian by the will
my father made before he left for China."

"And Dr. Forge went with the master to China," said the old man, "how
did the master die?"

"Of dysentery, so Dr. Forge says."

"And others say he was murdered."

"Who says so, John?"

"Well sir, that Mandarin gentleman sent your father's papers and luggage
back here when your mother was alive. A Chinaman brought the things. He
hinted that all was not right, and afterwards the mistress died. She
believed your father was murdered."

Rupert looked pensive. He had heard something of this, but the story had
been so vague, and was so vague as John told it, that he did not believe
in it much. "Does Dr. Forge know the truth?" he asked.

"He ought to, sir. Dr. Forge came from China with a report of this gold
mine up in Kan-su, and your father was all on fire to go there and make
money. The mistress implored him not to go but he would. He went with
Dr. Forge, and never returned. The doctor, I know, says that the master
died of dysentery, when the doctor himself was at Pekin. But I never
liked that Forge," cried the old servant vehemently, "and I believe
there's something black about the business."

"But why should Forge be an enemy of my father's?"

"Ah sir," Petley shook his old head, "I can't rightly say. Those two
were at college together and fast friends; but I never liked Forge. No,
sir, not if I was killed for it would I ever like that gentleman, though
it's not for a person in my position to speak so. I asked the doctor
again and again to let me know how bad things were, when you were at
school, Master Rupert, but he told me to mind my own business. As if it
wasn't my business to see after the family I'd been bred up in, since
fifteen years of age."

"I'll have a talk with Dr. Forge," said Rupert after a pause, "if there
is any question of my father having been murdered, I'll see if he
knows," he turned and looked on the old man quickly. "You don't suppose
John that if there was a murder, he--"

"No! no!" cried Petley hurriedly, "I don't say he had to do with it. But
that Mandarin--"

"Lo-Keong. Why Forge hates him."

"So he says. But this Mandarin, as I've heard from the Major, is high in
favour with the Chinaman's court. If the doctor was his enemy, he could
not go so often to China as he does. And since your father's death
fifteen years ago, he's been back several times."

"Well I'll speak to him, John."

"And about the money, sir?"

Rupert sat down again. "I don't know what to do," he groaned. "I can
manage to stave off many of the creditors, but if Miss Wharf forecloses
the mortgage at Christmas everyone will come down with a rush and I'll
have to give up Royabay to the creditors."

"Never--never--that will never be," said John fiercely, "why the place
has been under the Ainsleighs for over three hundred years."

"I don't think that matters to the creditors," said Rupert wincing, "if
I could only raise this thirty-thousand and get the land clear I would
be able to live fairly well. There wouldn't be much; still I could keep
the Abbey and we could live quietly."

"_We_ sir?" asked the old man raising his head.

Rupert flushed, seeing he had made a slip. He did not want to tell the
old man that he was married, as he was fearful lest the news should come
to Miss Wharf's ears and render his wife's position with that lady
unbearable. "I might get married you know," he said in an evasive way.

"Lord, sir," cried Petley in terror, "whatever you do, don't cumber
yourself with a wife, till you put things straight."

"Heaven only knows how I am to put them straight," sighed Rupert. "I
say, John, send me in some tea. I'm quite weary. Thorp is coming to see
me next week and we'll have a talk."

"With Dr. Forge I hope," said old John, as he withdrew.

Ainsleigh frowned, when the door closed. Petley certainly seemed
possessed by the idea that Forge was an enemy of the Ainsleighs, yet
Rupert could think of no reason why he should be. He had been an
excellent guardian to the boy, and if he had not told him the full
extent of the ruin till it was too late to prevent it, he might have
done so out of pity, so that the lad's young years might be unclouded.
"Still it would have been better had he been less tender of my feelings
and more considerate for my position," thought Rupert as he paced the
long room.

While he was sadly looking out of the window and thinking of the wrench
it would be to leave the old place, he saw a tall woman walking up the
avenue. The eyes of love are keen, and Rupert with a thrill of joy
recognised the stately gait of Olivia. With an ejaculation of delight,
he ran out, nearly upsetting Mrs. Petley who was coming into the Library
with a dainty tea. Disregarding her exclamation of astonishment, Rupert
sprang out of the door and down the steps. He met Olivia half way near
the ruins of the Abbey. "My dearest," he said stretching out both hands,
"how good of you to come!" Olivia, who looked pale, allowed him to take
her hands passively. "I want to speak to you," she said quickly, "come
into the Abbey," and she drew him towards the ruins.

"No! No," said her husband, "enter your own house and have a cup of tea.
It is just ready and will do you good."

"Not just now, Rupert," she replied, laying a detaining hand on his arm.
"I can wait only for a quarter of an hour. I must get back."

Rupert grumbled at the short time, but, resolved to make the most of it,
he walked with her into the cloisters. These were small but the ruins
were very beautiful. Rows of delicately carved pillars surrounded a
grassy sward. At the far end were the ruins of the church stretching
into the pines. The roofless fane looked venerable even in the bright
sunshine. The walls were overgrown with ivy, and some of the images over
the door, still remained, though much defaced by Time. The windows were
without the painted glass which had once filled them, but were rich with
elaborate stone work. This was especially fine in the round window over
the altar. As in the cloisters, the body of the church was overgrown
with grass and some of the pillars had fallen. The lovers did not
venture into the ruined church itself but walked round the pavement of
the cloisters under the arches. Doubtless in days of old, many a
venerable father walked on that paved way. But the monks were gone, the
shrine was in ruins, and these lovers of a younger generation paced the
quiet cloisters talking of love.

"My darling," said the young husband fondly, "how pale you are. I hope
nothing is wrong."

"My aunt is ill. Oh it's nothing--only a feverish cold. She hopes to be
well enough to attend the ball to-morrow night."

"I did not hear of it," said Rupert, "though Tidman generally tells me
the news. I have been in London for the last few days."

"So I see," said Olivia, and glanced at her fair stalwart husband in his
frock coat and smart Bond street kit, "how well you look."

Rupert appreciated the compliment and taking her hands kissed both
several times. Olivia bent forward and pressed a kiss on his smooth
hair. Then she withdrew her hands. "We must talk sense," she said
severely.

"Oh," said Rupert making a wry face, "not about your aunt?"

"Yes. I can't understand her. She has shut herself up in her room and
refuses to see me. She will admit no one but Miss Pewsey."

Ainsleigh shrugged his shoulders. "What does it matter," he said, "you
know Miss Wharf never liked you. You are much too handsome, my own. And
that is the reason also, for Miss Pewsey's dislike."

"Oh, Miss Pewsey is more amiable," said Olivia, "indeed I never knew her
to be so amiable. She is always chatting to me at such times as she can
be spared from my aunt's room."

"Well, what is worrying you?"

"This exclusion from Aunt Sophia's room," said Olivia with tears of
vexation in her dark eyes. "I am her only relative--or at all events I
am her nearest. It seems hard that she should exclude me, and admit Miss
Pewsey who is only a paid companion."

"I don't think it matters a bit," said Rupert, "hasn't your aunt seen
anyone lately?"

"No,--yes, by the way. She has seen her lawyer several times."

"I expect she is altering her will."

Olivia laughed. "She threatens to do so in favour of Miss Pewsey, unless
by the end of the month I give you up, and engage myself either to Mr.
Walker or to Mr. Burgh."

Rupert grew very angry. "What a detestable woman," he exclaimed. "I beg
your pardon, dear, I forgot she's your aunt. But what right has she to
order you about like this? You are of age."

"And I am married, though she doesn't know it. But I'll tell you the
real reason, I am vexed I can't see my aunt. Can't we sit down?"

"Over there," said Ainsleigh, pointing to a secluded seat.

It was placed at the far end of the cloisters under a large oak. There
were four oaks here, or to be more correct, three oaks and the stump of
one. "That was destroyed by lightning when I was born," said Rupert,
seeing Olivia's eyes fixed on this. "Mrs. Petley saw in it an omen that
I would be unlucky. But am I?" and he fell to kissing his wife's hands
again.

"Really, Rupert, you must be more sensible," she said, in pretended
vexation. "What a pretty tree that copper-beech is."

"Yes! But do you see the blackened square?"

"It is not so very black," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, pausing to dig the point
of her umbrella into the ground, "there's hardly any grass on it, and
the earth is dark and hard. Curious it should be so, seeing the grass is
thick and green all round, I suppose this is where Abbot Raoul was
burnt."

"Yes. I've told you the story and shown you the spot many times," said
Rupert, slipping his arm round her waist.

"Dearest," she whispered, "I was too much in love, to hear what you said
on that point. And remember, all my visits to the Abbey have been secret
ones. My aunt would be furious did she know that I had been here, and I
often wonder that Pewsey, who is always watching me, has not followed me
here."

"If she does I'll duck her in the pond for a witch," said Rupert, and
drew his wife to the seat under the oak, "well, go on."

"About my aunt. Oh, it's what Major Tidman told me. He's been trying to
see Aunt Sophia also. Have you heard what Mr. Burgh told the Major about
that horrid fan?"

"No. You forget, I have just returned from town. What is it?"

Olivia related to Rupert the story which Clarence had told the Major.
"So you see," she ended, "this man Hwei wants to kill any one who has
the fan, and Tung-yu desires to reward the person who brings it back."

"It seems contradictory," said Ainsleigh thoughtfully, "and if Hwei put
in the advertisement it is strange that Tung-yu should have received me
in the joss-house mentioned in the paper. Well?"

"Well," said Olivia rather vexed, "can't you see. I want my aunt to know
that she is in danger and get rid of that horrid fan."

"Pooh," said her husband laughing, "there's no danger. Hwei can't kill
an old lady like that for the sake of a fan she would probably sell for
five shillings."

"She wouldn't," said Olivia with conviction. "Aunt Sophia has taken
quite a fancy to that fan. But she ought to be told how dangerous it is,
Rupert."

"Or how lucky," said Ainsleigh, "let her sell the fan to Tung-yu for
five thousand pounds and then she can let Hwei kill Tung-yu."

"But would he do so."

"I can't say. On the face of it, it looks as though these two were
working against one another, seeing they propose to reward the owner of
the fan in such different ways. Yet Hwei, according to Burgh, put the
advertisement in and Tung-yu received me. I don't understand."

"Well, don't you think I should tell the whole story to my aunt?"

"Yes. Go in and see her."

"Miss Pewsey won't let me, and my aunt refuses to admit me. I sent in a
note the other day saying that I wished to speak very particularly, and
she sent out another note to say that she would not see anyone till she
was well. The note was kind enough in Aunt Sophia's cold way, but you
see----"

"Yes! Yes! Well then let Tidman see her."

"Rupert, how annoying you are. She won't see anyone but Miss----"

"Miss Pewsey. Well then, tell her the story, and she can repeat it to
your aunt. Though, by the way," added Ainsleigh, "Burgh may have told
Miss Pewsey about it already."

"Yes," said Olivia, her face brightening, and rising to go away, "but
I'll ask Miss Pewsey to tell Aunt Sophia herself."

As they walked towards the ruined entrance, Mrs. Petley's bulky form
appeared in the archway. She threw up her hands. "Sakes alive, Master
Rupert, come off Abbot Raoul's burning-place."

Ainsleigh, who was standing on the square of blackened ground, obeyed at
once, and drew Olivia away also. "I forgot," he murmured.

"Forgot what?" asked Olivia.

"Why miss," said the old housekeeper, "don't you know it's said that if
an Ainsleigh stands there, some trouble will befall him before the
year's end, You're not an Ainsleigh miss, but Master Rupert--well
there--oh sir, how can you be so foolish. The tea's ready sir," and Mrs.
Petley, with this prosaic ending trotted away.

"She doesn't know that you are an Ainsleigh," said Rupert kissing his
wife, "pah, Don't think of that foolish superstition. Come to--"

"No, Rupert," said Olivia, planting herself firmly against the wall,
"you know I said a quarter of an hour. It's half an hour we have been
talking. I must get back."

The young husband urged, implored, scolded, cajoled, but all to no
effect. Olivia made up her mind to go, and go she did, Rupert escorting
her to the gates. "You are very unkind," he said.

"I am very sensible," she replied, "I don't want to disturb my new
relations with Miss Pewsey. She has such power over my aunt that it is
necessary I should keep on good terms with her. Now, Rupert, you must
not come any further."

"Just along the road."

"Certainly not. All the gossips of Marport would talk. Good-bye. I won't
be kissed again. Someone may be looking."

Ainsleigh muttered a blessing on anyone who might be about, and shook
hands with his wife just as though they were strangers. Then he remained
at the gate till she turned the corner. There, she looked back and
Rupert threw her a kiss. Olivia shook a furious sunshade at him for the
indiscretion.

"The silly boy," she said to herself as she went along, "if anyone saw
him, there would be a fine story all over Marport."




CHAPTER VIII

THE BEGINNING OF THE BALL


So this was the position of affairs immediately before the ball given by
the Glorious Golfers at the Bristol Hotel. Miss Wharf possessed the fan,
and two Chinamen were searching for it. Hwei intended to secure it by
murder, and Tung-yu by the milder means of honourable purchase: but why
the two, with such contradictory intentions, should work in unison, as
appeared from the advertisement, Rupert could not understand. However,
he had so much trouble himself that he dismissed the matter from his
mind.

There was little chance of his benefiting by money from the one
Chinaman, or of being murdered by the other. And he presumed that Olivia
would instruct Miss Pewsey to tell Miss Wharf about the fan, even if she
did not see her personally. And while Miss Wharf was ill and safe in her
house, Hwei could not get at her in any way. Moreover, as Burgh in his
interview with Hwei near the Mansion House, had held his tongue, the man
would not know where the fan was.

The ball was the best of the Marport season, as the Glorious Golfers
were a body of young men with plenty of money and a great love of
amusement.

The vast apartments of the Bristol were thrown open, and decked with
flowers; an Irish Band,--The Paddies,--was engaged from London, and many
people came down from the great city to be present.

It was a perfect night when the ball was held, and the terrace on the
first floor of the hotel, or to speak more properly the balcony, was
thronged with people.

It looked very pretty, as it was filled with tropical ferns and plants
and trees, illuminated with Chinese lanterns and made comfortable with
numerous arm chairs, and plenty of small marble-topped tables.

Between the dances, people finding the rooms too warm, came out to walk
in the night air. There was no moon, but the night was starry and warm,
and a soft luminous light was reflected on sea and land. Standing under
the great fern-trees and amidst the fairy lights, the guests could
survey with pleasure the vast waste of water stretching towards the
clear horizon, and see the long pier glittering with innumerable lights.
Needless to say, the terrace was much frequented by amorous couples.

Within, the ball-room, gay with flowers and draperies, with a waxed
floor and many electric light in coloured globes, looked very pretty.
The band was hidden behind a lofty floral screen, and played the latest
seductive waltzes, interspersed with inspiriting barn-dances and quaint
cake-walks. The women were lovely, and the dresses perfect, so the young
men enjoyed themselves not a little. Rupert was present, looking
handsome in his evening dress, but rather flushed and anxious. He was
not sure if Miss Wharf would come, in which case Olivia would not be
present. And, if the old maid did recover sufficiently to make her
appearance, she would perhaps refuse to allow him to dance with the
girl.

However Miss Wharf did appear though at a somewhat late hour. She was
gowned in pale blue and looked very handsome, if somewhat stout.
Olivia's dark beauty revealed itself in a primrose-hued dress, and Miss
Pewsey looked more like a witch than ever in a black frock glittering
with jet. This was the gift of Miss Wharf, as poor Miss Pewsey would
never have been able to indulge in such extravagance. At the back and in
attendance on the Ivy Lodge party, were Clarence Burgh and Dr. Forge. The
buccaneer looked picturesque and dashing as usual and was dressed very
quietly for one of his flamboyant tastes, though he showed to
disadvantage beside the perfection of Rupert's garb. Forge wore a suit
which might have been made for his grandfather, and which fitted his
lank form ill. The doctor looked less his cool self, than was usually
the case. His parchment face was flushed and his melancholy eyes
glittered as they roved round the brilliant room. Rupert wondered if he
was looking for Tung-yu, and glanced round the room himself to see if
the Chinaman had arrived in Chris Walker's company. But he could not
perceive him.

Putting his fortune to the test, and having come to no open rupture with
the lady, Rupert boldly walked up to Miss Wharf and offered his hand.
She gave him rather a peculiar look and coloured a little. But to his
secret satisfaction she received him very kindly. Olivia took her
husband's greeting with a quiet smile, rather cold, as she knew well
Miss Pewsey was watching her face. As to that lady, she hovered round
the group like an ugly old fairy, about to weave the spell.

"And where is the Major?" asked Miss Pewsey in her emphatic way, "surely
he is present on this occasion."

"I am sorry to say that the Major is laid up with a bad cold," said
Rupert. "I have just been to see him. He is not coming."

"A cold spoils his beauty," tittered Miss Pewsey, "dear me, how very
vain that man is."

"A cold has not spoilt Miss Wharf's beauty at all events," said
Ainsleigh, seeing his way to a compliment. "I never saw you look so
well," he added with a bow.

"Thanks to Lavinia's nursing," laughed the lady. "Olivia can you keep
still while that delicious music is playing. I'm sure Mr. Burgh--"

"I think Miss Rayner is engaged to me," put in Rupert promptly.

Miss Wharf tapped him on the shoulder with the very fan, about which
there had been so much talk. "No I can't spare you," she said amiably.
"I want to chat with you. Olivia?"

The girl exchanged a look with her husband and saw that his eyes were
fastened on the fan. Resolved to give him a chance of talking to her
aunt about it, she moved away on the arm of the buccaneer to join in the
whirling throng. Forge offered his arm to Miss Pewsey, not to dance, but
to escort her on to the terrace, and so it came about that aunt Sophia
and Rupert were left alone in a quiet corner of the room.

Miss Wharf cast a side glance at the young man and seeing how handsome
and gay he was, she heaved a sigh. Perhaps she was thinking of his
father whom she had loved dearly, but if so, the emotion was only
momentary, for she compressed her lips and drew herself up stiffly. "Mr.
Ainsleigh," she said, "you never come to see me now. How is that?"

"I thought you did not wish to see me," said Rupert frankly.

"Oh yes I do. Your father was an old friend of mine, and for his sake I
wish to be kind to you."

Rupert saw that she was unaware that he had met Olivia secretly, and had
heard the story of the early romance. It was not wise, he thought, to
bring up the subject, so he met her on her own ground. "You can be very
kind to me if you wish," he said casting a significant glance on Olivia
who floated past with Burgh.

Miss Wharf followed his gaze and frowned, shaking her head. "No," she
said severely, "you must give up the idea of marrying Olivia."

"I can't do that," replied Rupert, thinking of his secret marriage, "and
I don't see why you should refuse to let me love her."

"I can't prevent that," snapped Miss Wharf, "love her as much as you
choose, but as another man's wife," and again she looked oddly at
Rupert, who wondered what she meant.

"What an immoral remark," he said, "perhaps you will explain."

"Mr. Ainsleigh I will be frank with you," said the lady calmly, "you
have no money, and are liable to lose Royabay. I hold a mortgage it is
true and by the end of the year I can foreclose; but that, I shall
not do if you give up Olivia. If I foreclose, you know well enough that
your other creditors will come down on you, and you will lose all. I
hold the scales," added she significantly.

"I see that well enough Miss Wharf, but many things may happen before
the end of the year."

"You mean that you will get the money to pay me and others?"

"I might even mean that," answered Rupert coolly, "and if I am a bad
match, I don't think Mr. Burgh is a better. I have at least a position
and a clean name."

"What do you know about Clarence Burgh?" she asked quickly.

"Nothing, save that he is an adventurer, Miss Wharf. He comes from
nowhere, and swaggers about Marport as if it belonged to him. He has no
recognised position and he is not a gentleman."

"Oh but he is, and I want him to marry Olivia."

"And thus you would condemn Olivia to misery. She loves me--"

"A girl's love," said Miss Wharf coolly, "she'll soon get over that. Mr.
Burgh is Lavinia's nephew, and I have promised Lavinia that Olivia shall
be his wife."

"Why in heaven's name?" asked Rupert angrily, "he has no money."

"Oh yes he has, and may have a chance of getting more. Lavinia has been
a good friend to me for years and years--all my life in fact, Mr.
Ainsleigh. I owe much to her, and I intend to repay her. Her heart is
set on this match and Olivia must marry Clarence."

"Olivia shall not."

"Olivia shall. I set my will against yours Mr. Ainsleigh."

"You'll find my will is stronger," said Rupert coolly.

Miss Wharf gave a short laugh. "Try," she said curtly; then her hard
eyes softened and her cold manner grew warmer. "Don't let us quarrel,"
she said gently. "I wish you well, and would give you anything save
Olivia--"

"Which is the only thing I want."

"How rude of you to call Olivia a 'thing,'" said the woman lightly, "you
may make up your mind that if you marry her, I shall leave my money to
Miss Pewsey."

"Do so. I don't want your money."

"Five hundred a year is not enough," sneered Miss Wharf, "but I may have
more. What do you say to five thousand--"

"Oh," interrupted Rupert coolly, "so Olivia has told you about the
fan--or perhaps Miss Pewsey."

"It was Olivia. I believe Clarence Burgh told her. This fan," Miss Wharf
unfurled the article, "means five thousand pounds--"

"Or a cut throat," said Rupert quickly.

"Pah! how foolish you are, as though such a thing could happen in
England. Were we in China I admit that I should be afraid to keep this
fan; but as it is I am perfectly safe. See here, Mr. Ainsleigh," she
added bending towards him, "if you will give up Olivia I will give you
this fan and you can get the money to pay off your creditors."

"No," said Rupert at once. "I need thirty thousand, not five. And even
if you were to give me the thirty thousand I need, I would not sell
Olivia for that sum."

"Look at the fan first," said Miss Wharf and gave it to him.

Rupert's nerves thrilled as he took the dainty trifle in his hand. So
much had been said about it, so much hung on it, of the meaning of which
he was ignorant, that he could not look at it without feeling the drama
it represented. Balzac's remark about killing a Mandarin in China to
obtain a fortune, occurred to his mind. This fan dainty and fragile,
might cost the life of such a Mandarin. It all depended into whose hands
it fell.

The fan was exactly as the advertisement described. On one side the pale
green sticks were enamelled and smooth; on the other thin slivers of
jade covered the wood, and were inscribed in quaint Chinese characters
in gold. The handle was of gold, and therefrom hung a thick cord of
yellow silk, with four beads and half a bead thereon. Three beads and
the half one were of jade, but the remaining ball was of jasper. What
these might mean Rupert could not understand, but apparently they were
connected with the secret of the fan, whatever that might be. Certainly,
whatever its significance, the secret dealt with the life of Lo-Keong,
with the life of Dr. Forge, and with the life of Miss Wharf, seeing she
now possessed the article. All the time Rupert furled and unfurled the
fan, admiring its beauty, she kept her cold eyes on him. "Think," she
whispered, "five thousand pounds may gain you a few months respite--you
may be able to save the Abbey."

Rupert shook his head. "If I lose Olivia I don't care about keeping
Royabay. It can be sold up and I'll go abroad to the Colonies to work
for my living."

"Without Olivia."

"No. With Olivia. Nothing will buy her from me."

Miss Wharf finding all her arts fail, snatched the fan from him, and bit
her lip. Her eyes flashed, and she seemed on the point of making some
remark, but refrained. "Very good, Mr. Ainsleigh," said she. "I'll see
what I can do with Olivia. You have ruined her."

"What do you mean by that, Miss Wharf."

"You'll find out my friend," she replied clenching the fan fiercely.
"Oh, I am not so blind, or so ignorant as you think me."

Ainsleigh turned crimson. He wondered if by any chance she had heard of
the marriage, and it was on the tip of his tongue to put a leading
question to Miss Wharf, when Chris Walker came up. He was not alone.
With him was a small Chinaman with the impassive face of the Celestial.
Tung-yu--as Rupert guessed he was--wore a gorgeous yellow gown, with a
kind of blue silk blouse over it. His feet were encased in thick Chinese
shoes wonderfully embroidered and his pig-tail was down. Several ladies
cast avaricious looks at these gorgeous vestments, and especially at the
blouse, which was heavy with dragons woven in gold thread. In his thin
yellow hand with long finger-nails, Tung-yu held a small ivory fan, and
he stood impassively before Miss Wharf, not even casting a look at the
fan in her hand, which he was prepared to buy at such a large price.

"This is Mr. Tung-yu," said Chris boyishly. "He wants to meet you, Miss
Wharf. He admires English ladies."

"I fear I can't speak his language, Chris."

"He can speak ours to perfection," said Walker.

Tung-yu bowed politely and spoke in admirably chosen English. "I was at
Cambridge," he said calmly, "and I know of your Western culture. If you
will permit me, madam." He took a seat beside Miss Wharf.

Chris, seeing his friend well established looked around. "Where is Miss
Rayner?" he asked. "Oh there she is--the dance is over."

And so it was. The dancers were streaming out on to the balcony and the
room was almost empty. Burgh, with Olivia on his arm, came towards Miss
Wharf, and Chris hurried forward to ask Miss Rayner for a dance. But
quick as he was, Rupert was quicker. He had seen his wife dance with one
admirer, and was not going to let her dance with another. "Miss Rayner
is engaged to me," he said, and offered his arm with a defiant look at
Burgh, to whom he had not been introduced.

Burgh showed no disposition to let Olivia go, and scowled. But his eye
fell on the Chinaman seated by Miss Wharf, and he suddenly moved away.
It seemed to Rupert that the buccaneer was afraid. Chris remained to
protest, but Ainsleigh ended the matter by abruptly taking Olivia out of
the room. Miss Wharf frowned when she saw them depart and opened her
mouth, as though to call Olivia back. But on second thoughts she
contented herself with another frown and then turned to speak to
Tung-yu. "I have heard of you," she said.

"From my friend, Mr. Walker," said the polite Chinaman.

"Oh yes, and from someone else, through a third party. I heard of your
advertisement----"

"What advertisement?" asked Tung-yu.

"About this fan," and Miss Wharf waved it under Tung-yu's narrow eyes,
which did not change their expression of indifference.

"I do not understand, Madam!"

The lady looked astonished. "Why. Didn't you advertise for the fan?"

Tung-yu permitted himself to smile. "Who told you I did?" he asked.

"Mr. Ainsleigh, who left just now, told a friend of mine, who told me,"
said Miss Wharf. "I understood you wished to possess this fan."

"No," said Tung-yu indifferently, "the advertisement was placed in the
paper, by a compatriot of mine called Hwei. He asked me to see anyone
who called about it, as he was engaged. I saw Mr. Ainsleigh and told him
what he told your friend. You must apply to Hwei."

"And have my life taken," said Miss Wharf with a shudder.

This time the Chinaman was not able to suppress a start. "I do not quite
understand, Madam?" he reflected.

"Oh, yes, you do, Mr. Tung-yu. Hwei would murder me to get this fan. I
prefer to sell it to you for five thousand pounds."

The Chinaman's face became impassive again, though his eyes looked
surprised. "I assure you, this is quite wrong, Madam. My friend Hwei
wants the fan, because it belongs to a Mandarin who received it as a
gift from his dead wife. So dearly does this Mandarin prize it, that he
is willing to buy it at any price."

"Even five thousand pounds?"

"I believe so. This Mandarin is rich." He turned his narrow eyes again
on the lady. "Did the person who said that Hwei would go as far as
crime, tell you the Mandarin's name?"

"No. Who is the Mandarin?"

"I fear I cannot tell you madam. Hwei did not tell me. If you like I
will bring him to you."

Miss Wharf hesitated. Her avarice was aroused by the hope of getting rid
of a trifle for five thousand pounds but she did not wish to risk
herself alone with a blood-thirsty celestial. "If you will come also,"
she said, hesitating.

Tung-yu reflected. "Madam, I will be plain with you," he said gravely,
"as I am here, I can act on behalf of my friend Hwei--but to-morrow."

Miss Wharf tendered the fan. "Why not take it to-night and give me a
cheque," she said quickly.

"To-morrow," replied the Chinaman, rising and bowing politely, "I will
call on you, if you will permit me. Mr. Walker will show me the way. I
will then arrange to buy the fan at a price to which you will not
object. Meanwhile--" he bowed again and gravely departed.

Miss Wharf, rather annoyed and surprised by this behaviour, looked round
for Miss Pewsey, to whom she was accustomed to tell everything. The
little woman appeared at that moment pushing her way through the crowd
in a state of excitement. "Oh, Sophia!" she said, throwing herself down.
"Oh, Sophia."

"What's the matter?" asked Miss Wharf coldly.

"I might ask you," said Miss Pewsey, parrying the question, "you look so
upset, my Sophia."

"It is with pleasure then," said the old maid, dryly, "I have arranged
to sell this fan to-morrow for five thousand pounds."

"Oh," Miss Pewsey clasped her hand, "What joy; you will be able to add
to your income. But, Sophia, I really can't keep it any longer. That
Major Tidman----"

"Well. What about him?"

"Mr. Ainsleigh said he had a cold and was confined to his room. I went
up to see, as I don't trust that Major a bit. He's so wicked. I went to
his room, and peeped in. Sophia," added Miss Pewsey in a tragic manner.
"He is not there--the room is empty!"




CHAPTER IX

THE END OF THE BALL


Miss Wharf looked at her excited little friend with an indulgent smile.
"Really I don't see why you should trouble," she said with a smile. "Let
the Major do what he likes."

"He's up to some mischief," persisted the old maid, "and I'd like to
find out what it is. He is supposed to be keeping his room, because of a
cold, and I find he is not in. People with colds," added the lady,
impressively, "do not go into the night air."

"How do you know Major Tidman has?"

"Because he would be at the ball, were he in the hotel. I shall ask
Clarence to see what he is doing."

"Why?" asked Miss Wharf, puzzled.

"Because--oh, just because," replied Miss Pewsey, tossing her head in a
sharp way, like the Red Queen in Alice's Adventures. "But the fan,
dearest Sophia?--Can't I take charge of it?"

Miss Wharf grasped the fan tighter. "No, certainly not. It is worth five
thousand pounds."

"And perhaps more," said Miss Pewsey. "Remember, dearest Sophia, that is
the sum offered, but you might ask more. It is very important that this
Mandarin should get the fan back. Dr. Forge told me."

"Why is it important?"

"Theophilus didn't tell me that, but he said that this Mandarin--I quite
forget his queer name--would give even more than five thousand to get it
back."

"His emissary didn't seem very anxious to buy."

"Oh, that is craft," rejoined Miss Pewsey, tossing her head. "The
Chinese are very double, Theophilus says."

"I don't think so, Lavinia. I would have sold this fan for a few pounds
had I not known such a large sum was offered. Tung-yu is not a good
business man, or else the Mandarin must be a millionaire."

"He is--he is. I wish you would let me conduct the business, and _do_
let me take the fan?"

"No, I shall keep it."

"Sophia," said Miss Pewsey, solemnly, "that is dangerous. Rupert
Ainsleigh hates you and needs money; he might kill you to get that fan,
and sell it for five----"

"Nonsense. I cannot be murdered in a house full of people like this. I
know another Chinaman hints at murder--you told me so----"

"Olivia told me to tell you," put in the little woman, quickly.

"Well, Hwei isn't here, and I'll sell the fan to Tung-yu to-morrow."

Miss Pewsey would have said more, but at this moment Dr. Forge
approached, with a crooked elbow and a dreary smile. "Allow me to take
you into supper, Miss Wharf."

"Certainly," she rose and took the arm. "I am really hungry. Lavinia?"

"I shall look for Clarence. I must find out what has become of Major
Tidman," and the old maid hurried away while the doctor escorted Miss
Wharf to the supper-room.

Clarence was not drinking at the buffet, though his aunt went there to
find him as the most likely place. Nor was he in the ball-room, although
a new dance had begun. She could not see him in the card-room, but
finally ran him to earth on the terrace, where he was leaning against a
tree-fern with folded arms and with his wicked black eyes fixed on a
couple some distance away. Miss Pewsey followed his gaze and her eyes
also flashed, for she beheld Rupert talking with Olivia. Both their
heads were bent, and they conversed earnestly. The little woman hated
Olivia and detested Rupert, so the sight was gall and worm-wood to her.
"Why don't you ask her to dance?" she demanded, touching her nephew's
arm.

"Because there would only be a row," he rejoined sullenly. "I feel
inclined to spoil that chap's looks I can tell you."

"Do you really love the girl, so?"

"Yes I do. I'd give anything to marry her, and I shall too."

"There's not the slightest chance. Ainsleigh will not surrender her I
can tell you."

"Then why did you make me waste that fan."

"You didn't waste it on her," said Miss Pewsey coldly, "she refused to
take it like a fool, and now Sophia has it, there is no chance of
getting it back. Had I known the fan was of such value, you wouldn't
have caught me advising you to part with it. If you knew what this Hwei
said, why didn't you tell me the fan was valuable."

"I did not see Hwei until I had parted with the fan," said Clarence
crossly, "and we can do nothing now."

"You are not so bold as Major Tidman," she whispered.

"What's that?" asked the buccaneer sharply.

"He's not in his room," rejoined Miss Pewsey in a low voice, "he
pretends illness, to carry out his plan to get the fan."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Tung-yu is in the hotel. The Major will try and get the fan to
sell it to him."

"In that case he would have come to the ball and have seen Miss Wharf to
get it from her."

"No. He has some other plan. What it is I don't know. But I wish you
would look round for him, Clarence, and watch him."

"Bah! It's all stuff." Burgh turned to look at the sea and the pier and
the luminous night. "I'm getting sick of this business," he went on
discontentedly, "and but for the chance of gaining Olivia, I would bunk
out on the long trail. There's a barky out there," he continued pointing
to the right of the pier, "yonder--the one with the green light. I saw
her anchor early in the afternoon--a kind of gentleman's yacht I fancy.
She'd just do for me. I'd like to take a boat and pull out to her and
then get up steam for the South Seas. There's a clear path leads there,
down channel," and he stared at the flickering green light which winked
amongst many red ones.

"You'll never get Olivia," said Miss Pewsey, in a sharp tense voice,
"and you can go away as soon as you like. Meantime, look for Major
Tidman and tell him I want him."

Clarence lazily stretched himself, and moved off along the balcony. At
the end there was a flight of shallow steps leading down to an iron gate
which was open. Thence one could pass to the Esplanade and the beach, if
so inclined. But the guests kept to the populous end of the balcony
where the lights clustered. Near the stairs, there were hardly any
lamps, and a screen of flowers curtained it off from the rest of the
hotel. Clarence passed through this floral arch, and Miss Pewsey lost
sight of him. Her eyes turned to the couple she hated, and she
carelessly moved near them. No one noted her as the balcony was not so
full, and she sat down behind a fern where she could hear without being
seen by the two, she was spying on. Their voices were low, but hate
sharpened Miss Pewsey's ears, and she listened intently.

"My aunt is much more amiable to-night," Olivia was saying, "I suppose
the chance of making five thousand pounds has appealed to her."

"She gave me the chance of making it, provided I gave you up," said
Rupert, "and she lost her temper with me because I declined."

"Will you never be friends with her?"

"I fear not, while Miss Pewsey is in the way," said Rupert. "Olivia, it
is that woman who makes all the mischief."

"I think it is," replied the girl with a weary smile, "but she seems to
have a kind of hypnotic power over my aunt--"

"What do you mean?"

"Aunt Sophia has bad headaches and Miss Pewsey sometimes hypnotises her
to send away the pain."

"Miss Wharf is foolish to allow her to do such a thing. That little
woman is no more to be trusted than her scamp of a nephew is."

"Well it doesn't matter," said Olivia, feeling in her pocket. "I want to
talk about ourselves. See Rupert you wanted a silk tie the other day. I
have knitted you one--red and yellow."

Rupert took the tie and admired it in the lamp light. He would have
kissed Olivia's hand after a few words of warm thanks, but she prevented
him.

"Someone might see and tell Aunt Sophia," she said hurriedly, "I should
have given it to you the other day when I called at the Abbey, but I
forgot, so I decided to give it to you to-night. It's rather awkward
your having it now. Give it to me again."

"No! I'll put it in my overcoat in the cloak room," said Rupert, rising,
"but I must take you back to Miss Wharf, or she will be angry."

"I wish this deception was at an end and I could be with you
altogether," said Olivia rising with a sigh.

It was at this moment that Miss Pewsey chose to come forward. She was
furious at the way in which the couple spoke of her, but long habit
enabled her to smooth her face to a treacherous smile.

"Oh dear Olivia," she said. "I have been looking for you everywhere."

"Does my aunt want me?" asked the girl calmly.

"No. She is in the supper-room with Mr. Forge. But Mr. Walker--"

"I don't want him," said Miss Rayner quickly, and with a change of
voice.

"Yes--yes," said Rupert in a low voice. "Go with her, and dance with
Walker; it will prevent Miss Wharf being cross."

"Very well," rejoined Olivia quietly: then turned to Miss Pewsey who
smiled like a grotesque image. "Let us go to the ball-room."

"Won't Mr. Ainsleigh escort us?" asked the old maid, blandly. Rupert
bowed, and smothering his feelings, which always revolted at the sight
of the woman, he walked beside the two to the ball-room. Miss Pewsey
took Olivia's arm and chattered effusively all the time. At the door
they met Chris Walker, who hurried up at once and asked for a dance.
Leaving the two ladies with him, Rupert went towards the cloak room.
Here to his surprise he saw Major Tidman clothed in a heavy fur coat,
talking to Tung-yu. Tidman looked white and uneasy, but the Chinaman
still preserved his impassive face. Rupert took no notice but simply
nodded to the Major as he passed, pulling out the yellow and red tie as
he did so. Tidman changed colour, apparently not pleased at being found
talking to Tung-yu, and laughed uneasily. "That's a bright piece of
goods Ainsleigh."

"It's a present," said Rupert thrusting the tie into the pocket of his
over coat. "I should think it would match your friend's dress."

"Hush," said Tidman quietly, "he speaks English. He will hear," then he
added aloud. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Ainsleigh, Tung-yu."

The Chinaman turned and looked impassive enough. But his eyes had an
enquiring look in their black depths. "Tung-yu and I met in Canton,
where we had an adventure," said the Major, with a titter.

"About that famous fan?" asked Rupert smiling.

Tung-yu started and looked quickly at Tidman, who was again pale. "I
don't remember about the fan," said Tung-yu, "did our friend find it in
Canton?"

"No! No I never did," said Tidman hurriedly,--"that is Forge found the
fan--"

"And gave it to Miss Wharf. Quite so," replied Tung-yu blandly. "I see
her to-morrow about the matter," then he bowed to Rupert and moved away
slowly.

"I thought you had a bad cold," said Rupert to Tidman, who was looking
after the Chinaman with a scared expression.

"Yes--yes--but that is better now," said the Major hurriedly, "so Miss
Wharf is here, and has the fan?"

"Yes, she offered to give it to me if I surrendered Olivia."

"Refuse--refuse," cried Tidman hurriedly: he approached his lips to
Ainsleigh's ears. "There is death in the air to-night."

"Tidman," cried Ainsleigh starting away and staring.

"Yes--yes--say nothing. I wish you hadn't mentioned about my having the
fan. Tung-yu never knew--but it can't be helped. Ainsleigh, is there
another Chinaman here to-night?"

"I have seen none. Do you expect Hwei? If so we had better warn Miss
Wharf. She has the fan and--"

"No! No--say nothing. Don't touch the accursed thing."

"How do you know it is accursed?"

"I knew in Canton, and in a very unpleasant way. But I'll tell you my
adventure to-morrow--yes I will--if nothing happens to-night."

Rupert stared still harder. "What can happen to-night man alive?"

"Nothing--nothing," said the Major hurriedly. "I'll get back to my
room--you needn't say you have seen me. I--"

"Just the man I want," cried a bold free voice, and Burgh's slim hand
fell on the Major's shoulder. "Miss Pewsey asks for you."

"For me. Any more trouble?"

"I guess not. She wants to fuss round about your cold. Heaping coals of
fire's the English of it."

"Let her leave me alone," said the Major petulantly. "I'm quite
well. I am going back to my room," and with a nod to Rupert, he marched
out.

Burgh looked after him with a smile and a shrug: then he turned to
Rupert who was moving towards the door. "Can I speak with you?" he asked
with a frown.

"Not here Mr. Burgh," cried Ainsleigh, "this is not the place for a
quarrel."

"And why not," cried the other, advancing with clenched fists, "I--"

"Keep your distance," said Ainsleigh sharply starting back on his guard,
"the attendant is looking on," and he pointed to the man behind the
counter who attended to the hats and cloaks.

Burgh tossed him a shilling, "Go and get a drink," he ordered.

"Stop where you are," commanded Rupert, "or I'll report you."

But the man, who was a dissipated-looking waiter pretended not to hear
this last remark, and disappeared from behind the counter. The two men
were alone, and Burgh spoke first. "I guess I'm going to lay you out,"
said he, "on account of--"

"Stop," said Rupert, "mention no names."

"I'll mention what I like and Olivia--"

Ainsleigh let drive before he could finish the word and in a second
Burgh was sprawling on the floor. He rose with an oath and slipped round
his right hand. "You draw a revolver and I'll break your neck," panted
Rupert, "you bully, what do you mean by--"

Burgh drew his hand away--perhaps he was afraid a shot would bring in
others to see the fray. But he dashed again at the young man. A short
struggle ensued, which ended in Burgh being thrown again. Then Rupert,
disinclined for a vulgar row, walked away. He stopped at the door to
give his antagonist a bit of advice. "You touch me again," he said, "and
I'll hand you over to the police after giving you a good thrashing. It's
what a bully like you deserves. And if you dare to speak to Miss Rayner
I'll make Marport too hot to hold you." When Rupert vanished, Burgh
raised himself slowly and with an evil smile. "Perhaps the place will be
too hot for you my fine gentleman," he said savagely, and began to
think.

Meanwhile Rupert went to the ball-room and saw that Olivia was dancing
with Dr. Forge. Chris Walker told him that Miss Wharf had gone on to the
balcony for the fresh air. Miss Pewsey was not to be seen or Rupert
would have told her to look after her disreputable relative in the
cloak-room. The young man thought he would go up to the Major's room and
have a smoke, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. There stood
Tung-yu.

"Excuse me sir," said the Chinaman in his excellent English, "I am your
friend. Major Tidman and Dr. Forge are your enemies, and you have a
third enemy in that young man Burgh."

"But how do you know--" began Rupert.

Tung-yu bent forward and whispered. "I know how your father died," he
said softly and before Rupert could detain him, he vanished.

But Ainsleigh waited but for a moment. The speech was so surprising,
that he determined to learn more. At once he ran after the Chinaman but
could not see him. In spite of his noticeable clothes, he was swallowed
up in the crowd and Rupert plunged into the gay throng determined to
find the man who could solve the mystery of Markham Ainsleigh's death.

The night wore on and the fun became fast and furious. Towards twelve
the guests began to depart, but many choice spirits declared they would
keep the ball rolling till dawn. One of these was Chris Walker, who had
imbibed more champagne than was good for him. While he talked excitedly
Miss Pewsey came to him hastily. "Where is my dear Sophia?" she asked,
"I can't find her, and with her delicate health it is time she was home
in bed."

"I have not seen her. Have you, Dr. Forge?"

The lean doctor shook his head, "I have been in the card room for the
last hour," he said, "and as Miss Wharf's doctor I assuredly say, she
should go home, there's midnight," and as he spoke the strokes boomed
from a tall clock in the hall.

"Clarence, have you seen her?" asked Miss Pewsey of the buccaneer who
had Olivia on his arm.

"No! I've just been waltzing with Miss Rayner."

"Then you Mr. Ainsleigh?"

"I have been smoking on the balcony," said Rupert, who looked tired.

"Oh, dear me," said Miss Pewsey wringing her hands, "I wonder if dear
Sophia has gone to see Major Tidman. She is so kind-hearted and he is
ill--at least he says he is. Did he tell you Clarence?"

"I saw him only for a minute and he went back to his room I guess."

"Then Sophia must have gone there," cried Miss Pewsey and hurried away.
Olivia followed with Forge as she thought also, that her aunt ought to
go home, and Clarence's attentions were becoming so embarrassing that
she feared there would be trouble with Rupert. But soon, Miss Pewsey
appeared again and said that Miss Wharf was not in the Major's room, nor
was the Major there. Taking Olivia and Clarence and Forge, she went to
search for the missing lady. Rupert lingered behind as he did not wish
to come into contact with the buccaneer.

The hunt proceeded for some time, and every room in the hotel was
searched. But Miss Wharf could not be found. Finally everyone--for many
of the guests were hunting by this time--, went out on the balcony. Miss
Wharf was not there. "Oh, dear me," cried Miss Pewsey, "wherever can she
be."

The balcony was searched from end to end. Then one of the guests more
venturesome, descended the steps. He gave a cry of horror. "Bring a
light," he cried.

Lights were brought and everyone rushed after them. Half way down the
steps lay Miss Wharf--dead--strangled, and round her throat tightly bound
was a yellow and red silk tie.




CHAPTER X

A MYSTERIOUS CASE


The murder of Miss Sophia Wharf at the Bristol Hotel ball made a great
sensation. She had been well-known in Marport, and her many friends were
enormously excited that each and everyone of them had been acquainted
with a person who had been--as one of them put it--done to death. Also
the circumstances of the murder were most extraordinary. It seemed
almost incredible that a popular lady should be murdered in so public a
place; though many said, that the safety of the assassin lay in the very
fact that he had chosen to commit his crime a few yards away from a spot
where many people were congregated. But who had killed Miss Wharf and
why she was killed in so brutal a manner, no one could understand.

When the local police heard of the assassination, an Inspector with two
subordinates took possession of the hotel, and obtained from the manager
a list of the guests present at the ball. As these amounted to something
like two hundred, it seemed like looking for a needle in a haystack to
search for the criminal amongst them. And many of them did not know Miss
Wharf even by sight, so it was certain that the task of identifying the
assassin would be one of enormous difficulty. And the question was asked
on all hands. "What had taken the deceased lady down the
little-frequented steps?" The fan was missing--Miss Pewsey noticed that,
when she bent over the dead, but the story of the fan was not yet public
property.

According to custom the local police communicated with the Treasury, who
placed the case in the hands of the Criminal Investigation Department,
and thus it came about, that a plain clothes officer--in other words a
detective--was sent down to Marport. This individual was called Rogers,
and after paying a visit to the Superintendent of the Marport Police
Office, he went to Ivy Lodge. Here, everything was gloomy and silent.
The body of the unfortunate woman had been brought home, and was laid
out for burial. Dr. Forge, who with others had been on the spot at the
time of the discovery, examined the corpse, and asserted that the
miserable woman must have been murdered just an hour, or half an hour
previous. As midnight was chiming shortly before the discovery of the
crime, it can be safely declared--and Dr. Forge did declare this--that
Miss Wharf was strangled between eleven and twelve. When the corpse was
found it was yet warm. Clarence haunted the Lodge and talked with his
aunt, but Olivia kept to her own room.

"Tung-yu did it of course," said Mr. Burgh decisively. "I reckon he came
down to get that fan, and grudged giving so much cash for it. I surmise
that he lured the old girl to those steps, and then slipped the silk
string round her neck."

"The silk tie," said Miss Pewsey whose eyes were very black and
glittering, though red round the rims, from weeping.

"How do you know it's a tie?" asked Clarence with a start.

"I know," replied his aunt tightening her thin lips, "and I know to whom
the tie belongs. But you say that Tung-yu?--"

"Who else could have scragged the old girl aunt Lavinia. The fan's
gone--leastways I didn't see it when we spotted the deader."

Miss Pewsey nodded. "Yes, the fan is gone," she assented, "but if
Tung-yu murdered dearest Sophia, he can easily be arrested."

"Oh, I guess not," replied Mr. Burgh easily. "Tung-yu's no slouch, you
bet, and didn't intend to lose his prize--"

"The fan?" inquired Miss Pewsey.

"Just so, the fan," replied Clarence imperturbably, "and he's on his way
to China by this time."

"Clarence?" Miss Pewsey rose, much excited; then calmed down. "I do not
agree with you," said she firmly. "Tung-yu is innocent."

"I'll lay a couple of dollars he isn't, Aunt Lavinia. Do you remember
that yacht I pointed out to you last night. Well, t'was a steam deep-sea
barky, two hundred tons, Lloyd's measurement I reckon--quite heavy
enough to cut round the Cape into Chinese waters. Well, she arrived in
the afternoon yesterday and after midnight she lighted out."

"But how do you know Tung-yu was on board?"

"Well, I only size that up," said Clarence musingly, "but it looks to me
as though he'd engineered the job. 'Twould be easy I guess for him to
have had a boat waiting for him. After he'd killed the old girl and
annexed the fan, he could dance down those steps like a two year old and
pick up the boat on the beach. Course it's all my fancy," added Burgh
modestly, "but I guess I'm right."

"I guess you're not," snapped Miss Pewsey in rather an unlady-like
manner, and she rose to shake out her skirts. "I know who killed dearest
Sophia," she added, wagging a lean finger at her nephew. "I know who
possessed the tie, and I shall hand that man--"

"Who the dickens is he anyhow?"

"Rupert Ainsleigh," replied Miss Pewsey with a grim smile, and left the
room, while the buccaneer stared, and then smiled. It was pleasant to
think that his rival--as he considered Rupert,--should be in such
straits and should be pursued by the vindictive hatred of Miss Pewsey,
who would leave no stone unturned to bring about the conviction of young
Ainsleigh.

"Well," said the buccaneer with his hands in his pockets. "I guess I'm
not taking a hand in this biznai, and it ain't lively round these
quarters. I'll git."

And this Mr. Burgh did. When he passed out of the front door, he brushed
against a plainly dressed rubicund man with sharp grey eyes who glanced
at him inquisitively. However, the stranger said nothing but proceeded
to ring the bell. The maid-servant who appeared took him into the
drawing-room and carried a card to Miss Pewsey. The name thereon was,
Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.

With this in her hand Miss Pewsey sailed into the drawing-room and
looked at the comfortable creature who rose to greet her. "Mr. Orlando
Rodgers, C.I.D.?" queried the little old lady.

"Criminal Investigation Department," said the man in a cool voice, and
with a sharp glance at the dry drab woman, "I'm in charge of the Wharf
Murder Case, and have been sent down by the Treasury. As I have seen the
Superintendent and can learn nothing likely to throw light on the
subject, I have come to you--a relative?"

"No," answered Miss Pewsey sitting down, in a rigid way. "I am the
companion of the late Miss Wharf. Her only relative, down here at all
events, is Miss Olivia Rayner."

"Can I see her?"

"I think not--at present. She is in her room weeping. Though why she
should display such grief I can't understand," added Miss Pewsey
spitefully.

"It's natural in a relative, miss," said the detective looking hard at
the withered little face.

Miss Pewsey laughed in a shrill manner, and spoke between her teeth more
than ever, emphasising every word as usual. "Oh, dear me, no," said she.
"Miss Wharf and Olivia never got on well. The girl hated her aunt,
though dearest Sophia--Miss Wharf, you know, sir--brought her up, when
she hadn't a shilling or a friend in the world."

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" asked Rodgers wondering how
much of this spiteful speech was true, and seeing plainly enough that
the speaker was no friend to the niece.

"I am Lavinia Pewsey," said that lady, "and for years I have been the
cherished friend and dearest companion of Sophia. We were at school
together, and were--as I may say--like two cherries on one stalk.
Anything I can do to avenge her death will be done."

"Punishment by the law, doesn't come under the head of vengeance!"

"It comes under the head of hanging, and I'll be glad to see the rope
round his neck."

"Of whom are you talking?" asked Rodgers phlegmatically.

"Of the man who killed my dearest friend."

"Oh. I understood from the Superintendent that the affair was quite a
mystery."

"Not to me," snapped Miss Pewsey, "Rupert Ainsleigh strangled her to get
the fan."

"What fan?" asked the detective taking out his note-book, "and who is
Rupert Ainsleigh?"

Miss Pewsey spread her skirts and folded her hands together in a prim
way. "I shall tell you all," she cried, "and please take down all I say.
I am prepared to make this statement in a law court."

"Well," said Rodgers moistening his pencil, "you may have to. Now this
Mr. Ainsleigh?----"

"Of Royabay, a few miles from Marport," said Miss Pewsey, "quite one of
the old families. A nice come down for the Ainsleighs, for the last of
them to die on the gallows."

"He is not there yet," said Rodgers dryly, "and may I ask you to speak
in a more reasonable way. I see you don't like the man."

"I hate him," Miss Pewsey drew a long breath, "and I hated his father
before him, to say nothing of his mother, who was a cat."

"Then your evidence is prejudiced, I fancy."

"Never you mind, Mr. Orlando Rodgers," she replied sharply, "take down
what I say, and then you can sift the matter out for yourself. My Sophia
was murdered to obtain possession of a fan----"

"What fan?" asked Rodgers again.

Miss Pewsey smiled, and calmly detailed all she had learned from Dr.
Forge concerning the fan. "You can ask my nephew, Clarence Burgh, about
these things also," she ended, "and Dr. Forge, and Mr. Christopher
Walker, who brought the Chinaman Tung-yu to the ball, and----"

"Wait a bit," interrupted the detective, "it appears to me from what you
say," he ran a quick eye over his notes, "that the suspicion points to
these Chinamen you mention. They advertised, and they wanted the fan.
Now Hwei--as I hear from you--was not at the ball, but Tung-yu was.
Therefore Tung-yu----"

"Didn't do it," said the little woman. "I don't pretend to understand
why Hwei offered death and Tung-yu money for the possession of the fan;
nor do I know why this Mandarin, whatever his name may be, is so anxious
to get possession of the article. But I know that the fan is gone and
that Tung-yu, who did not intend murder, hasn't got it."

"Then who has?"

"Rupert Ainsleigh. He went up about the advertisement and knew all about
the fan. I believe he killed my Sophia, and got the fan, so as to sell
it for five thousand to Tung-yu--"

"But a gentleman of property wouldn't--"

"A gentleman of property," snorted the old maid smoothing her dress,
"why he's head over ears in debt and will lose Royabay before the end of
the year on account of the foreclosure of a mortgage. He'd have done
anything to get money, and five thousand pounds is not a small amount."

"This is all very well: but I don't see how you connected Mr. Ainsleigh
with the crime."

"By means of the silk necktie," said Miss Pewsey with a triumphant
smile, and related how Rupert had received the scarf from Olivia, "if he
is guiltless how came his silk tie round the throat of Sophia?"

Rodgers was shaken by this piece of evidence. "It looks queer I admit,"
he said: then added, "I understand that Mr. Ainsleigh is an admirer of
Miss Rayner."

"He wants to marry her, and she is in love with him," said Miss Pewsey,
"which is an additional reason for the crime."

"I don't understand."

"You're not a sharp man," said the old woman tranquilly, "don't you see
that as Miss Rayner inherits dearest Sophia's money, she will get the
mortgage also. Then with that, and the five thousand pounds Mr.
Ainsleigh would be free from his money-troubles. Well," she added
sharply, as the detective rose, "what do you say?"

"Nothing at present. Give me the address of Dr. Forge who, I believe,
examined the body, and of your nephew and Mr. Ainsleigh."

Miss Pewsey did this with alacrity and accompanied Rodgers to the door.
"Don't spare him," she said venomously, "he's guilty and he shall hang,"
and she shut the door herself.

"What a spiteful woman," mused Rodgers, leaving Ivy Lodge, "her story is
so very explicit that I am inclined to doubt it. She wants this young
man scragged. Why?"

He could find no answer to this question, but went on his way to see
Clarence Burgh. His interview with the buccaneer was brief. Clarence
related the story of the yacht, and set forth his theory of Tung-yu.
"Mind," said he, "I don't like Ainsleigh, as he's trying to run the girl
I want to hitch long-side of. But I guess he didn't scragg the old
girl."

"You speak fairer than your aunt," said Rodgers dryly.

Clarence heaved up his right shoulder. "Huh," said he, "if you go by
woman's jaw, you'll get on the shoals. Tung-yu scragged the old girl,
you bet, and he's on his way to China in that yacht."

"Well, we'll see if we can't stop the yacht. She must coal somewhere.
What is her name?"

"The Stormy Petrel," said Clarence, "I got that out of a boatman, who
was rowing about her yesterday."

"Did he see any Chinaman on board?"

"No. He didn't see anyone. There didn't appear to be anyone about, or
else they were at tea," concluded Clarence ungrammatically.

"Humph," said the detective, noting the name of the yacht, "do you know
anything of the silk tie?"

"No. Aunt Lavinia says it belongs to Ainsleigh, but I never saw it till
it was round the throat of the old girl. I should like to think he put
it there," said Clarence pleasantly, "for I want that chap out of the
way; but I believe Tung-yu's the man."

"Perhaps he is. Have you a copy of that advertisement?"

"No. But I reckon Ainsleigh has. Ain't you going to see him?"

Rogers nodded. "Straight away. And I thank you for what you have told
me. You want him hanged I presume."

"Well no I reckon not. He's in my way, but I can lay him out on my own,
without the lynching biznai."

"You are fairer than your aunt," said the detective once more.

"Go slow. She's only an acid-drop, and you can't size her up, just as an
ordinary girl. She was crazy on Markham, the father of this young
Ainsleigh, and----"

"And proposes to hang the son to avenge herself on his father. A nice
woman, truly. But it seems to me Mr. Burgh that if anyone killed Miss
Wharf, Hwei is the man."

"Might be. He wasn't at the ball anyhow. Tung-yu was."

"But Tung-yu--as I understand from Miss Pewsey--intended to call the
next day--to-day that is--and buy the fan for five thousand."

"Huh," Clarence heaved up his shoulder again, "perhaps he thought he'd
settle in another way. 'Day. I'll be along here whenever you like to
call. I wish to see this biznai through, you bet."

Rodgers departed, and sought out Rupert at Royabay. The young man was
walking up and down the terrace smoking furiously. At the sight of the
stranger he frowned and Rodgers noted that he looked worn and ill.
"Might be money worries," thought the detective, "and it might be the
other thing."

However, he kept these thoughts to himself and merely detailed what he
had learned from Miss Pewsey and set forth the accusation she brought
against him. Ainsleigh heard the detective quietly enough, and smiled
wearily when the explanation was concluded. "Miss Pewsey doesn't love
me," he said quietly, "and would like to see me out of the way, so that
Miss Rayner could marry her nephew."

"I see," nodded Rodgers, "Miss Rayner will have the dead lady's money,
and the nephew is poor."

"I really don't know," replied Rupert coldly, "Mr. Burgh is a mystery to
me. He comes from nowhere, though I believe he has been in China."

"And knows what about the fan?"

"I think so. At all events, young Walker declares that Burgh was talking
to a Chinaman near the Mansion House. Burgh admits this, and also admits
that the Chinaman was Hwei, who put in that advertisement.

"I'm inclined to suspect Hwei himself," said Rodgers looking keenly at
the worn face of the young man, "but this silk tie----"

"It is mine, Mr. Rodgers. Miss Rayner gave it to me last night."

"So Miss Pewsey says--on the balcony."

"Quite so. Miss Pewsey was spying and saw the tie given. As the colours
are rather pronounced, she could easily identify it. I took it to the
cloak-room and placed it in the pocket of my overcoat."

"And took it out again?"

"No." Rupert rose and grew crimson, "surely you are not so unjust as to
believe Miss Pewsey's malignant tale."

"You may be sure, Mr. Ainsleigh, that I'll act fairly towards you," said
the detective dryly, "but the tie having been used to strangle--"

"I don't know how it came round her throat," interrupted Ainsleigh
imperiously, "I placed the tie in my overcoat pocket--that was the last
I saw of it, until I noticed it on Miss Wharf's dead body."

"Did anyone else see the tie?"

"Yes, Major Tidman."

"Who is he?"

"A retired Army man--South American Army--who stops at Bristol Hotel. He
is much respected here. I went to the cloak-room, and found him talking
to Tung-yu. Both saw me place the tie in my coat."

Rodgers sat up. "Oh," said he opening his eyes widely, "then Tung-yu saw
you place the tie in the coat."

"He did, but if you suspect he took it out again, I think you are wrong.
He left the room and I exchanged a few words with Major Tidman."

"What about?"

"About this fan. Major Tidman told me to leave it alone. But of course I
never intended to meddle with it. Miss Wharf had it, and she hated me
too much to let me handle it, though she did give me the chance of
making the money," said Rupert, with an after thought.

"Eh, how was that?"

"She offered to let me have the fan if I gave up my claim to Miss
Rayner, whom she desired should marry Mr. Burgh, I refused."

"Humph," said Rodgers again, "and how does Major Tidman come to know
about the fan?"

"I refer you to him for an answer."

"And how did he come to know Tung-yu?"

"I believe he met him in Canton," replied Rupert restlessly, "he had
some adventure there--?"

"Connected with this ubiquitous fan?" asked Rodgers sharply.

"Yes. He promised to tell me the adventure to-day, but I had not seen
him yet."

"Humph. He may come after all. I'll call on this gentleman. At the
Bristol you say. Quite so," Rodgers took a note. "Now then Mr.
Ainsleigh, tell me how you came to go up about the advertisement?"

Rupert related his father's dealings with Lo-Keong, and referred to the
secret said to be connected with the fan. The detective heard him in
silence, and appeared to be struck by his frankness. "I think it's one
of the most complicated cases I ever had to do with, Mr. Ainsleigh, and
will take a lot of searching into."

"I hope you don't suspect me?"

"Humph, the tie is, strangely enough, the rope used to strangle this
woman, and you admit that it is yours. But Tung-yu saw you put it in
your overcoat pocket, and he wanted the fan--"

"For five thousand pounds remember. Hwei was the one who threatened to
gain the fan, by killing."

"Don't defend Tung-yu too much," said the detective dryly, "your
position is not a pleasant one and--"

"Do you mean to arrest me?" asked Rupert rising angrily.

"Not at present. But no doubt at the inquest you can prove an alibi."

Rupert turned away, "I can't," he said in a low voice, "I was walking
outside smoking between eleven and twelve--on the beach."

"That's a pity, Mr. Ainsleigh, I may have to arrest you after all. But
who is this gentleman. Major Tidman!--quite so. Good-day Major."




CHAPTER XI

THE CANTON ADVENTURE


Major Tidman who was standing at the foot of the terrace stared at the
man before him. "How do you know my name?" he asked, and looked towards
Rupert for a reply.

Mr. Rodgers produced a red silk handkerchief and wiped his face for it
was noon and very warm. "A guess on my part," he answered, "Mr.
Ainsleigh said you might come here, to tell him of your Canton
adventure, and I fancied it might be you, Major Tidman."

"I am not aware," said the Major loftily, "why you should interest
yourself in my private affairs."

"I interest myself in everybody's private affairs, when they have to
do with murder," said Rodgers quietly.

Tidman stared and gasped. "Then you are?--"

"The detective in charge of the Wharf murder case. I am glad to see you,
sir," he laid a finger on Tidman's chest, "you have something to tell me
no doubt?"

"No," said the Major gasping again, "I have not."

Rupert looked at him suddenly and the Major's small eyes fell before
that direct gaze. "Let us go, into the library," said Ainsleigh
tranquilly, "we may as well have a long talk before I am arrested."

Tidman jumped. "Arrested," he cried staring.

Something in his looks, made Rodgers take the cue thus offered, "I may
have to arrest Mr. Ainsleigh for the murder," he said significantly.

"But that's rubbish, why should he murder Miss Wharf?"

"On account of the fan," put in Rupert grimly.

"I'll never believe that--never," said Tidman vigorously.

Rodgers looked at him sideways. "Well you see," said he in a cheerful
voice. "Miss Wharf was strangled with a red and yellow silk tie,
belonging to Mr. Ainsleigh."

"I know, and I saw him place that tie in his overcoat pocket."

"You say that. Quite so. Mr. Ainsleigh might have taken it out again."

"No. He couldn't have done that. The attendant came back, and remained
in the room all the rest of the evening."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I returned to the cloak-room to see if Mr. Ainsleigh was there.
I learned from the attendant," said the Major volubly, "that Mr.
Ainsleigh and Mr. Burgh had been fighting--"

"Oh," said the detective, "so Mr. Burgh knew of the tie also?"

"He did not," put in young Ainsleigh rapidly, "he came in, after I put
the tie away. He insulted me, about--about a lady," said Rupert
hesitating, "and I knocked him down twice."

"Didn't the attendant interfere?"

"No. Burgh threw him a shilling and told him to cut. I ordered the man
to stay, but he obeyed Burgh. Then we had a row, and I went away."

"Leaving Mr. Burgh in the cloak-room?" asked Rodgers shrewdly.

"Yes. But he knew nothing about the tie. He could not have taken it. I
am sure he didn't."

The detective smiled in a puzzled manner. "Upon my word Mr. Ainsleigh,
you defend everyone. First Tung-yu, now Mr. Burgh, who is your enemy."

"I have so many enemies," said Rupert with a shrug, "Tung-yu told me
that Burgh and Forge and Major Tidman were my enemies."

"That's a lie on Tung-yu's part," chimed in the Major angrily. "I am not
your enemy."

Rupert turned on him quickly. "Prove it then," he said, sharply, "by
stating that I was with you on the beach last night after eleven."

"Oh, oh," cried Rodgers smiling, "so you can prove an alibi after all,
Mr. Ainsleigh."

"Yes," said Rupert shortly. "But I did not wish to speak, until I heard
what Major Tidman had to say."

Rodgers shook his head. "You have too nice a sense of honour," was his
remark, "or else you are very deep."

Rupert did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the Major's face, which
changed to various colours. "You knew my father well Tidman?"

"Yes. We were old friends--good friends," faltered the other.

"Do you know how he died?"

"No I do not." The Major wiped his face, "I can safely say I do not."

"But you know he was murdered."

The Major started. "Who told you that?"

"Tung-yu, and you know Tung-yu, who might have explained the
circumstances of my father's death to you."

"He did not," said Tidman earnestly, "but I heard that Mr. Ainsleigh did
die by violence. I don't know under what circumstances."

"This is all very well gentlemen," said the detective, "but it does not
help me."

"It may help you, Mr. Rodgers. The murder of Miss Wharf is connected
with this fan, and the Major can tell you about his Canton adventure
which has to do with it also."

Major Tidman turned grey and his face looked fearful, "I came to tell
you, Rupert," he said trying to be calm, "but it won't help this man,"
he nodded towards Rodgers, "to find the assassin."

"We'll see about that," replied Rodgers briskly, "let us go in and sit
down. The fan is at the bottom of this business, and when I learn all
about it, I may know how to act."

The Major shrugged his plump shoulders and walked towards the open
French window. When he passed through to the library, the detective and
Ainsleigh followed. In a few minutes, they were comfortably seated.
Rupert asked the two if they would have some refreshments, and receiving
a reply in the affirmative, rang the bell. "Though mind you, Mr.
Ainsleigh," said Rodgers, "this drinking a glass of wine doesn't stop me
from arresting you, if I see fit."

"You can set your mind at rest," said Rupert coldly, "I have no wish to
tie you down to a bread and salt treaty. Some wine, Mrs. Petley."

The housekeeper, who had entered, was as plump as ever, but her face
looked yellow, and old, and haggard, and there was a terrified look in
her eyes. In strange contrast to her usual volubility, she did not speak
a word, but dropping a curtsey, went out.

"That woman looks scared," said the detective.

"She _is_ scared," assented Rupert, "we have a ghost here, Mr.
Rodgers--the ghost of a monk, and Mrs. Petley thought she saw it last
night."

"Really," said the detective with good-humoured contempt, "she _thought_
she saw a ghost. What nonsense."

"No, sir. It ain't nonsense."

It was the housekeeper who spoke. Having seen the Major coming up the
avenue, she knew that he would require his usual glass of port, and
therefore had prepared the tray, while the conversation was taking place
on the terrace. This accounted for her quick return, and she set down
the tray with the jingling glasses and decanter as she spoke. "It was a
ghost, sure enough," said Mrs. Petley, when the small table was placed
before the three gentlemen, "the ghost of Abbot Raoul. I've seen him
times and again, but never so plainly as last night. It was between
eleven and twelve," added Mrs. Petley without waiting for permission to
speak, "and I sat up for Master Rupert here. I took a walk outside, it
being fine and dry, and like a fool, I went in to the abbey."

"Why shouldn't you go there?" asked Rodgers.

"Because Abbot Raoul always walks where he was burnt," replied Mrs.
Petley, "and there he was sure enough. No moonlight could I see, but the
stars gave a faint light, and he was near the square--the accursed
square where they burnt the poor soul. I gave one screech as he swept
past in his long robes and a cowl, and when I come to myself on the damp
grass, he was gone. I hurried in and told Petley, who came out and
searched, but bless you," went on the housekeeper with contempt, "he
couldn't find a thing that had gone back to the other world--not he."

"It was a dream, Mrs. Petley," said Rupert soothingly.

"No, sir. Trouble is coming to the Ainsleighs, as always does when the
Abbot walks. And this morning I went out and found this," and Mrs.
Petley, fishing in her capacious pocket, produced a small stick which
smelt like cinnamon. Round it was a roll of scarlet paper inscribed with
queer characters. Rupert stretched out his hand to take it, but the
detective anticipated him.

"It's a joss-stick," said Rodgers. "I've seen them in the Whitechapel
opium dens. Humph! Why should the ghost of an old monk use a joss-stick,
like the Chinese?"

Before anyone could reply, Mrs. Petley gave a cry, "I told you trouble
was coming, Master Rupert, dear," she said with the tears streaming from
her fat face, "and anything to do with that weary Chiner where your poor
pa lost his life always do bring trouble. Oh, dear me," she put her silk
apron to her eyes and walked slowly out of the room. "I must tell my
John. He may be able to say what's coming, as he have a gift of
prophecy, that he have."

When Mrs. Petley closed the door after her, the three men looked at one
another. "Do you believe in this ghost, Mr. Ainsleigh?" asked the
detective, examining the joss-stick.

Rupert did not give a direct answer. "I don't know what to believe, Mr.
Rodgers. Our family traditions have always pointed to the walking of
Abbot Raoul before trouble, and it might be so. I have never seen the
ghost myself, though."

"Your ghost is a Chinaman," said the detective, tapping the stick.

"But what would a Chinaman be doing in the cloisters?"

"Ah. That's what we've got to find out. There was a yacht in Marport
Harbour last night, which came at midday, and departed in a hurry after
midnight. Burgh says he believes Tung-yu went away in her, after
committing the murder."

"Even if he did," said Rupert, calmly, "that does not show how the
joss-stick came here, or why a Chinaman should be masquerading as a
monk, for that, I take it, is your meaning."

"It is. I believe there were other Chinamen on board that boat," was the
detective's reply. "Perhaps this man Hwei came to the Abbey."

"He might have come," said Ainsleigh, carelessly.

"Or Tung-yu," went on Rodgers.

"No," said the Major who had kept silent all this time, but had observed
everything, "it was not Tung-yu's day."

Rodgers turned on him. "What do you mean by that?"

The Major settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "I'll tell you
my adventure at Canton first," he said, "and then you may understand. I
can't get to the bottom of the matter myself, for why Lo-Keong should
have a private god of good luck is more than I can tell."

The others looked at him, amazed at this queer speech. "What is this
private god?" asked the detective.

"I don't know, save that it is called Kwang-ho."

Rupert started. "That was the god mentioned in the advertisement."

"Yes, so it was," replied the Major, quietly, "but just you wait and
hear my story. It may lead to something being discovered."

"One moment, Mr. Ainsleigh. Show me the advertisement."

Rupert rose, and going to the writing-desk took therefrom the slip he
had cut from the paper. Rodgers read it, quietly. "I see. Here is
mentioned the doom of the god, Kwang-ho."

"Lo-Keong's private god of good luck," said the Major.

"Are there private as well as public gods in China?"

Tidman looked perplexed. "I can't say. I know nothing. Wait and hear
what I can tell," he settled himself again and began to speak rapidly.
"I was in Canton seven years ago," said he, "I had made my money here,
and didn't intend to travel again. But Miss Wharf persuaded me to go to
China, to see if I could find out why Markham Ainsleigh had been
killed."

Rupert looked astonished. "Why? she hated my father."

"She loved him first and hated him later," said Tidman, quietly, "a fine
woman was poor Miss Wharf. I was in love with her--"

"I never knew that Tidman."

"I was though," said the Major, "and Miss Pewsey hated me for being in
love with her. I spoke badly of Miss Wharf to you Ainsleigh because I
was angered with her--"

"You called her a mass of granite."

"And so she is," said the Major angrily, "she promised to marry me if I
went to China and learned how your father came by his death. I did go,
but I came back without learning more, than that he was murdered, so
Miss Wharf refused to keep her promise. I believe it was that Pewsey
cat's fault."

"Well--well--go on," said Rodgers looking at his watch, "all this
business is very round-about. I want to get on with my work."

"This may have to do with it," said the Major smartly. "Well, I was in
Canton, and intended to go up to the Kan-su province to make enquiries.
I met Forge in Canton. He had just come from Pekin, and showed me round.
He laughed at the idea that Markham had died by violence, and said it
was dysentery."

"So he always said," murmured Rupert, who listened intently.

"And told a lie," retorted Tidman, "however I believed him, but all the
same I intended to make enquiries at the mine of the Hwei River in the
Kan-su province. But I stopped in Canton with Forge for a time, as he
said he would go up with me. In some way, the fact of my trying to learn
the truth about Markham's death got about."

"No doubt Forge told it to others," suggested Rupert.

"I don't know. I never got to the bottom of the business. But one day a
half-starved Chinaman stopped me in the street, and told me he could
explain, if I came with him. I went to a miserable house in a low part
of the city. The man closed the door, and then drew a fan from his
breast--"

"The fan in question?" asked Rodgers making a note.

"Yes--the very article. He told me that this fan would reveal the truth,
and offered it to me."

"For money?"

"No. He refused to take a penny. He seemed anxious to get rid of the
fan, and kept looking round everywhere as though he thought someone
might be listening. I asked him how the fan could tell about the death,
but all he said, was, that it could."

"But in what way?" asked Ainsleigh, puzzled.

"I really don't know," said the Major, with an air of fatigue. "I am
telling you all I know. I took the fan and cleared, and got home safely
enough. Then I hid away the fan--where it doesn't matter; but I have
travelled so much that I always keep a secret place for money and
valuables. I placed the fan there, though I really didn't know what to
make of the matter. After a few days I came to my rooms to find that
everything had been ripped open and smashed and searched--"

"And the fan was gone," said Rodgers.

"Not it. They--whosoever they were who searched, could not find my
hiding place. Well, a day or two later, as I was walking along the
street at night, I was seized up and gagged, and carried to some low
Chinese house. There a Chinaman examined me, and asked me what I had
done with the fan--"

"What sort of a man was he?" asked Rupert, "would you know him again?"

The Major looked doubtful. "Chinamen are all so alike," he said, "but
this chap had only one eye, and was a villainous looking beast. He
declared that he knew the first Celestial had given me the fan, and that
he wanted it. I refused to give it up. He took out a knife, and said he
would slice me up. Oh," broke off the Major looking grey and old,
"however shall I forget that terrible moment, Ainsleigh. Do you wonder
that I shudder to relate this adventure, and that I refuse to speak of
it. I was in that miserable place, in the midst of a horde of Chinamen,
bound and helpless, with a knife at my throat. I never did care for
death," said Tidman boldly, "but to be cut slowly into slices, was more
than I could stand."

"Why didn't you give up the fan then?" asked Rodgers.

"Because I made up my mind that slicing or no slicing, I wasn't going to
be bullied by a lot of heathen devils. The position was awful, but I'm
an Englishman, and I resolved to hold off to the last moment, I dare say
I would have given up the fan after all, as the one-eyed brute began to
cut me up. I lost a big toe--"

"Oh," said Rupert, while Rodgers shook his head, "did this man cut a toe
off?"

"Yes--my big toe. I was about to give in, when suddenly a small Chinese
boy dressed in red--queerly enough, as the Chinese don't go in much for
that colour--appeared and said something. The one-eyed Chinaman scowled,
and put his knife away. Then he cleared out with the boy and his other
friends and I was left alone. Then with the loss of blood, and the pain
of my toe I fainted."

"No wonder," said Ainsleigh, "I don't blame you. Well?"

"Well, then I came to my senses in my own room. Forge was with me and
said that he had traced me to the hovel and had rescued me with the aid
of the Canton police. He declared that I would have to leave Canton at
once, or this one-eyed Chinaman would be after me. I agreed, and with
Forge I went that very day on board a homeward-bound steamer. I thanked
Forge for having helped me, and he asked if I would give him the fan as
a reward. I refused, as I wanted to know how it could tell about
Markham's death. Forge said that if I kept possession of the fan, the
one-eyed Chinaman would track me to England and kill me. But I held out,
till I got to Marport. Then I grew weary of Forge worrying me,
particularly as he promised to do what he could to learn the secret of
the fan, and help me to marry Miss Wharf. So he took the fan, and then,
as you know, Ainsleigh, he took it out to China again, where it fell
into the hands of a pirate from whom Clarence Burgh received it."

"But how did it get from Dr. Forge's hands into those of the pirate?"
asked Rodgers curiously.

"I don't know; you can ask Forge. He lives here."

The detective took a note of the doctor's address. "That's all right,"
he said, "there's no doubt the poor lady was killed to procure this fan.
Did you tell her of your adventure?"

"No," said the Major with a shudder. "I merely said that I could not
learn how Markham was killed and she refused to marry me. I did not care
about speaking of the adventure. You know how the fan came into Miss
Wharf's possession Mr. Rodgers?"

"Yes," the detective nodded, "Mr. Burgh told me, but I'll have another
talk with him. Humph. It seems to me that one of these Chinamen killed
Miss Wharf, and that the tie was used to lay the blame on Mr. Ainsleigh
here."

"Well," said Ainsleigh drawing a breath, "I am glad to hear that you
don't suspect me, but I can't think that Tung-yu stole the tie, even
though he did see me place it in the coat."

"I'll look after that cloak-room attendant," said Rodgers, making
another note, "and he'll have to give an account of himself. But I don't
see what this private god Kwang-ho has to do with the matter."

"I can only tell you this," said Major Tidman, "I had a cold last night
and stopped in my room. But I heard that Tung-yu was down the stairs,
and, as I knew him in Canton, I went to have a look for him. He was a
pleasant companion in Canton."

"Did you tell him about the fan and your ad

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