The Clue of the Twisted Candle

  THE CLUE OF THE TWISTED CANDLE

  By Edgar Wallace

  CHAPTER I

  The 4.15 from Victoria to Lewes had been held up at Three Bridges inconsequence of a derailment and, though John Lexman was fortunate enoughto catch a belated connection to Beston Tracey, the wagonette which wasthe sole communication between the village and the outside world hadgone.

  "If you can wait half an hour, Mr. Lexman," said the station-master, "Iwill telephone up to the village and get Briggs to come down for you."

  John Lexman looked out upon the dripping landscape and shrugged hisshoulders.

  "I'll walk," he said shortly and, leaving his bag in thestation-master's care and buttoning his mackintosh to his chin, hestepped forth resolutely into the rain to negotiate the two miles whichseparated the tiny railway station from Little Tracey.

  The downpour was incessant and likely to last through the night.The high hedges on either side of the narrow road were so many leafycascades; the road itself was in places ankle deep in mud. He stoppedunder the protecting cover of a big tree to fill and light his pipe andwith its bowl turned downwards continued his walk. But for thedriving rain which searched every crevice and found every chink in hiswaterproof armor, he preferred, indeed welcomed, the walk.

  The road from Beston Tracey to Little Beston was associated in his mindwith some of the finest situations in his novels. It was on this roadthat he had conceived "The Tilbury Mystery." Between the station and thehouse he had woven the plot which had made "Gregory Standish" the mostpopular detective story of the year. For John Lexman was a maker ofcunning plots.

  If, in the literary world, he was regarded by superior persons as awriter of "shockers," he had a large and increasing public who werefascinated by the wholesome and thrilling stories he wrote, and whoheld on breathlessly to the skein of mystery until they came to thedenouement he had planned.

  But no thought of books, or plots, or stories filled his troubled mindas he strode along the deserted road to Little Beston. He had had twointerviews in London, one of which under ordinary circumstances wouldhave filled him with joy: He had seen T. X. and "T. X." was T. X.Meredith, who would one day be Chief of the Criminal InvestigationDepartment and was now an Assistant Commissioner of Police, engaged inthe more delicate work of that department.

  In his erratic, tempestuous way, T. X. had suggested the greatest ideafor a plot that any author could desire. But it was not of T. X. thatJohn Lexman thought as he breasted the hill, on the slope of which wasthe tiny habitation known by the somewhat magnificent title of BestonPriory.

  It was the interview he had had with the Greek on the previous day whichfilled his mind, and he frowned as he recalled it. He opened the littlewicket gate and went through the plantation to the house, doing hisbest to shake off the recollection of the remarkable and unedifyingdiscussion he had had with the moneylender.

  Beston Priory was little more than a cottage, though one of its wallswas an indubitable relic of that establishment which a pious Howard haderected in the thirteenth century. A small and unpretentious building,built in the Elizabethan style with quaint gables and high chimneys,its latticed windows and sunken gardens, its rosary and its tiny meadow,gave it a certain manorial completeness which was a source of greatpride to its owner.

  He passed under the thatched porch, and stood for a moment in the broadhallway as he stripped his drenching mackintosh.

  The hall was in darkness. Grace would probably be changing for dinner,and he decided that in his present mood he would not disturb her. Hepassed through the long passage which led to the big study at the backof the house. A fire burnt redly in the old-fashioned grate and the snugcomfort of the room brought a sense of ease and relief. He changed hisshoes, and lit the table lamp.

  The room was obviously a man's den. The leather-covered chairs, the bigand well-filled bookcase which covered one wall of the room, thehuge, solid-oak writing-desk, covered with books and half-finishedmanuscripts, spoke unmistakably of its owner's occupation.

  After he had changed his shoes, he refilled his pipe, walked over to thefire, and stood looking down into its glowing heart.

  He was a man a little above medium height, slimly built, with a breadthof shoulder which was suggestive of the athlete. He had indeed rowed 4in his boat, and had fought his way into the semi-finals of theamateur boxing championship of England. His face was strong, lean, yetwell-moulded. His eyes were grey and deep, his eyebrows straight and alittle forbidding. The clean-shaven mouth was big and generous, and thehealthy tan of his cheek told of a life lived in the open air.

  There was nothing of the recluse or the student in his appearance. Hewas in fact a typical, healthy-looking Britisher, very much like anyother man of his class whom one would meet in the mess-room of theBritish army, in the wardrooms of the fleet, or in the far-off posts ofthe Empire, where the administrative cogs of the great machine are to beseen at work.

  There was a little tap at the door, and before he could say "Come in" itwas pushed open and Grace Lexman entered.

  If you described her as brave and sweet you might secure from that briefdescription both her manner and her charm. He half crossed the room tomeet her, and kissed her tenderly.

  "I didn't know you were back until--" she said; linking her arm in his.

  "Until you saw the horrible mess my mackintosh has made," he smiled. "Iknow your methods, Watson!"

  She laughed, but became serious again.

  "I am very glad you've come back. We have a visitor," she said.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "A visitor? Whoever came down on a day like this?"

  She looked at him a little strangely.

  "Mr. Kara," she said.

  "Kara? How long has he been here?"

  "He came at four."

  There was nothing enthusiastic in her tone.

  "I can't understand why you don't like old Kara," rallied her husband.

  "There are very many reasons," she replied, a little curtly for her.

  "Anyway," said John Lexman, after a moment's thought, "his arrival israther opportune. Where is he?"

  "He is in the drawing-room."

  The Priory drawing-room was a low-ceilinged, rambling apartment,"all old print and chrysanthemums," to use Lexman's description. Cosyarmchairs, a grand piano, an almost medieval open grate, faced withdull-green tiles, a well-worn but cheerful carpet and two big silvercandelabras were the principal features which attracted the newcomer.

  There was in this room a harmony, a quiet order and a soothing qualitywhich made it a haven of rest to a literary man with jagged nerves. Twobig bronze bowls were filled with early violets, another blazed like apale sun with primroses, and the early woodland flowers filled the roomwith a faint fragrance.

  A man rose to his feet, as John Lexman entered and crossed the room withan easy carriage. He was a man possessed of singular beauty of face andof figure. Half a head taller than the author, he carried himself withsuch a grace as to conceal his height.

  "I missed you in town," he said, "so I thought I'd run down on the offchance of seeing you."

  He spoke in the well-modulated tone of one who had had a longacquaintance with the public schools and universities of England. Therewas no trace of any foreign accent, yet Remington Kara was a Greek andhad been born and partly educated in the more turbulent area of Albania.

  The two men shook hands warmly.

  "You'll stay to dinner?"

  Kara glanced round with a smile at Grace Lexman. She sat uncomfortablyupright, her hands loosely folded on her lap, her face devoid ofencouragement.

  "If Mrs. Lexman doesn't object," said the Greek.

  "I should be pleased, if you would," she said, a
lmost mechanically; "itis a horrid night and you won't get anything worth eating this side ofLondon and I doubt very much," she smiled a little, "if the meal I cangive you will be worthy of that description."

  "What you can give me will be more than sufficient," he said, with alittle bow, and turned to her husband.

  In a few minutes they were deep in a discussion of books and places, andGrace seized the opportunity to make her escape. From books in generalto Lexman's books in particular the conversation flowed.

  "I've read every one of them, you know," said Kara.

  John made a little face. "Poor devil," he said sardonically.

  "On the contrary," said Kara, "I am not to be pitied. There is a greatcriminal lost in you, Lexman."

  "Thank you," said John.

  "I am not being uncomplimentary, am I?" smiled the Greek. "I am merelyreferring to the ingenuity of your plots. Sometimes your books baffleand annoy me. If I cannot see the solution of your mysteries before thebook is half through, it angers me a little. Of course in the majorityof cases I know the solution before I have reached the fifth chapter."

  John looked at him in surprise and was somewhat piqued.

  "I flatter myself it is impossible to tell how my stories will end untilthe last chapter," he said.

  Kara nodded.

  "That would be so in the case of the average reader, but you forget thatI am a student. I follow every little thread of the clue which you leaveexposed."

  "You should meet T. X.," said John, with a laugh, as he rose from hischair to poke the fire.

  "T. X.?"

  "T. X. Meredith. He is the most ingenious beggar you could meet. We wereat Caius together, and he is by way of being a great pal of mine. He isin the Criminal Investigation Department."

  Kara nodded. There was the light of interest in his eyes and he wouldhave pursued the discussion further, but at the moment dinner wasannounced.

  It was not a particularly cheerful meal because Grace did not as usualjoin in the conversation, and it was left to Kara and to her husbandto supply the deficiencies. She was experiencing a curious sense ofdepression, a premonition of evil which she could not define. Again andagain in the course of the dinner she took her mind back to the eventsof the day to discover the reason for her unease.

  Usually when she adopted this method she came upon the trivial causesin which apprehension was born, but now she was puzzled to find that asolution was denied her. Her letters of the morning had been pleasant,neither the house nor the servants had given her any trouble. She waswell herself, and though she knew John had a little money trouble,since his unfortunate speculation in Roumanian gold shares, and she halfsuspected that he had had to borrow money to make good his losses, yethis prospects were so excellent and the success of his last bookso promising that she, probably seeing with a clearer vision theunimportance of those money worries, was less concerned about theproblem than he.

  "You will have your coffee in the study, I suppose," said Grace, "andI know you'll excuse me; I have to see Mrs. Chandler on the mundanesubject of laundry."

  She favoured Kara with a little nod as she left the room and touchedJohn's shoulder lightly with her hand in passing.

  Kara's eyes followed her graceful figure until she was out of view,then:

  "I want to see you, Kara," said John Lexman, "if you will give me fiveminutes."

  "You can have five hours, if you like," said the other, easily.

  They went into the study together; the maid brought the coffeeand liqueur, and placed them on a little table near the fire anddisappeared.

  For a time the conversation was general. Kara, who was a frank admirerof the comfort of the room and who lamented his own inability to securewith money the cosiness which John had obtained at little cost, went ona foraging expedition whilst his host applied himself to a proof whichneeded correcting.

  "I suppose it is impossible for you to have electric light here," Karaasked.

  "Quite," replied the other.

  "Why?"

  "I rather like the light of this lamp."

  "It isn't the lamp," drawled the Greek and made a little grimace; "Ihate these candles."

  He waved his hand to the mantle-shelf where the six tall, white, waxencandles stood out from two wall sconces.

  "Why on earth do you hate candles?" asked the other in surprise.

  Kara made no reply for the moment, but shrugged his shoulders. Presentlyhe spoke.

  "If you were ever tied down to a chair and by the side of that chair wasa small keg of black powder and stuck in that powder was a small candlethat burnt lower and lower every minute--my God!"

  John was amazed to see the perspiration stand upon the forehead of hisguest.

  "That sounds thrilling," he said.

  The Greek wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and his hand shooka little.

  "It was something more than thrilling," he said.

  "And when did this occur?" asked the author curiously.

  "In Albania," replied the other; "it was many years ago, but the devilsare always sending me reminders of the fact."

  He did not attempt to explain who the devils were or under whatcircumstances he was brought to this unhappy pass, but changed thesubject definitely.

  Sauntering round the cosy room he followed the bookshelf which filledone wall and stopped now and again to examine some title. Presently hedrew forth a stout volume.

  "'Wild Brazil'," he read, "by George Gathercole-do you know Gathercole?"

  John was filling his pipe from a big blue jar on his desk and nodded.

  "Met him once--a taciturn devil. Very short of speech and, like all menwho have seen and done things, less inclined to talk about himself thanany man I know."

  Kara looked at the book with a thoughtful pucker of brow and turned theleaves idly.

  "I've never seen him," he said as he replaced the book, "yet, in asense, his new journey is on my behalf."

  The other man looked up.

  "On your behalf?"

  "Yes--you know he has gone to Patagonia for me. He believes there isgold there--you will learn as much from his book on the mountain systemsof South America. I was interested in his theories and correspondedwith him. As a result of that correspondence he undertook to make ageological survey for me. I sent him money for his expenses, and he wentoff."

  "You never saw him?" asked John Lexman, surprised.

  Kara shook his head.

  "That was not--?" began his host.

  "Not like me, you were going to say. Frankly, it was not, but then Irealized that he was an unusual kind of man. I invited him to dine withme before he left London, and in reply received a wire from Southamptonintimating that he was already on his way."

  Lexman nodded.

  "It must be an awfully interesting kind of life," he said. "I suppose hewill be away for quite a long time?"

  "Three years," said Kara, continuing his examination of the bookshelf.

  "I envy those fellows who run round the world writing books," said John,puffing reflectively at his pipe. "They have all the best of it."

  Kara turned. He stood immediately behind the author and the othercould not see his face. There was, however, in his voice an unusualearnestness and an unusual quiet vehemence.

  "What have you to complain about!" he asked, with that little drawl ofhis. "You have your own creative work--the most fascinating branch oflabour that comes to a man. He, poor beggar, is bound to actualities.You have the full range of all the worlds which your imaginationgives to you. You can create men and destroy them, call into existencefascinating problems, mystify and baffle ten or twenty thousand people,and then, at a word, elucidate your mystery."

  John laughed.

  "There is something in that," he said.

  "As for the rest of your life," Kara went on in a lower voice, "I thinkyou have that which makes life worth living--an incomparable wife."

  Lexman swung round in his chair, and met the other's gaze, and there wassomething in the s
et of the other's handsome face which took his breathaway.

  "I do not see--" he began.

  Kara smiled.

  "That was an impertinence, wasn't it!" he said, banteringly. "But thenyou mustn't forget, my dear man, that I was very anxious to marry yourwife. I don't suppose it is secret. And when I lost her, I had ideasabout you which are not pleasant to recall."

  He had recovered his self-possession and had continued his aimlessstroll about the room.

  "You must remember I am a Greek, and the modern Greek is no philosopher.You must remember, too, that I am a petted child of fortune, and havehad everything I wanted since I was a baby."

  "You are a fortunate devil," said the other, turning back to his desk,and taking up his pen.

  For a moment Kara did not speak, then he made as though he would saysomething, checked himself, and laughed.

  "I wonder if I am," he said.

  And now he spoke with a sudden energy.

  "What is this trouble you are having with Vassalaro?"

  John rose from his chair and walked over to the fire, stood gazing downinto its depths, his legs wide apart, his hands clasped behind him, andKara took his attitude to supply an answer to the question.

  "I warned you against Vassalaro," he said, stooping by the other's sideto light his cigar with a spill of paper. "My dear Lexman, my fellowcountrymen are unpleasant people to deal with in certain moods."

  "He was so obliging at first," said Lexman, half to himself.

  "And now he is so disobliging," drawled Kara. "That is a way whichmoneylenders have, my dear man; you were very foolish to go to him atall. I could have lent you the money."

  "There were reasons why I should not borrow money from you,", said John,quietly, "and I think you yourself have supplied the principal reasonwhen you told me just now, what I already knew, that you wanted to marryGrace."

  "How much is the amount?" asked Kara, examining his well-manicuredfinger-nails.

  "Two thousand five hundred pounds," replied John, with a short laugh,"and I haven't two thousand five hundred shillings at this moment."

  "Will he wait?"

  John Lexman shrugged his shoulders.

  "Look here, Kara," he said, suddenly, "don't think I want to reproachyou, but it was through you that I met Vassalaro so that you know thekind of man he is."

  Kara nodded.

  "Well, I can tell you he has been very unpleasant indeed," said John,with a frown, "I had an interview with him yesterday in London and itis clear that he is going to make a lot of trouble. I depended upon thesuccess of my play in town giving me enough to pay him off, and I veryfoolishly made a lot of promises of repayment which I have been unableto keep."

  "I see," said Kara, and then, "does Mrs. Lexman know about this matter?"

  "A little," said the other.

  He paced restlessly up and down the room, his hands behind him and hischin upon his chest.

  "Naturally I have not told her the worst, or how beastly unpleasant theman has been."

  He stopped and turned.

  "Do you know he threatened to kill me?" he asked.

  Kara smiled.

  "I can tell you it was no laughing matter," said the other, angrily,"I nearly took the little whippersnapper by the scruff of the neck andkicked him."

  Kara dropped his hand on the other's arm.

  "I am not laughing at you," he said; "I am laughing at the thought ofVassalaro threatening to kill anybody. He is the biggest coward in theworld. What on earth induced him to take this drastic step?"

  "He said he is being hard pushed for money," said the other, moodily,"and it is possibly true. He was beside himself with anger and anxiety,otherwise I might have given the little blackguard the thrashing hedeserved."

  Kara who had continued his stroll came down the room and halted in frontof the fireplace looking at the young author with a paternal smile.

  "You don't understand Vassalaro," he said; "I repeat he is the greatestcoward in the world. You will probably discover he is full of firearmsand threats of slaughter, but you have only to click a revolver to seehim collapse. Have you a revolver, by the way?"

  "Oh, nonsense," said the other, roughly, "I cannot engage myself in thatkind of melodrama."

  "It is not nonsense," insisted the other, "when you are in Rome, etcetera, and when you have to deal with a low-class Greek you must usemethods which will at least impress him. If you thrash him, he willnever forgive you and will probably stick a knife into you or your wife.If you meet his melodrama with melodrama and at the psychological momentproduce your revolver; you will secure the effect you require. Have youa revolver?"

  John went to his desk and, pulling open a drawer, took out a smallBrowning.

  "That is the extent of my armory," he said, "it has never been fired andwas sent to me by an unknown admirer last Christmas."

  "A curious Christmas present," said the other, examining the weapon.

  "I suppose the mistaken donor imagined from my books that I lived ina veritable museum of revolvers, sword sticks and noxious drugs," saidLexman, recovering some of his good humour; "it was accompanied by acard."

  "Do you know how it works?" asked the other.

  "I have never troubled very much about it," replied Lexman, "I know thatit is loaded by slipping back the cover, but as my admirer did not sendammunition, I never even practised with it."

  There was a knock at the door.

  "That is the post," explained John.

  The maid had one letter on the salver and the author took it up with afrown.

  "From Vassalaro," he said, when the girl had left the room.

  The Greek took the letter in his hand and examined it.

  "He writes a vile fist," was his only comment as he handed it back toJohn.

  He slit open the thin, buff envelope and took out half a dozen sheets ofyellow paper, only a single sheet of which was written upon. The letterwas brief:

  "I must see you to-night without fail," ran the scrawl; "meet me at the crossroads between Beston Tracey and the Eastbourne Road. I shall be there at eleven o'clock, and, if you want to preserve your life, you had better bring me a substantial instalment."

  It was signed "Vassalaro."

  John read the letter aloud. "He must be mad to write a letter likethat," he said; "I'll meet the little devil and teach him such a lessonin politeness as he is never likely to forget."

  He handed the letter to the other and Kara read it in silence.

  "Better take your revolver," he said as he handed it back.

  John Lexman looked at his watch.

  "I have an hour yet, but it will take me the best part of twenty minutesto reach the Eastbourne Road."

  "Will you see him?" asked Kara, in a tone of surprise.

  "Certainly," Lexman replied emphatically: "I cannot have him coming upto the house and making a scene and that is certainly what the littlebeast will do."

  "Will you pay him?" asked Kara softly.

  John made no answer. There was probably 10 pounds in the house and acheque which was due on the morrow would bring him another 30 pounds.He looked at the letter again. It was written on paper of an unusualtexture. The surface was rough almost like blotting paper and in someplaces the ink absorbed by the porous surface had run. The blank sheetshad evidently been inserted by a man in so violent a hurry that he hadnot noticed the extravagance.

  "I shall keep this letter," said John.

  "I think you are well advised. Vassalaro probably does not know that hetransgresses a law in writing threatening letters and that should be avery strong weapon in your hand in certain eventualities."

  There was a tiny safe in one corner of the study and this John openedwith a key which he took from his pocket. He pulled open one of thesteel drawers, took out the papers which were in it and put in theirplace the letter, pushed the drawer to, and locked it.

  All the time Kara was watching him intently as one who found more thanan ordinary amount of interest in the novelty of th
e procedure.

  He took his leave soon afterwards.

  "I would like to come with you to your interesting meeting," he said,"but unfortunately I have business elsewhere. Let me enjoin you to takeyour revolver and at the first sign of any bloodthirsty intention on thepart of my admirable compatriot, produce it and click it once or twice,you won't have to do more."

  Grace rose from the piano as Kara entered the little drawing-room andmurmured a few conventional expressions of regret that the visitor'sstay had been so short. That there was no sincerity in that regret Kara,for one, had no doubt. He was a man singularly free from illusions.

  They stayed talking a little while.

  "I will see if your chauffeur is asleep," said John, and went out of theroom.

  There was a little silence after he had gone.

  "I don't think you are very glad to see me," said Kara. His franknesswas a little embarrassing to the girl and she flushed slightly.

  "I am always glad to see you, Mr. Kara, or any other of my husband'sfriends," she said steadily.

  He inclined his head.

  "To be a friend of your husband is something," he said, and then as ifremembering something, "I wanted to take a book away with me--I wonderif your husband would mind my getting it?"

  "I will find it for you."

  "Don't let me bother you," he protested, "I know my way."

  Without waiting for her permission he left the girl with the unpleasantfeeling that he was taking rather much for granted. He was gone lessthan a minute and returned with a book under his arm.

  "I have not asked Lexman's permission to take it," he said, "but I amrather interested in the author. Oh, here you are," he turned to Johnwho came in at that moment. "Might I take this book on Mexico?" heasked. "I will return it in the morning."

  They stood at the door, watching the tail light of the motor disappeardown the drive; and returned in silence to the drawing room.

  "You look worried, dear," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder.

  He smiled faintly.

  "Is it the money?" she asked anxiously.

  For a moment he was tempted to tell her of the letter. He stifled thetemptation realizing that she would not consent to his going out if sheknew the truth.

  "It is nothing very much," he said. "I have to go down to Beston Traceyto meet the last train. I am expecting some proofs down."

  He hated lying to her, and even an innocuous lie of this character wasrepugnant to him.

  "I'm afraid you have had a dull evening," he said, "Kara was not veryamusing."

  She looked at him thoughtfully.

  "He has not changed very much," she said slowly.

  "He's a wonderfully handsome chap, isn't he?" he asked in a tone ofadmiration. "I can't understand what you ever saw in a fellow like me,when you had a man who was not only rich, but possibly the best-lookingman in the world."

  She shivered a little.

  "I have seen a side of Mr. Kara that is not particularly beautiful," shesaid. "Oh, John, I am afraid of that man!"

  He looked at her in astonishment.

  "Afraid?" he asked. "Good heavens, Grace, what a thing to say! Why Ibelieve he'd do anything for you."

  "That is exactly what I am afraid of," she said in a low voice.

  She had a reason which she did not reveal. She had first met RemingtonKara in Salonika two years before. She had been doing a tour through theBalkans with her father--it was the last tour the famous archeologistmade--and had met the man who was fated to have such an influence uponher life at a dinner given by the American Consul.

  Many were the stories which were told about this Greek with hisJove-like face, his handsome carriage and his limitless wealth. Itwas said that his mother was an American lady who had been captured byAlbanian brigands and was sold to one of the Albanian chiefs who fellin love with her, and for her sake became a Protestant. He had beeneducated at Yale and at Oxford, and was known to be the possessor ofvast wealth, and was virtually king of a hill district forty miles outof Durazzo. Here he reigned supreme, occupying a beautiful house whichhe had built by an Italian architect, and the fittings and appointmentsof which had been imported from the luxurious centres of the world.

  In Albania they called him "Kara Rumo," which meant "The Black Roman,"for no particular reason so far as any one could judge, for his skin wasas fair as a Saxon's, and his close-cropped curls were almost golden.

  He had fallen in love with Grace Terrell. At first his attentions hadamused her, and then there came a time when they frightened her, for theman's fire and passion had been unmistakable. She had made it plain tohim that he could base no hopes upon her returning his love, and, in ascene which she even now shuddered to recall, he had revealed somethingof his wild and reckless nature. On the following day she did not seehim, but two days later, when returning through the Bazaar from a dancewhich had been given by the Governor General, her carriage was stopped,she was forcibly dragged from its interior, and her cries were stifledwith a cloth impregnated with a scent of a peculiar aromatic sweetness.Her assailants were about to thrust her into another carriage, when aparty of British bluejackets who had been on leave came upon the scene,and, without knowing anything of the nationality of the girl, hadrescued her.

  In her heart of hearts she did not doubt Kara's complicity in thismedieval attempt to gain a wife, but of this adventure she had toldher husband nothing. Until her marriage she was constantly receivingvaluable presents which she as constantly returned to the only addressshe knew--Kara's estate at Lemazo. A few months after her marriage shehad learned through the newspapers that this "leader of Greek society"had purchased a big house near Cadogan Square, and then, to heramazement and to her dismay, Kara had scraped an acquaintance with herhusband even before the honeymoon was over.

  His visits had been happily few, but the growing intimacy betweenJohn and this strange undisciplined man had been a source of constantdistress to her.

  Should she, at this, the eleventh hour, tell her husband all her fearsand her suspicions?

  She debated the point for some time. And never was she nearer taking himinto her complete confidence than she was as he sat in the big armchairby the side of the piano, a little drawn of face, more than a littleabsorbed in his own meditations. Had he been less worried she might havespoken. As it was, she turned the conversation to his last work, thebig mystery story which, if it would not make his fortune, would mean aconsiderable increase to his income.

  At a quarter to eleven he looked at his watch, and rose. She helped himon with his coat. He stood for some time irresolutely.

  "Is there anything you have forgotten?" she asked.

  He asked himself whether he should follow Kara's advice. In anycircumstance it was not a pleasant thing to meet a ferocious littleman who had threatened his life, and to meet him unarmed was temptingProvidence. The whole thing was of course ridiculous, but it wasridiculous that he should have borrowed, and it was ridiculous that theborrowing should have been necessary, and yet he had speculated on thebest of advice--it was Kara's advice.

  The connection suddenly occurred to him, and yet Kara had not directlysuggested that he should buy Roumanian gold shares, but had merelyspoken glowingly of their prospects. He thought a moment, and thenwalked back slowly into the study, pulled open the drawer of his desk,took out the sinister little Browning, and slipped it into his pocket.

  "I shan't be long, dear," he said, and kissing the girl he strode outinto the darkness.

  Kara sat back in the luxurious depths of his car, humming a little tune,as the driver picked his way cautiously over the uncertain road. Therain was still falling, and Kara had to rub the windows free of the mistwhich had gathered on them to discover where he was. From time to timehe looked out as though he expected to see somebody, and then with alittle smile he remembered that he had changed his original plan, andthat he had fixed the waiting room of Lewes junction as his rendezvous.

  Here it was that he found a little man muffled up to the
ears in a bigtop coat, standing before the dying fire. He started as Kara entered andat a signal followed him from the room.

  The stranger was obviously not English. His face was sallow and peaked,his cheeks were hollow, and the beard he wore was irregular-almostunkempt.

  Kara led the way to the end of the dark platform, before he spoke.

  "You have carried out my instructions?" he asked brusquely.

  The language he spoke was Arabic, and the other answered him in thatlanguage.

  "Everything that you have ordered has been done, Effendi," he saidhumbly.

  "You have a revolver?"

  The man nodded and patted his pocket.

  "Loaded?"

  "Excellency," asked the other, in surprise, "what is the use of arevolver, if it is not loaded?"

  "You understand, you are not to shoot this man," said Kara. "You aremerely to present the pistol. To make sure, you had better unload itnow."

  Wonderingly the man obeyed, and clicked back the ejector.

  "I will take the cartridges," said Kara, holding out his hand.

  He slipped the little cylinders into his pocket, and after examining theweapon returned it to its owner.

  "You will threaten him," he went on. "Present the revolver straight athis heart. You need do nothing else."

  The man shuffled uneasily.

  "I will do as you say, Effendi," he said. "But--"

  "There are no 'buts,'" replied the other harshly. "You are to carry outmy instructions without any question. What will happen then you shallsee. I shall be at hand. That I have a reason for this play be assured."

  "But suppose he shoots?" persisted the other uneasily.

  "He will not shoot," said Kara easily. "Besides, his revolver is notloaded. Now you may go. You have a long walk before you. You know theway?"

  The man nodded.

  "I have been over it before," he said confidently.

  Kara returned to the big limousine which had drawn up some distance fromthe station. He spoke a word or two to the chauffeur in Greek, and theman touched his hat.