Chapter Forty Seven. Contains More Mystery.

The old-fashioned, ill-cut gown of black stuff and the rather unbecoming big black hat gave Sam’s visitor an appearance of being older than she really was. A spotted veil concealed her features, but as she entered the room she raised it quickly.

The face revealed was the soft, sweet countenance of Maud Petrovitch.

Charlie gripped his companion’s arm and gave vent to an exclamation of amazement as he stood peering forth open-mouthed.

As the girl entered the old man turned fiercely upon her and uttered some inquiry. What it was the watchers could not distinguish, for thick plate glass stood between the conservatory and the library. Yet whatever he said or however caustic and bitter his manner, the young girl stood defiant.

Her chin was raised, her eyes flashed upon him, and her gloved hand was outstretched in a gesture of calm denunciation as she replied with some words that caused the old fellow to draw back in surprise and confusion.

The door had closed, for Levi had left the pair together. Max wondered whether the old servant would now come and search the back premises prior to locking up. If so, they might easily be discovered. Those felt-soled boots of old Levi struck fear into their hearts. Charlie was, however, too occupied in watching the old man and the girl at that moment to think of any danger of detection.

His well-beloved stood pale, beautiful, and yet defiant before the man who a moment before had shaken his fist and clenched his teeth on hearing of her demand to see him. The words she had uttered had caused an instant change in his manner. His sudden anger had been succeeded by fear. Whatever she had said was evidently straight to the point.

For a moment he regarded her in silence, then over his grey face came a crafty smile as with mock courtesy he offered her a chair, still remaining standing himself.

She leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair, and, bending towards him, was speaking again, uttering slow, decisive words, each of which seemed to bite into his very soul. His countenance again changed; from mock humour it became hard, drawn, almost haggard.

Charlie, who knew the old man in every mood, had never witnessed such an expression upon his face. Beneath it all, however, he detected a look of unrelenting, almost fiendish revenge. He longed to rush forward and grasp his loved one in his arms, but Max, seeing his agitation, laid his hand firmly upon his shoulder.

“Let us watch in patience, Charlie,” he urged. “We may learn something interesting.”

Maud had altered but little since that afternoon when, in the haze of the red London sunset, Charlie had last walked with her in Nevern Square. She was, perhaps, a trifle pinched in the cheeks, but the sweet dimples were still there, and the little wisp of hair still strayed across her white brow. Her gown, however, seemed shabby and ill-fitting. Perhaps she had borrowed it in order to come there in garments by which she would not be recognised. For a young girl to make a visit at that late hour was, to say the least, somewhat unusual.

Both men standing in the shadow behind the thick glass longed to hear what the pair were saying. It was tantalising to be so near the disclosure of a secret—indeed, to have it enacted before one’s eyes—and yet be debarred from learning the truth.

Max examined the door, hoping to open it ever so slightly, but to his chagrin he found it locked and bolted. Old Levi had already prepared to retire before they had made their surreptitious entrance there.

That he had at last found Maud again was to both a source of immense gratification. At last the truth of the doctor’s strange disappearance would now be known. But what connection could old Statham have with the affair?

Charlie recollected what Sir Charles Harrison had told him in Belgrade—that the bomb outrage by which a poor innocent child had lost her life had been planned by one of his friends.

He had suspected Max. But in the light of Maud’s secret visit to Statham, he now held the last-named in distinct suspicion. Was it part of the millionaire’s cunning policy in Servia to rid the country of its greatest statesman?

No. That was impossible. The Doctor and Statham had been friends. When Petrovitch was in power they had worked hand-in-glove, with the result that the millionaire had lent money to the Servian Government upon very second-class security. Unrest in Servia would, Charlie was well aware, mean loss to Statham Brothers of perhaps a million sterling. It was therefore to the interest of the firm that the present Government should remain in power, and that the country should be allowed to develop and progress peacefully.

He tried to put behind him that increasing suspicion that Old Sam was the “friend” to whom the diplomat had so mysteriously referred.

And yet as he watched every movement, every gesture of the pair within that long room where the lights were so artistically shaded—the room wherein deals involving the loss or gain of hundreds of thousands of pounds were decided—he saw that the girl remained still defiant, and that the man stood vanquished by her slow, deliberate accusation.

Old Sam’s bony fingers were twitching—a sign of suppressed wrath which his secretary knew well. He held his thin lower lip between his yellow teeth, and standing with his back to the fireplace, he now and then cast a supercilious smile upon the pretty girl who had come there in defiance of the convenances—in defiance, evidently, of his own imperious commands.

Samuel Statham at that moment was not the hard-faced old benefactor who haunted the seats in the park and gave so much money anonymously to the deserving among the “submerged tenth.” He was a man fighting for his honour, his reputation, his gold—nay, his very life. He was a man whose keen wit was now pitted against that of a clear, level-headed girl—one who had right and justice on her side.

Was it possible, Charlie thought, that his well-beloved knew the old man’s secret—that secret which, before he would face its exposure, he would prefer the grave itself?

He watched Maud and noted how balanced was her beautiful countenance, and yet how calm and how determined she was. When the old man spoke she listened with attention, but her replies, brief and pointed, were always made with a gesture and expression of triumph, as of one who knew the naked and astounding truth.

“What can it all mean?” whispered Max. “Why is she here? How tantalising it is that we cannot catch a single word she is uttering!”

“The door’s bolted,” Charlie said in a tone of chagrin. “We can only watch. See!—she’s evidently telling him some home truths that are the reverse of palatable. He looks as though he could kill her!”

“He’d better not attempt it,” remarked Max grimly, and they both stood again in silence, peering forward in breathless eagerness.

For fully ten minutes longer the old man and the young girl were in heated discussion. Sometimes Statham spoke quickly and angrily, with that caustic assertiveness that most people found so overbearing. Of a sudden both watchers were aware of a slow, stealthy movement behind them—a shuffling of feet it seemed.

It was old Levi, on his tour of inspection to reassure himself that all was secure. In an instant both intruders drew back into the deep shadow behind a high stand upon which stood choice plants in tiers, or rather the dried-up pots which had once contained them.

They were only just in time, for old Levi, peering forth into the semi-darkness as he stood in the doorway leading from the hall, searched around. Then, finding all quiet and detecting nobody, he closed the door and locked it.

They were thus locked out by both doors!

To re-enter the house would be difficult. It was a contingency for which they had not been prepared.

Still, they were too interested in watching the pair within to think much of the contretemps that had occurred. Old Levi had shuffled away, and was waiting, no doubt, to usher out the dainty little visitor before returning to the regions below.

Maud, however, showed no sign of haste to leave. Comfortably ensconced in her chair, with her veil thrown back, she sat facing him, and replying without hesitation to his allegations.

The sinister expression upon the old man’s face told its own tale. His impatient bearing and quick gesture showed his eagerness to get rid of her. But she, on her part, seemed to have no intention of leaving just yet. She was speaking, her gloved finger raised to emphasise her words—hard words, which, from the expression upon her face seemed full of bitter sarcasm and reproach.

Of a sudden he turned upon the girl with a fierceness which took her by surprise. He uttered a few words, which she answered quickly. Then, striking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he bent towards her with an evil grin upon his grey face and made some remarks which caused in her a quick change of attitude.

She rose from her chair, her face aflame with anger, and, taking a couple of paces towards him, replied with a vehemence which neither of the unseen onlookers suspected.

The battle of words continued. He was making some allegations, the truth of which she was denying. This girl, not yet out of her teens, was defiant of the man whose life had been one long struggle to grow rich, and whose gigantic wealth was now crushing the very soul from his body. Surely they were an incongruous pair. His defiance of her was only a half-hearted one. His sarcasm had irritated her, and now, alleging something, which was a lie, he had goaded her into all the fierce ebullition of anger which a woman, however calm and level-headed she may be, cannot at times restrain.

“I wonder what the old blackguard has said?” whispered Max to the man at his side.

“It seems as though he has made some charge against her.”

“Or against her father,” Max suggested.

“You suspected me of being privy to the Doctor’s disappearance, Max,” Charlie said, still in a whisper. “You said that you saw me at Cromwell Road that night. Are you still of that opinion?”

“No,” responded his friend. “There was a plot—a cleverly devised plot. Someone went there dressed exactly like you.”

“But you say you saw his face.”

“So I did. And I could have sworn it was you.”

“It is that conspiracy which we have to fathom,” Charlie said. “At least, we have established the fact that Maud is alive. And having found Maud, we may also find Marion. Possibly she went to her into safe hiding from us.”

“More than possible, I think.”

But while they were whispering something occurred which made them both start. The girl, crimson with anger, suddenly dived her hand into her dress pocket, and, taking out a bundle of paper, flung it at the man before her.

They saw, to their amazement, that it was a bunch of crisp banknotes. She had cast it at his feet in open defiance.

Perhaps the money was the price of her silence—money he had sent to her or to her father to purchase secrecy!

The old man gave a glance at the notes crushed into a bundle and lying upon the carpet, and then, turning to her, snapped his bony finger and thumb in defiance, and laughed in her face—a grim, evil laugh, which Charlie knew from experience meant retaliation and bitter vengeance.