The Yellow Holly

"Well," drawled the little dandy, "she is pretty and-"

"She is not at all pretty, Mr. Vane, and were she as lovely as Cleopatra it would not matter to me. My connection with her ceased when she made her success." George quite forgot the presence of Mrs. Ward and spoke vehemently. "Can't you understand that a man may do a kind action without being biased by the beauty of a woman?"

"Some men can," said Mrs. Ward, politely, "and I am sure you are one, Mr. Brendon. But suppose the woman-"

"I don't suppose anything, Mrs. Ward. I know. Senora Velez was poor. I helped her to attain to the position she now holds because I endeavor to follow the preaching of Christ, and she is to me a grateful friend. There is no more and no less to be said," and, a trifle ruffled, George turned on his heel to join Dorothy.

"Well, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Ward, "and in my own house, too."

Vane sniggered. "There must be something in it," he said.

"And the profane language he used. Of course I don't believe a word he says."

"Neither do I. She's too pretty."

So these two scandal-mongers talked on, and George had only made matters worse by his explanation. However, he believed that he had nipped the scandal in the bud, and strolled into the next room with Dorothy to quiet his mind. Behind them they left Derrington talking to Train and rather enjoying himself.

The room in which they found themselves was a pretty little apartment hung with amber silk, and illuminated with lights in yellow shades. The furniture was also yellow, and the carpet of a primrose hue. Mrs. Ward only introduced her most intimate friends into this boudoir, as it was her own special sanctum; and if its walls could have spoken they could have supplied all the existing society papers with gossip enough to last a century.

"Do you think Lord Derrington knows who you are?" asked Dorothy as they seated themselves on a kind of divan.

"I am not sure," replied George, who did not want to tell her what he knew, lest he should have to introduce the name of Lola Velez. "I have an idea that he does."

Dorothy shook her head. "I don't think so. If he knows you he must be aware that you know him, and about the relationship, and would not speak so freely. I think he is taken with you, George."

"Well, he has been putting me through my paces. I only hope that our chance meeting of to-night may bear fruit. What is Train doing here? Your mother only had him in her house once before, and she does not like him."

"I can't make out why she asked him," said Dorothy; "he is a dull young man, though harmless enough. But my mother made a point of asking him to dinner."

"Humph! I wonder what that's for," said Brendon, wrinkling his brows, for he knew well that Mrs. Ward did nothing without expecting an equivalent return. Then he recollected her questions about the crime, and wondered if she had invited Leonard so as to pump him. It was just what Mrs. Ward did intend to do, but George could not think she had sufficient interest in the crime to justify such a course of action. Besides, he felt that he could trust Leonard to hold his tongue, in spite of the man's weakness. But in this he reckoned without Mrs. Ward, who could have wiled an anchorite to chatter, had she been so minded.

And that is what she was doing at the very moment. Almost as soon as the lovers had disappeared into the yellow boudoir Lord Derrington had taken his departure. He insisted that Vane should come also, and would not allow the little dandy to take leave of Dorothy, nor would he take leave himself. This was done to punish Vane. "Miss Ward is quite happy in there," he said to Mrs. Ward at the door of the drawing-room. "I won't have her disturbed."

"Oh, but really," cried Mrs. Ward, who did not want Vane to go away with a bad impression, "Dorothy is simply bored with him."

"If she is bored with such a brilliant fellow she would not enjoy the company of Shakespeare himself."

"I'm sure I shouldn't," murmured Mrs. Ward. "Shakespeare must have been an awful bore. But do say good-by, Lord Derrington. Dorothy will be so disappointed."

"No, she won't," snarled Derrington, who was enjoying himself at thus thwarting Mrs. Ward's schemes. "Come along, Walter. Take me home and tell me your latest ailment. Good-night, Mrs. Ward," and he went.

Derrington was chuckling, and Vane looked very sulky, so Mrs. Ward saw that the old man had done this thing to spite her. "Horrid creature!" she pouted; "he ought to be dead and buried. It isn't respectable being alive at his time of life. He'll make Walter Vane angry with me, and I'm sure-" Here she caught, sight of Leonard's astonished face, and became aware she was divulging secrets. At once she smoothed her brow and began to smile. This was an excellent opportunity to find out what she wanted. Taking Leonard's arm she led him to a chair some distance from the door of the boudoir.

"Now let us have a nice long talk, dear Mr. Train," she said, settling herself amiably. "Mr. Brendon and Dorothy are no doubt talking tadpoles or frogs or something nasty. They won't be out for a long time, so we can renew our pleasant conversation."

"I don't think it was very pleasant," said Train, unwillingly.

"What an ungallant thing to say!"

"I mean to talk about crime-"

"Is most amusing-I mean instructive. Oh, yes, I have read many of those novels-what do they call them? – detective novels."

"A very low form of literature," said the superior Leonard.

"Oh, they are amusing and interesting, and send one to sleep when one can't in spite of drops and morphia!" babbled Mrs. Ward in her childish manner. "And I have often thought how nice it would be if one could really try and find out who killed a person. Now in this case, Mr. Train, I am sure you heard something or saw something-"

"Upon my word I neither saw nor heard," protested Leonard. "I was in bed all the time."

"Didn't you hear a scream?"

"No."

"Then you must have heard the fall of the body, or the shutting of the door as the-ah!" Mrs. Ward saw from the expression of Leonard's face that she had touched upon something. "You did hear-"

"No! no!" he stammered, wondering how he was to get out of confessing about the opening of the front door without appearing rude.

"Nonsense. Confess! Confess, you silly man!"

But Leonard was too loyal. To lead her away from the point he asked a question. "Mrs. Ward, that yellow holly?"

"Yes. What about it?" She leaned forward eagerly.

"Did you give a sprig of it to any one else?"

"No. I only gave a bit to my daughter, and she-"

"She gave it to Brendon. Yes, I know. But did Miss Ward give any of it to a third person?"

"Certainly not. To do so she would have had to get it from me. But beyond the sprig that was given, and which Mr. Brendon had, no holly went out of this house."

"It is very rare, is it not?"

"I believe so. I dare say there wasn't another bunch in London on that particular night. Of course there might have been, still-but why do you ask all this?"

"Well," said Leonard, "it seems to me that the yellow holly has something to do with the crime."

Mrs. Ward drew a long breath but said no word. He was speaking half to himself, and she did not wish to interrupt his train of thought. But she listened with all her ears. Leonard continued: "I found a berry in the room where she was killed. Yes. They took us in to see the body, and a horrid sight it was. I turned my eyes to the floor, and there I saw-just by the table-a kind of amber bead. I dropped my handkerchief so that Quex might not suspect, and I picked it up. When in my own room I examined it. It was one of the yellow holly berries."

Mrs. Ward threw herself back with a kind of unholy triumph. "Do you know what you are saying, Mr. Train?" she said in a half whisper. "You are accusing Mr. Brendon-"

"No! no!" Train started to his feet. Mrs. Ward pulled him down again and pointed with her fan toward the boudoir.

"Hush! He might come out," she whispered. "But can't you see? Brendon wore the sprig in his coat on that night. He must have been in the room and have dropped the berry. What was he doing there if it was not to-"

"No," said Train, hoarsely. "I half thought of that myself, but it is quite impossible, I tell you. He could not have got out of his room unless he had come to me."

"How do you mean?"

"I locked the door of the sitting-room, which was between his bedroom and mine. There was no exit from his bedroom, and to get out and down the stairs he would have had to open the sitting-room door. Now the key was under my pillow and the door was locked in the morning. No, Mrs. Ward, Brendon is innocent."

"He might have stolen the key while you slept." Train shook his head. "Impossible. I sleep very lightly, and on that night I hardly slept at all."

"Why. Was anything wrong?"

"I can't tell you that, Mrs. Ward, without violating the confidence of my friend. Indeed, I have said too much. Promise me you will not speak of what I have told you."

"I promise, but I am quite sure that the holly berry was dropped by George Brendon, and that he was in Mrs. Jersey's sitting-room on that night. He is the criminal."

"I tell you he is not, Mrs. Ward."

"Don't excite yourself, Mr. Train. Here is Mr. Brendon and Dorothy." She sailed toward them with open hands. "Finished your talk. We must say good-night." And to herself she murmured, while smiling, "I've got you at last-I've got you at last." And Brendon shook hands with Madame Judas, quite unconscious of her premeditated treachery.

CHAPTER XI

MR. BAWDSEY AT HOME

Under the rule of Miss Bull-for Margery was a mere figure-head-the house in Amelia Square was much more lively. Most of the old boarders had departed, as their nerves would not permit them to stop in a dwelling wherein a crime had been committed. Mrs. Taine carried her knitting to her sister's house at Clapham, Mr. Granger took the "Death of Nelson" to a boarding-house on Highgate Hill, and Harmer went to rejuvenate his antiquity at some German baths. In place of these ancient creatures came bright young men and girls who were up to date in every way. None of them minded about the crime. The house was cheap, it was now bright, and in a few months the tragedy was almost forgotten. No one would have recognized the changed atmosphere of the place, save for Miss Bull, who still sat nightly playing Patience in her favorite corner.

So little did she mind the horror of the murder that she took up her abode in Madame's sitting-room, where it had happened. She still retained her own bedroom, and Margery kept hers; but the sitting-room Miss Bull found very pleasant, for she could ask her friends into it for afternoon tea without having to mix with the too-lively boarders in the drawing-room. And the majority of them were extremely lively; so much so that Miss Bull sent several away and checked the exuberant spirits of the others. The girls played ping-pong, the men sang music-hall ditties, and in conjunction they tried to gamble. But Miss Bull soon put a stop to that. She had no notion that the house should get a bad name after her difficulty in obtaining the lease from Lord Derrington.

Of course, in spite of the fast air which certainly pervaded the house, all things were very proper. Miss Bull was a lady and saw that things were kept decent. The boarders feared her bright black eyes and her sharp tongue, and were always glad when she retired to her sitting-room. When they waxed too noisy, the little old maid would appear like an unquiet ghost, and the clamor would die away. But Miss Bull was also liked, as she was a very affable hostess.

She was thoroughly happy now, as she had what she most desired-power; and thought, like Satan, that it was better to rule in a certain place than to serve in the higher spheres. Margery was now, as ever, her docile slave, and Miss Bull governed with a rod of iron. She dismissed some of the servants, among them Jarvey, who had bettered himself by becoming a page-boy in a West-End mansion.

Among the new boarders Miss Bull took most notice of Bawdsey, who occupied the rooms formerly inhabited by Train. On his arrival he had asked particularly for these rooms, saying that he had once lived in them when he stopped with Mrs. Jersey many years before. After some thought Miss Bull remembered the man. He had boarded in the house, and had been a great favorite with Madame, but had later gone to America, and for some time had remained away. He expressed the greatest sorrow for the death of the old lady, but declared that he was very pleased with the house as managed by Miss Bull. The little woman liked him, as his conversation was amusing and he was most polite. But had she known that he was a private inquiry agent she might not have approved of him so much. Miss Bull was a lady and drew the line at spies.

What Bawdsey was she never inquired, as she was the least curious of women. His habits were certainly eccentric, for sometimes he would remain away for a week, and at other times would stop constantly in the house. He often remained in bed for the day and had his meals brought to him. This he called his bed-cure, and stated that he suffered from nerves. He told Miss Bull quite gratuitously that he had a small income and supplemented it by taking photographs of scenery and selling them to London firms. But he declared that he was not a professional photographer. He simply traveled here and there, and photographed any scenery which struck him as pretty. The London photographers gave him good prices for these, but he stated that he merely did such artistic work for the sake of an occupation. "I am simple in my tastes," said Mr. Bawdsey, "and what I have keeps me in luxury. But a man, even of my age, must be up and doing. Better to wear out than rust out."

Miss Bull assented. For the greater part of her life she had been rusting, and now that she had taken command of the house found that wearing out gave her an interest in things and prevented her from being bored. She liked to hear Bawdsey tell of his travels, and frequently asked him into her sitting-room for that purpose. He seemed to have been everywhere and to have seen everything. It appeared from his own confession that he began his travels at the early age of seventeen, when he went to Milan. And the man talked freely about himself-so freely that Miss Bull, in spite of her suspicious nature, never dreamed that all this chatter was for the purpose of throwing dust in her sharp eyes.

A week after the little dinner at Mrs. Ward's, Bawdsey sent a note to Brendon asking him to call on a certain afternoon, and when George, anxious to continue the acquaintance, and curious to know how Bawdsey had procured his address, arrived, he was shown up to the well-known room. Bawdsey welcomed him with enthusiasm, and much in the same style as Lola did, but in a less theatrical manner.

"My preserver," said Bawdsey, shaking hands vigorously, and George laughed.

"You put me in mind of a lady I know," he said; "she uses the same term-quite unnecessarily, as it happens."

"I don't agree with you," answered Bawdsey, to the astonishment of his visitor. "When a woman is rescued from starvation she has a right to call her good Samaritan the best of names."

"Oh," said Brendon, taking a seat, "so Lola has told you."

Bawdsey nodded. "I guess so," said he, with a pronounced American twang-somewhat too pronounced, George thought. "She told me all about your visit the other night."

"Did she never speak of me before?"

"Why, of course she spoke. I tell you, sir, that the girl is just bubbling over with gratitude. And you're a good man, Mr. Brendon. Yes, sir, some. You saved her and you saved me, and I sha'n't forget, and neither will she."

"Yet you said, when last we met, that she meant me harm."

"Jealousy, Mr. Brendon, sheer jealousy. I heard her talking of you, and wishing to marry you, so you can guess-"

"That you wish to put me against her."

"Not exactly that," responded Bawdsey, coolly. "I wish to choke you off. You see, Mr. Brendon, I love her."

"So she told me."

"Quite so, and she informed me that she had informed you. Well, I was a trifle jealous, as I'd lay down my life to make that lady Mrs. Bawdsey. But when I learned that you admired and were almost engaged to Miss Ward-"

"How the devil did you find that out?" asked George.

"Without the use of the word devil," said Bawdsey, dryly. "That is a long story, Mr. Brendon."

"You seem to know a great deal about me," said Brendon, nettled.

"I made it my business to find out, sir."

"Don't you think that is rather impertinent?"

"Well," drawled Bawdsey, combing his fingers through his ruddy locks, "you might put it that way if you like. A fortnight ago I should not have minded whether you thought me impertinent or not. But now that you saved my life I don't mind telling you that I wish to gain and retain your good opinion."

"Why?" asked George, more and more puzzled.

"Because I'm that rare animal-a grateful man. You have had a bad time all your life, Mr. Brendon, but now you shall have a good one, and I am the man who is going to help you right along."

George looked at him helplessly. He found it difficult to understand what all this meant. "Of course I know, from what Lola said, that you are a private inquiry agent," he remarked with hesitation.

"Vidocq & Co.," said Bawdsey, briskly, "23 Augusta Street, Strand. That's me Mr. Brendon, but you needn't mention it in this shanty."

"Are you an American, Mr. Bawdsey?"

"I am anything that suits. I can talk all languages, and try to tell the truth in every one. And the best day's work you ever did for yourself, Mr. Brendon, was in dragging me from under the feet of that horse. Yes, sir, I'm in line with you forever."

"This is all amusing, but a trifle confusing," said Brendon, feeling that he must get to the bottom of this chatter. "Will you answer a few questions, Mr. Bawdsey?"

"Yes. Fire ahead. Wait! Will you take whisky?"

"No, thanks. Yes, I'll take a cigar."

"Henry Clay," said Bawdsey, passing along a box; "and the questions?"

"You are a private inquiry agent?" asked George, when the cigar was well alight and Bawdsey had subsided into a chair.

"That's so. Vidocq & Company-an attractive title, I guess."

"And you were employed by Lola to watch me?"

"I was. Love will do anything for the object of its affections."

"Humph! there are different ways of looking at that. But you were also engaged by Lord Derrington to watch me?"

Bawdsey did not display the least surprise. "That's very creditable to your observation, Mr. Brendon. It's true."

"How did Lord Derrington find out that I was passing under the name of George Brendon?"

"Well, sir, if you will shove advertisements into the paper asking about the celebration of the marriage of Percy Vane and Miss Rosina Lockwood you must expect to be dropped upon."

"Oh, that was the way you found out!"

"That was the way," nodded Bawdsey. "You had the answers-"

"I had no answers," said Brendon, quickly.

"I am quite sure of that," replied the detective, coolly. "We should have heard of you in a court of law had you been successful. But what I mean to say is that you asked for the answers to be sent to G. B., Pembroke Square, Kensington. Derrington spotted that, and seeing that the marriage referred to was that of his son to-"

George waved his hand impatiently. "I see! I see! He hired you, and you looked me up."

"Quite so. I have had you under observation for the last six months."

"Confound it," cried Brendon, uncomfortably, "and I never knew."

Bawdsey winked. "I know my business," he said. "You don't find me sending myself up on any occasion. Any more questions, sir?"

"Only one," replied George. "Will you tell me exactly what you are doing in this galley?"

"Certainly. You shall have the whole story, Mr. Brendon. But in the first place I shall ask you a question in my turn. Do you know why I asked you to come and see me to-day?"

Brendon shook his head. "I have not the least idea," he confessed.

"I'll enlighten you," was the other man's reply; "to warn you that you are in danger of arrest."

"I in danger of arrest?" George jumped up. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, my meaning is clear enough. There is a chance that you may be accused of having murdered Mrs. Jersey."

George dropped back into his chair with a white face. "You must be mad to say such a thing. Who accuses me?"

"Lord Derrington."

"On what grounds?"

"On certain information he obtained from Mrs. Ward."

"What? Is she in it, too?"

"Very much in it. She is your bitter enemy. You see, Mr. Brendon, it is not her game that you should marry the daughter. Mrs. Ward knows that you are a clever man with a will of your own, and that she will not be able to twist you around her finger, which is what she wishes to do with any son-in-law who may come her way. That young fool Vane is the man she wants. He will inherit the title and a good income. Mrs. Ward, should he marry the girl, will benefit. If the title and income came your way she would make very little out of the business. Consequently she will stick at nothing to get you out of the way."

"But she doesn't know that I claim to be Lord Derrington's grandson?"

"Indeed, she does," replied Bawdsey, quickly. "Derrington told her all about it."

"Why?"

"Now that," said Bawdsey, shaking his head and looking puzzled, "is one of the things I can't make out."

George thought for a moment. "I was at Mrs. Ward's the other evening," he said slowly. "Lord Derrington was there. Did he know then that I was his grandson?"

"He did. He has known ever since you put the advertisement in the paper and I looked you up."

"Humph! Then he was putting me through my paces," said Brendon to himself. "What a clever man he is in concealing his thoughts. And Mrs. Ward knew also who I was?"

Bawdsey nodded. "Yes. And after that evening she came to see Lord Derrington to suggest how you should be got rid of."

"Ah!" George was now perfectly cool as he saw that Bawdsey, being so frank, was ready to be his friend. "And how did she propose to do that, Mr. Bawdsey? By having me arrested-"

"With the alternative that you should give up all attempts to prove your birth and go to Australia."

"And surrender my claim to Miss Ward's hand, I suppose?"

"Of course. But that would go without speaking if you went to Australia. It's a case of threatening, Mr. Brendon."

"Was Lord Derrington agreeable to this suggestion?"

"Yes. He hates you, and told me to see you and put the matter to you. You have a week to think over it, and at the end of that time, Mr. Brendon, if you don't leave England you will be arrested."

"No," replied Brendon, calmly, "I will not be arrested. Setting aside the fact that there is no evidence which implicates me in the crime, Lord Derrington, for his own sake, will not have his grandson arrested and his dirty linen washed in public. Whether there was a marriage or not I am his flesh and blood. Why does he hate me?"

"I can't say, sir. He never explained. But he does hate you."

"Humph! I see no reason-a man can't help his birth, and I am quite as presentable as Walter Vane."

"Much more so," said Bawdsey, quickly. "He is a fool and a miserable little beast. He sent a bracelet to Miss Velez."

"Oh! and naturally you think the worst of him. Well, it is no use my conjecturing the reason of Lord Derrington's dislike. But I can well understand why Mrs. Ward wishes me out of the way. On what grounds does she accuse me of being concerned in this crime?"

"On the strength of a story related by a friend of yours, who-"

"I knew it," interrupted Brendon, starting up and beginning to pace the room. "That was why she asked Leonard Train to dinner."

"That's the man," said Bawdsey, coolly. "He occupied these rooms, I believe, and on the night of the murder you stopped with him."

"I did. In yonder bedroom. So he betrayed me?"

"My dear sir, I don't think he could help himself. Mrs. Ward is as clever as the devil, and as unscrupulous. She got out of him that you had been in the sitting-room of Mrs. Jersey at midnight."

"That is untrue-" began George, violently, when Bawdsey stopped him.

"So it is, to Mrs. Ward, to Lord Derrington, and to the public. But so far as I am concerned, Mr. Brendon, it is a fact. You were in Mrs. Jersey's room about the time she was murdered."