The Third. Volume

"I don't think that will be necessary," replied Tait reflectively, "it is more than probable that Hilliston will visit Thorston."

"For what purpose?"

"Can't you guess? Last night he learned from Linton that Jenny Paynton supplied the material for that novel. Consequently he will see her, and, if possible, find out where she heard the story."

"Yes; I suppose he will," said Claude thoughtfully. "By the way, who is Miss Paynton, who now seems to be mixed up in the matter?"

"She is the daughter of an old recluse called Ferdinand Paynton."

"A recluse! Humph! That's strange."

"Why so? You would not say so if you saw the old man. He is an invalid and lives in his library. A charming companion, though I must say he is rather sad."

"Where does he live?"

"At Thorston, half a mile from the Manor House. Not very rich, I should think. His cottage is small, like his income."

"And his daughter lives with him?"

"Yes. A pretty girl she is, who inherits his literary tastes. It is my impression that she wrote the most part of that novel. From all I know of Frank Linton he is given more to poetry than to prose. Jenny has the brain, not Frank."

"Ho, ho!" said Claude, smiling. "Is it the skeptical misogynistic Tait I hear speaking?"

"Himself. I admit that I do not care for women, as a rule, but there are exceptions to every rule, and in this case Jenny Paynton is the exception."

"Is she in love with our author?"

"No. But I rather think he is in love with her, as you will be when you see her."

"I! What are you talking about, Tait? I have more to do than to fall in love with country wenches, however pretty."

"Jenny is not a country wench," said Tait, with some displeasure; "she is a highly educated young woman."

"Worse and worse! I hate highly educated bluestockings."

"You won't hate Jenny, at all events. Especially as it is probable you will see a great deal of her."

"No; I shall keep away from her," said Claude doggedly.

"That's impossible. We must maneuver to get at the truth. By asking her straight out she certainly will not gratify our curiosity. We must plot and plan, and take her unawares. She is not a fool, like Linton, remember."

"What! Do you call a lion of the season by so opprobrious a name?"

"I do," replied Tait serenely; "because I don't believe he wrote the book."

"Well! well! Never mind Linton. We have pumped him dry. The next thing is to tackle the fair Jenny. How do you intend to set about it?"

"I can't say, at present. We must be guided by circumstances. I will introduce you to the rector and to Mr. Paynton. There will be musical parties and lawn tennis fêtes, so in some way or another we may find out the truth?"

"Does anyone else live with Paynton; his wife, for instance."

"No. His wife died before he came to Thorston, where he has been for a long time. An old servant called Kerry lives with him."

"Man or woman?"

"Man. A queer old fellow, rather morose."

"H'm! A flattering description. By the way, he bears the same name as the ancient retainer in Boucicault's play."

"Why shouldn't he?"

"It may be an assumed name."

Tait threw a surprised glance at his friend, and laughed quickly.

"Who is suspicious now?" said he, smiling. "You blame me for suspecting Hilliston, yet here you are doubtful of people whom you have never seen."

Before Larcher could answer this home thrust, a waiter entered with a letter for him which had just arrived.

"From Hilliston," said Claude, recognizing the writing. "I wonder what he has to say?"

"It's only another move in the game," murmured Tait; then as Claude, after glancing at the letter, uttered an ejaculation of surprise, he added: "What is the matter?"

"Hilliston is going down to Eastbourne."

"Impossible!" cried Tait, holding out his hand for the letter. "He is surely not so clumsy as to show his hand so plainly."

"He does, though. Read the letter yourself."

"My Dear Claude [wrote Hilliston]: Mrs. Hilliston has decided to leave town for Eastbourne this week, so it is probable we will see you and Mr. Tait down there. If you can spare the time come to dinner at half-past seven to-night, and tell me how you are getting on with your case.

"Yours very sincerely,"Francis Hilliston."

"Well," said Claude, as Tait silently returned the letter, "what do you think?"

"I think that Hilliston intends to look up Jenny Paynton."

"I can see that," replied Claude impatiently, "but touching this invitation to dinner."

"Accept."

"But I promised to see my mother to-night, and tell her about John Parver. She will expect me, as I have written."

"I will take your apologies to her," said Tait quietly.

"You?"

"Yes. Listen to me, Claude," continued the little man in a tone of suppressed excitement. "You will keep your belief in Hilliston. I tell you he is your enemy and wishes you to leave this case alone. To-night he will make one last attempt to dissuade you. If he succeeds he will not go to Eastbourne. If he fails you can depend on it he will try and see Jenny before we do. Now, to thwart his aims we will go down to Thorston by an early train to-morrow morning."

"But I must see my mother before I leave town."

"No! I will tell her all she wishes to know."

"She might not like it."

"This is not a case for likes or dislikes," said Tait grimly; "but a question of getting the better of Hilliston. You must dine with him to-night, and find out, if possible, if it was his wife or himself who suggested this visit to Eastbourne. You need not tell him we go down to-morrow. Say you don't know – that you await my decision. Try and learn all you can of his attitude and plans. Then we will discuss the matter when you return. On my part," continued Tait significantly, "I may have some something to say about your mother."

"You want to see her?"

"Yes. I am extremely anxious to see her."

"Perhaps you suspect her!" cried Claude, in a fiery tone.

"Bless the man, what a temper he has!" said Tait jocosely. "I don't suspect anyone except Hilliston. But I am quicker than you, and I wish to learn precisely what your mother has to say. A chance remark on her part may set us on the right path."

"Well, I will be guided by you," said Claude, in a few minutes. "You can go to Hampstead, and I will dine with Hilliston. But I don't like the task. To sit at a man's table and scheme against him is not my idea of honor."

"Nor is it mine. You are doing no such thing. All I wish you to do is to observe Hilliston's attitude and hold your tongue. There is nothing wrong in that. I want to find out his motive for this behavior."

"Then why not see him yourself!"

"I will see him at Thorston. Meantime it is necessary that I become acquainted with your mother. Now come and wire an acceptance to Hilliston, and write a letter to your mother for me to deliver."

Claude obeyed. He was quite content to accept the guidance of Tait in this matter, and began to think that his friend was right in suspecting Hilliston. Else why did the lawyer's plans so coincide with their own.

"Mind you don't tell Hilliston too much," said Tait, when the wire was despatched.

"I shall tell him that we go to Thorston shortly, and that we saw John Parver."

"No; don't tell him about John Parver. He will be certain to mention the subject first."

"Well, and if he does – "

"Oh, you must use your brains," replied Tait ironically. "Baffle his curiosity, and above all, make no mention of the breastpin episode related in the third volume."

"Why not?"

"Because Jenny Paynton told Linton of that. She could not have obtained it from the newspapers, as it is not related therein."

"It is pure invention."

"No! I believe it to be a fact."

"But who could have told it to Miss Paynton?"

"Ah!" said Tait, in a low tone. "Find me the person who told her that and I'll find the man who murdered your father."

CHAPTER XVII

THE HUSBAND AT KENSINGTON GORE

To a woman who rules by right of beauty it is a terrible thing to see her empire slipping from her grasp by reason of gray hairs and wrinkles. What desperate efforts does she make to protract her sway, how she dyes and paints and powders and tight laces – all to no end, for Time is stronger than Art, and finally he writes his sign-manual too deep to be effaced by cosmetics. Mrs. Hilliston was not yet beaten in the fight with the old enemy, but she foresaw the future when she would be shamed and neglected close at hand.

Perhaps it was this premonition of defeat that made her so unamiable, sharp, and bitter on the night when Claude came to dine. She liked Claude and had stood in the place of a mother to him; but he was a man, and handsome, so when she saw his surprised look at her changed appearance all the evil that was in her came to the surface.

Yet she need not have felt so bitter a pang, had she taken the trouble to glance at her image in the near mirror. It reflected a tall, stylish figure, which, in the dim light of the drawing room, looked majestic and beautiful. It was all very well to think that she appeared barely thirty in the twilight, but she knew well that the daylight showed up her forty-seven years in the most merciless manner. Velvet robes, diamond necklaces, and such like aids to beauty would not make up for lack of youth, and Claude's ill-advised start brought this home to her.

Ten years before she had married Hilliston in utter ignorance of the house at Hampstead. Though she did not know it she was not unlike her rival. There was the same majesty, the same imperious beauty, the same passionate nature, but Mrs. Bezel was worn and wasted by illness, whereas Mrs. Hilliston, aided by art, looked a rarely beautiful woman.

People said she had not done well to marry Hilliston. She was then a rich widow from America, and wanted to take a position in society. With her looks and her money, she might have married a title, but handsome Hilliston crossed her path, and, though he was then fifty years of age, she fell in love with him on the spot. Wearied of Mrs. Bezel, anxious to mend his failing fortunes, Hilliston accepted the homage thus offered. He did not love her, but kept that knowledge to himself, so Mrs. Derrick, the wealthy widow, secured the man she idolized. She gave all, wealth, beauty, love, and received nothing in return.

During all their married life her love had undergone no abatement. She loved her husband passionately, and her one object in life was to please him. At the time of the marriage she had rather resented the presence of Claude in Hilliston's house, but soon accepted him as an established fact, the more so as he took up his profession shortly afterward, and left her to reign alone over the heart of her husband. When the young man called she was always kind to him, she constantly looked after his welfare, and playfully styled herself his mother. Claude was greatly attached to her, and spoke of her in the highest terms, but for the life of him he could not suppress that start, though he knew it wounded her to the heart. During his five years of absence she had aged greatly, and art seemed rather to accentuate than conceal the truth.

"You find me altered, I am afraid," said she bitterly; "age is robbing me of my looks."

"By no means," answered Claude, with a desire to please her; "at the worst, you are only growing old gracefully."

"Small comfort in that," sighed Mrs. Hilliston. "I do not want to grow old at all. However, it is no use fighting the inevitable, but I hope I'll die before I become a hag."

"You will never become one."

"I'm not so sure of that. I'm one of those large women who turn to bones and wrinkles in old age."

"In my eyes you will always be beautiful, Louise," said Hilliston, who entered at this moment. "You are an angel ever bright and fair."

"You have not lost the art of saying pretty things, Francis," replied his wife, greatly gratified; "but there is the gong. Claude, take your mother in to dinner."

The young man winced as she said this, thinking of his real mother who lay sick and feeble at Hampstead. Hilliston saw his change of countenance, and bit his lip to prevent himself remarking thereon. He guessed what Claude was thinking about, and thus his thoughts were turned in the same direction. At the present moment the memories thus evoked were most unpleasant.

During dinner Mrs. Hilliston recovered her spirits and talked freely enough. No one was present save Claude and her husband, so they were a very pleasant party of three. While in the full flow of conversation, Claude could not help thinking that Tait was unjust to suspect the master of the house of underhand dealings; for Hilliston was full of smiles and geniality, and did his best to entertain his guest. Could Claude have looked below the surface he would have been considerably astonished at the inward aspect of the man. Yet a hint was given him of such want of concord, for Hilliston showed the cloven hoof before the meal ended.

"So you are going to Eastbourne," said Claude, addressing himself to Mrs. Hilliston. "I hope you will come over to Thorston during your stay."

"It is not unlikely," replied the lady. "Francis intends to make excursions all round the country."

"Only for your amusement, my dear," said Hilliston hastily. "You know how dreary it is to pace daily up and down that Parade."

"I think Eastbourne is dreary, in any case. It is solely on your account that I am going."

Hilliston did not answer, but stole a glance at Claude to see what he thought. The face of the young man was inscrutable, though Claude was mentally considering that Tait was right, and Hilliston's journey to Eastbourne was undertaken to interview Jenny Paynton.

"I don't like your English watering-places," continued Mrs. Hilliston idly. "They are so exasperatingly dull. In America we can have a good time at Newport, but all your south coast is devoid of amusement. Trouville or Dieppe are more enjoyable than Eastbourne or Folkestone."

"The fault of the national character, my dear Louise. We English take our pleasures sadly, you know."

For the sole purpose of seeing what effect it would produce on the lawyer Claude purposely introduced the name of the town where his father had met his death.

"I wonder you don't try an inland watering-place, Mrs. Hilliston," he said calmly; "Bath or Tunbridge Wells or – Horriston."

Hilliston looked up quickly, and then busied himself with his food. Discomposed as he was, his iron will enabled him to retain a quiet demeanor; but the effect of the name on the wife was more pronounced than it was on the husband. Her color went, and she laid down her knife and fork.

"Ah, I don't know Horriston," she said faintly. "Some inland – Ah, how hot this room is. Open the window," she added to the footman, "we want fresh air."

Rather astonished at the effect thus produced, Claude would have spoken but that Hilliston forestalled him.

"The room is hot," he said lightly, "but the fresh air will soon revive you, Louise. I am glad we are going to Eastbourne, for you sadly need a change."

"The season has been rather trying," replied his wife, resuming her dinner. "What were you saying about Horriston, Claude?"

"Nothing. I only know it is a provincial town set in beautiful scenery. I thought you might wish to try a change from the fashionable seaside place."

"I might go there if it is pretty," answered Mrs. Hilliston, who was now perfectly composed. "Where is Horriston?"

"In Kent," interposed Hilliston quickly, "not very far from Canterbury. I have been there myself, but as it is a rather dull neighborhood, I would not advise you to try it."

Despite her denial Claude felt certain that Mrs. Hilliston was acquainted with Horriston, for on the plea of indisposition she left the table before the dinner was ended. As she passed through the door she playfully tipped Claude on the shoulder with her fan.

"Don't forget to come and see us at Eastbourne," she said vivaciously, "and bring Mr. Tait with you. He is a great favorite of mine."

This Claude promised to do, and, when she left the room, returned to his seat with a rather puzzled expression on his face. Hilliston saw the look, and endeavored to banish it by a hasty explanation.

"You rather startled my wife by mentioning Horriston," he said, in an annoyed tone. "I wish you had not done so. As it is connected with the case she naturally feels an antipathy toward it."

"What! Does Mrs. Hilliston know about my father's death?" asked Claude, in some surprise.

"Yes. When we married, she wanted to know why you lived in the house with me, so I was forced to explain all the circumstances."

"Do you think that was necessary?"

"I do. You know how suspicious women are," replied Hilliston lightly; "they will know the truth. But you can trust to her discretion, Claude. No one will hear of it from her."

At this moment a footman entered the room with a message from Mrs. Hilliston.

"My mistress wants to know if you have the third volume of 'A Whim of Fate,' sir?" said the servant.

"No," replied Hilliston sharply. "Tell your mistress that I took it to my office by mistake. She will have it to-morrow."

Claude thought this strange, and when the footman retired Hilliston made another explanation equally as unsatisfactory as the first.

"I am so interested in that book that I could not leave it at home," he said quickly; "and now that I have met the author I am doubly interested in it."

Another proof of Tait's acumen. Hilliston was the first to introduce the subject of John Parver.

CHAPTER XVIII

A DUEL OF WORDS

A longish pause ensued between the two men. Hilliston seemed to be in no hurry to continue the conversation, and Claude, with his eyes fixed absently on his glass, pondered over the facts that Mrs. Hilliston had an aversion to Horriston, and that the lawyer had taken the third volume of the novel out of the house. The two facts seemed to have some connection with each other, but what the connection might be Claude could not rightly conclude.

From his frequent talks with Tait he knew that the third volume contained the episode of the scarfpin, which was instrumental in bringing the fictitious murderer to justice. The assassin in the novel was meant for Hilliston, and remembering this Claude wondered whether there might not be some reason for his removal of the book. Mrs. Hilliston had quailed at the mention of Horriston, and the explanation given by her husband did not satisfy Larcher. What reason could she have for taking more than a passing interest in the tragic story? Why, after ten years, should she pale at the mention of the neighborhood? Claude asked himself these two questions, but could find no satisfactory answer to either of them.

He was toying with his wineglass while thinking, when a sudden thought made him grip the slender stem with spasmodic force. Was it possible that Mrs. Hilliston could have been in the neighborhood five-and-twenty years before; that she could have heard some talk of that scarfpin which was not mentioned at the trial, but which Tait insisted was an actual fact, and no figment of the novelist's brain; and finally, could it be that Hilliston had purposely removed the third volume of "A Whim of Fate" so that his wife should not have her memory refreshed by a relation of the incident. It was very strange.

Thus thinking, Claude glanced stealthily at his guardian, who was musingly smoking his cigar, and drinking his wine. He looked calm, and content, and prosperous. Nevertheless, Claude was by no means so sure of his innocence as he had been. Hilliston's confusion, his hesitation, his evasion, instilled doubts into the young man's mind. He determined to gain a knowledge of the truth by questions, and mentally arranged these as follows: First he would try and learn somewhat of the past of Mrs. Hilliston, for, beyond the fact that she was an American, he knew nothing of it. Second, he would lead Hilliston to talk of the scarfpin, and see if the reference annoyed him; and, third, he would endeavor to discover if the lawyer was averse to his wife reading the novel. With his plans thus cut and dried, he spoke abruptly to his guardian:

"I am sorry Mrs. Hilliston's health is so bad."

"It is not bad, my dear fellow," replied the lawyer, lifting his head. "She is a very strong woman; but of course, the fatigue of a London season tells on the healthiest constitution. That is why I wish her to go to Eastbourne."

"Why not take her to Horriston?"

"Why should I? She connects the place with the story of your father, about whom I was forced to speak ten years ago; and, speaking personally, I have no desire to return there, and recall the horrors of the past."

"You were greatly affected by my father's death?"

"Naturally; he was my dearest friend. I would have given anything to discover the assassin."

"Did Mrs. Hilliston give you her opinion as to who was guilty?"

"No. I told her as little as I could of so painful a subject. She is not in possession of all the facts."

"At that rate why let her read 'A Whim of Fate'?"

"I don't wish her to read it," answered Hilliston quietly; "but I left the novel lying about, and she read the first two volumes. If I can help it, she shall not finish the story."

"Why object to her reading the third volume?"

"Because it would recall the past too vividly to her mind."

"I hardly follow you there," said Claude, with a keen look. "The fact to which you refer cannot exist for your wife. To her the novel can only be a second telling of the story related by you, when she wished to know who I was."

"That is very true. Nevertheless, it made so painful an impression on her excitable nature that I am unwilling that her memory should be refreshed. Take another glass of wine, my boy."

Hilliston evidently wished to turn the conversation, but Claude was too determined on learning the truth to deviate from his course. Slowly filling his glass with claret he pushed the jug toward Hilliston, and pursued his questioning:

"The American nature is rather excitable, isn't it? By the way, is Mrs. Hilliston a pure-blooded Yankee?"

"Yes," said Hilliston, with suspicious promptitude; "she was a Chicago belle, and married a millionaire in the pork line called Derrick. He died soon after the marriage, so she came to England and married me."

"It was her first visit to England, no doubt."

"Her first visit," replied Hilliston gravely. "All her former life was passed in New York, Boston, and Chicago. But what odd questions you ask," added the lawyer, in a vexed tone. "Surely you do not think that my wife was at Horriston twenty-five years ago, or that she knows aught of this crime save what I have told her?"

"Of course, I think nothing of the sort," said Larcher hastily, and what is more he believed what he said. It was impossible that Mrs. Hilliston, American born and bred, who had only been in England twelve years, should know anything of an obscure crime committed in a dull provincial town thirteen years before the date of her arrival. Hitherto his questionings had eventuated in little, so he turned the conversation into another groove, and tried to learn if Hilliston knew anything of Jenny Paynton.

"What do you think of John Parver?"

"He seemed an intelligent young fellow. Is that his real name?"

"No. His name is Frank Linton, the son of the vicar of Thorston."

"What! He belongs to the place whither you go with Tait," exclaimed Hilliston, with a startled air. "That is strange. You may learn there whence he obtained the materials for his novel."

"I know that. He obtained them from Miss Paynton."

"Who is she?"

"A literary young lady who lives at Thorston with her folks. But I fancy Linton mentioned that he had told you about her."

"Well he did and he didn't," said Hilliston, in some confusion; "that is, he admitted that the story was founded on fact, but he did not tell me whence he obtained such facts. I suppose it is your intention to question this young lady."

"Yes. I want to know how she heard of the matter."

"Pooh! Read it in a provincial newspaper, no doubt."

"I think not," replied Claude, with some point. "It is next to impossible that she should come across a paper containing an account of the trial. People don't keep such grewsome matters by them, unless they have an interest in doing so."