The Five Knots

Flower still lay unconscious as Wilfrid and his companion reached the bedroom. Wilfrid gave Shelton a graphic account of what had taken place during the last half-hour.

"Upon my word, I am half disposed to let the patient have his own way," he said. "It is very likely he will do much better at Maldon Grange. Mr. Flower has something distressing on his mind, and I fancy he has been the victim of some outrage that has more or less unhinged his reason. In point of fact, we ought to call in the police. But it may be wiser to get our man back to Maldon Grange first."

"You are disposed to try it?" Wilfrid asked.

"Assuredly," Shelton replied. "It is not very difficult. If we wait till evening we can hire a covered motor and take Mr. Flower to his country house as quietly and comfortably as if he were going out to dinner. It is repeatedly done, as you know, in cases of infectious disease. And if you don't mind, I should like you to go down to Maldon Grange with him. I cannot manage it myself as I have two operations this afternoon. I know that it is abusing your kindness – "

"Not at all," Wilfrid said. "I will see the thing through. I presume you will come down to Maldon Grange to-morrow?"

Shelton promised and went his way. He had forgotten almost all about the case before he reached his motor, and Wilfrid watched him whirling down the street not without envy. What was almost a matter of life or death to him was merely an ordinary incident to the distinguished surgeon.

The afternoon began to drag. Luncheon was a thing of the past and still there was no male nurse. Not that he was needed, for Flower still lay comatose, opening his eyes from time to time to take such medicine as Shelton had prescribed. Wilfrid slipped out presently and despatched a couple of telegrams by means of the telephone. One was to Swan Russell, the other to his friend Vardon at Oldborough. He would know the worst of his position in an hour or two. When the replies came, they were by no means reassuring. Russell was detained and could hold out no hope of seeing Wilfrid till to-morrow, whilst Vardon's reply was more unsatisfactory. He had failed to get the money from his client in Castlebridge and was awaiting Wilfrid's further instructions. With a bitter laugh Wilfrid screwed up the telegrams and threw them into the fire.

The end of another act of the drama, so far as it concerned himself, could not be delayed more than four-and-twenty hours. And yet, close to Wilfrid's hands, lay the document which would make him a free man if he only had the courage to destroy it. But that temptation was past and gone. He would do nothing dishonourable. Wilfrid beheld the desk in which the bill lay without the slightest desire to lay hands upon the paper. In a restless fashion he wandered about the bedroom till dusk began to fall, waiting patiently to be relieved. It was nearly dinner-time before the male nurse put in an appearance and Wilfrid was free to leave the house if he liked. As he came down the stairs he met Beatrice.

"You are not going yet?" she said. "You must dine with me? Besides, I understand you promised Dr. Shelton you would come down to Maldon Grange with us. Everything has been arranged and the car will be here about nine o'clock. It seems strange my uncle should fancy he will be better in a great, lonely house like Maldon Grange. But Dr. Shelton thinks it right to humour him. I would rather stay here."

The girl shuddered as she spoke and her face turned pale.

"You don't want to go home?" Wilfrid asked.

"I am afraid to go," Beatrice confessed. "During the past day or two my nerves have broken down. The mere thought of returning to that mansion sets me trembling, but I must go because duty to my uncle bids me."

Wilfrid made no reply. He was watching how Beatrice made a pretence of eating her dinner. A sudden idea occurred to him.

"Something could be managed," he said. "The nurse will be with your uncle and I will stay at Maldon Grange to-night if you like. We shall be there a little after ten, and as soon as your uncle is made comfortable I can take you into Oldborough and you can stay with my mother. You will be company for her, and it will also be better for you to be away from Maldon Grange. Now don't make any objection. You must see the advantages of the plan."

Beatrice contested the point no farther. She was too unstrung to argue, but she smiled gratefully.

"Very well," she said. "It shall be as you say, and I hope you will forget what I said to-day."

CHAPTER XXXIII

BY WHOSE HAND?

The appointed hour came and with it the huge, smooth-running motor which Shelton had sent to convey the patient to Maldon Grange. In the skilled hands of the nurse everything went off without a hitch, and in a few moments Samuel Flower lay in the car as comfortably as in his own bed. There was room for others besides Wilfrid and Beatrice, and Cotter, who had begged a seat, was accommodated. Any seat would do for him, he said in his simple way. All he asked was two or three minutes' grace to collect certain papers which Samuel Flower would need when he was able to attend to business again. Wilfrid smiled grimly as he listened. He knew one of these papers. He knew that the little man screwed up in one of the back seats would have no mercy upon him.

It was a silent journey through the night, and the whole party were relieved when Maldon Grange was reached and Samuel Flower was safely laid in bed. During the whole run he had never moved once. He accepted the change of scene without the slightest knowledge that it had taken place.

"I think that is all," Wilfrid said at length. "You won't want me for anything else?"

"Well, no, sir," the nurse said. "I have had full instructions from Dr. Shelton, so that I know what to do."

It was good to be out of the house in the stillness of the night, and Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief as she walked by Wilfrid's side towards Oldborough. It was a fine night, very tranquil and restful to the nerves. The little town was reached at length and Wilfrid turned in at the gate leading up to his own house. He had sent a telegram from London so that his mother was prepared for him.

Everything looked bright and cheerful, Beatrice thought, in such strange contrast to the gilded misery through which she had been passing lately. She could understand now why Wilfrid was proud of his home and what a wrench it would be to give it up. She understood the matter still better when a delightful, grey-haired lady came into the drawing-room and kissed her affectionately on the lips.

"I am so pleased to see you," Mrs. Mercer said. "What a terrible time you must have been having to be sure! But you will be safe in my house, and I will do my best to make you comfortable. Now sit down and be at home."

Beatrice's eyes were full of tears, and something seemed to rise up in her throat and choke her. She had many acquaintances, but she could never remember such a hearty welcome as this. Her eyes wandered round the tiny drawing-room. She noticed the various treasures and marked the good taste with which everything was displayed.

"I am afraid it isn't much of a place to you," Mrs. Mercer said. "But, at any rate, it will be perfectly quiet. You don't know what a change it is to me after living in lodgings all the years Wilfrid was at sea."

Mercer was out of the room so that his mother could speak freely to Beatrice.

"Of course, it was a wrench to him," she went on. "He always loved an adventurous life, and it was for my sake that he settled down, and I am sure he will do well in time. It has been a struggle till now, but things are gradually mending and I am becoming quite fond of my new home. It would be dreadful to go back to those lodgings again. I don't think I could."

Beatrice murmured something sympathetic. She was beginning to fall under the charm of this kindly old lady, who seemed to have but one idea and that to sacrifice herself to other people. A tinge of colour mantled Beatrice's cheeks as she thought how different this was to the life she had been leading. The pathetic side of it, too, appealed to her nature. It seemed a terrible thing that within a few hours this dear old woman should be deprived of everything that was the pride and joy of her declining years. And the thing was going to be done in cold blood. Surely, there must be some way to prevent it.

Wilfrid's return put an end for the moment to Beatrice's troubled thoughts. He was going back to Maldon Grange, at once, he said, but would return in the afternoon and take Beatrice to see her uncle. He kissed his mother affectionately and a moment later he was gone.

Quiet and peaceful as it was, yet Beatrice wished herself miles away. Indirectly her own hand seemed about to dash the cup of happiness from the lips of two worthy people. She was no longer blaming Wilfrid for the terrible temptation which had assailed him earlier in the day; she was thinking she herself would have fallen into it without the slightest hesitation. She was tired, too, a fact which did not escape Mrs. Mercer's attention.

"How thoughtless of me to keep you up!" she said. "Come with me and I'll show you to your room. You must be quite worn out."

It was pleasant and soothing. No shadow of tragedy hung over the house, and Beatrice slept as she had not slept for nights. She came down to breakfast strengthened and refreshed, and yet anxious to be away from the house when the blow fell. She felt like a traitor in the camp. She racked her mind again and again for some way to save the situation. She was glad and yet sorry when the early afternoon came and Wilfrid put in an appearance.

"Your uncle is no better and no worse," he explained. "He passed a fairly good night, but he has been very restless all morning. Now and again he recognizes people, but it is only for a moment. If you are quite ready we will go back to Maldon Grange and you can stay there till bed-time. If you like to come back here – "

Wilfrid paused and bit his lip. He had forgotten what the next two hours were likely to produce for him. The time was past for paying the money, and Cotter, acting as Flower's agent, could step in at any moment and claim everything. There was a brief respite, Wilfrid knew, because Cotter had gone into Castlebridge, no doubt to complete certain legal formalities, and would not be back much before six.

"I am going to leave you at Maldon Grange," Wilfrid explained when once they had set out on their journey. "I must be at home when Cotter returns from Castlebridge. I have had many unpleasant things to face in my life, but nothing that I shrink from so much as telling my poor dear mother the truth. I dread to have to tell her."

"But is it necessary?" Beatrice asked eagerly. "The amount is not a large one. Put your pride in your pocket and let me help you. I have jewels and ornaments which I could easily turn into money. There are lots of things at Maldon Grange I could give to you directly we get there, and you could be in Castlebridge and back on your bicycle before Mr. Cotter returns. Please do not hesitate to accept this offer."

Beatrice paused and laid her hand on her companion's shoulder. She was intensely in earnest. Her eyes were fixed upon his. They were passing through the wood which led to Maldon Grange, so that they were alone and undisturbed. Very gently Wilfrid removed the girl's hand from his shoulder and shook his head.

"I have very few possessions left," he said, "but my self-respect is one of them. Don't you see, Beatrice, how impossible it is that I can allow you to do this thing? I cannot find sufficient words to thank you, but I must refuse. I should never forgive myself if I yielded to a temptation which is far worse than the temptation which was placed in my way yesterday. Besides, it is just possible that I am alarming myself unduly, and I may yet find time and opportunity – "

Wilfrid paused and threw up his head. From the back of the wood some one was shouting in terror; then there rose a wild cry for help, and there was a crackling of broken twigs as some one bolted in the distance. It was all over in a moment and the silence fell again, but Wilfrid seemed dimly to make out the figure of Cotter as he dashed through the thickets towards the open fields.

Without another word he hurried to the spot where there were unmistakable signs of a struggle. A hat lay on the grass and by the side of it a revolver charged in all six chambers. Here, too, were pieces of torn blue paper tossed in a pile upon the dead leaves. Wilfrid picked up the fragments and pieced a few of them together. He turned to Beatrice eagerly.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed. "This is the acceptance itself – the very document that was to prove my undoing."

CHAPTER XXXIV

A HUMAN DERELICT

About the time that Wilfrid was being hurried off in the motor towards Maldon Grange and wondering bitterly if he had a single friend in the world, Russell was coming to himself with a hazy feeling that all was not well with him. He was lying on a couch in his sitting-room, fully dressed. The gas had not been lighted, though it was dark; indeed, as far as he could make out by the street cries, it was late in the evening.

His body was aching from head to foot and his head throbbed with feverish pain. Gradually he began to piece one or two events together. Slowly he began to have a faint idea of where he was and what had happened. He managed to stagger to his feet and ring the bell. His landlady came in, curious. She seemed to be relieved and annoyed at the same time.

"What on earth is the matter?" Russell groaned. "And how did I manage to get here? What time of day or night is it?"

"It is not quite half-past nine, sir," the landlady replied. "You came home this morning about seven o'clock. I didn't see you myself, but that is what they tell me. However, I suppose young men will be young men."

There was no mistaking the significance of the last few words, and, despite his racking head, Russell smiled.

"So you think it is like that, do you?" he said. "Let me assure you that you are mistaken. I had an adventure last night which very nearly landed me into serious trouble. But we need not go into that now. If you can get me something to eat I shall be glad, and please let me have a large syphon of soda."

Russell dragged himself into his bedroom where he felt all the better for a bath. Then he swallowed a strong dose of sal volatile, which had the effect of clearing his head and making him feel almost a man again. He managed to eat a fairly good meal presently and partake of a strong whisky and soda, after which he lit his pipe and sat down to review the events of the previous evening. It was all clear to him now.

"What a fool I was!" he murmured. "And yet I don't see how I could have helped it. I thought I could have managed a couple of opium pipes without getting into such a state. And the worst of it is that the night was wasted. By the way, I wonder if the night really was wasted. Perhaps I shall recollect something that will put me on the right track. And, by Jove, I've forgotten all about Mercer. Has he been here to-day, or has he been busy with his own affairs? It is maddening to cut time to waste like this. The best thing I can do is to see Uzali."

Russell's naturally strong constitution had asserted itself by now. He even felt ready to undertake another adventure. And time was pressing, too, for he had more or less wasted the last few weeks in London, on his way home from Borneo, and his supply of money was getting very low. He was thinking of putting on his hat and coat when the landlady came to the door of the sitting-room with the information that somebody desired to see him.

"Send him up," Russell said casually.

"I suppose it is all right, sir," the landlady said dubiously. "I suppose you are capable of taking care of yourself. The person downstairs is not quite the sort of man one cares about having on the front door-step. Still, sir – "

Russell waved his hand impatiently and the landlady disappeared.

She came back presently followed by a tall figure in the last stages of dilapidation. The man had seen better days, for his black frock suit had been well cut and his boots were not without a reminiscence of Bond Street. Now he was shiny and seedy to the last degree; a mass of dirty, greasy hair hung over his shoulders, and the top hat which he held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger had lost most of its colour and shape. It was plain what had brought the man to this pass, for the facts were written in his bleary eyes and shaky fingers. He glanced uneasily at Russell as if somewhat doubtful as to his reception. The latter rose and motioned his visitor to a chair. Then he closed the door carefully.

"I hope I have come at the proper time," the stranger said.

"Oh, that's all right, Goatley," Russell replied. "Let me see, it must be quite two years since we met. You came to me when I was living at the other side of London and asked me to buy certain information from you. As the information was by no means complete I refused the deal. I am prepared to open it again now if you can tell me anything definite."

The stranger cowered over the fire warming his long blue hands; his lean frame shivered from time to time as if he and warmth had long been strangers. He lifted his bleared eyes to Russell and his glance fell again.

"I think I can help you," he said, "in fact, I am certain of it. I should have come to you before, only there was one little matter that I couldn't get to the bottom of anyway. And now I think I have got everything straight. But perhaps you have changed your mind. You used to be keen enough on getting even with Samuel Flower – "

"Ah, now you are beginning to talk," Russell exclaimed. "If you can help me there I am prepared to pay you handsomely. You look as if a few pounds would do you good."

"It isn't altogether that," Goatley murmured. "Though, Heaven knows, a sovereign or two will be my salvation. If you ask me how I have spent the past two years I couldn't tell you. I have been as low down as a man can get, though I don't mind owning that I have had my bits of luck occasionally. At present I am down to my last penny and I shall be turned out of my lodgings this evening if I can't find at least a sovereign. You wouldn't call them lodgings. They're not fit for a dog. But they have been a home to me, and I am getting fairly desperate. And while I have been starving, eager even to snatch a broken crust from the gutter, that scoundrel has been flourishing on the fat of the land. My own flesh and blood, too! I should like to know where Samuel Flower would have been to-day had it not been for me. I gave him his start in life. I pushed him up the ladder. And when he thought he was safe, he turned and ruined me as if I had been a deadly enemy. Do you suppose he would ever have made his money in Borneo if it hadn't been for me? I tell you when I wake up in the night and think of it I could find it in my heart to kill him. But I have neither nerve nor pluck left. I daresay if he were to pass me in the street and throw me a shilling I should pick it up with gratitude. But if I haven't the courage to strike for myself, I know those who have. And you are one of them, Mr. Russell. Oh, I can show you the way to pull him down, to make him the scorn of his fellow men. I have waited for this opportunity for years, and by great good luck it has come at last. But you will repay me, Mr. Russell. You will not allow me to starve when you come into your own."

All this came from Goatley in a vehement stream of concentrated passion which set him coughing until it was painful to witness his struggles for breath. With a sudden impulse Russell set food upon the table and invited his guest to eat and drink. Goatley did not need a second invitation. He fell upon the cold meat like a wolf. Then, gradually, the greedy look left his eye, he lay back in his chair and took the cigarette which Russell offered him. Something like manhood had returned.

"Whatever you do for me shall be well paid for," Russell said. "Now tell me what you have discovered. I know you have a great deal of information. I know that you were well acquainted with North Borneo before Samuel Flower ever went there. But I seem to know as much about Samuel Flower as you can teach me. Now if you could only tell me where one would come upon the track of Jansen – "

Goatley laughed as he puffed at his cigarette.

"We shall come to that in good time," he said. "But perhaps you had better hear what I have to say as to what happened to me last night. I was making my way back to Drury Lane, where the place which I call my home is situated, and was passing on the far side of Gower Street near the house where Samuel Flower lives in town. It was very late, and just as I reached the spot I saw a man on the doorstep talking to one of Flower's servants. I don't know why I stopped, or why I listened. But I did. My hearing is exceptionally good and I could follow everything that was said; so I lingered and listened, perhaps as much out of curiosity as anything. I gathered that the stranger wanted to see Flower on business, and that my dear friend had not come home yet. There was something peculiar in the accent of the caller which impelled me to wait till he had left the house. I followed him to the top of the street and even farther. Can you guess who he was?"

"I think so," Russell said cheerfully. "You are going to tell me that you have found Jansen at last. Come, this won't be a bad evening's work for you."

CHAPTER XXXV

JANSEN AT HOME

"Is the information worth five pounds?" Goatley asked.

"The information is worth five pounds," Russell said emphatically. "Especially as I take it that you can put your hand upon our man at any moment. Now what happened afterwards?"

"Well, I walked the streets till late in the morning, never losing sight of the Dutchman until he returned to the neighbourhood of Gower Street. The second time he called at Flower's house he was more successful, for he was inside the place for an hour before he came out again, on the best of terms with himself, and went off towards Gray's Inn Road. I tracked him to a house there, where I presume he lives, for he let himself in with a latch-key, and presently I saw a light in one of the windows over the shop. The place is a small bird-fancier's, and from what I could see I should say that Jansen has a couple of rooms and does for himself. I have the name and address. If you think it is likely to be of any use to you – "

"So far so good," Russell exclaimed. "But do you think that Jansen is there now?"

"He was there half an hour ago, because I came straight from Gray's Inn Road," Goatley explained.

Russell rose abruptly and took some money out of his pocket which he handed over to Goatley.

"There are the five pounds to go on with," he said. "And it is for you to say whether they shall be the last I shall ever give you, or whether they shall be multiplied a hundredfold. It is entirely in your hands, and if you can keep off the drink you ought to do very well over this."

"Never fear about that," Goatley laughed. "I would do much for money, but I would do a great deal more for revenge. But for that scoundrelly cousin of mine, I should have been in a good position to-day. Look at me now, and contrast me with what I was when you first knew me. If I stopped the first gentleman I met in the street and told him that I was an old University man he would laugh me to scorn. And yet you know I should be speaking the truth. But I am wasting your time. What do you want me to do? I don't suppose you made me a present of that five pounds."

"I didn't," Russell said curtly. "I want you to go back and keep an eye upon Jansen, and when he leaves his rooms, as he will probably do soon, you must follow him and ascertain where he goes. Then you can come and see me at the Wanderers' Club in Piccadilly where I shall be till midnight. After that I can dispense with your services for the present, but you had better keep in touch with me. But you will do that for your own sake as well as mine. I think that is all."

Goatley departed, feeling all the better for his meal, having also informed Russell of Flower's departure for Maldon Grange. Russell thought he could be trusted. Now he had to look up Uzali.

The latter was dressed. He had recently dined, for the things were still on the table and the occupant of the room was seated before the fire reading an evening paper. There was a shrewd smile on his face as he welcomed Russell.