Chapter Twenty Six Which Puts a Serious Question.

At last Max spoke, slowly and with great deliberation.

“And you declare yourself as ignorant as I am myself of their whereabouts?”

“I do,” was Rolfe’s response. Then after a second’s hesitation he added in a changed voice: “I really think, Max, that you are scarcely treating me fairly in this matter. Sorely it is in my interests to discover the whereabouts of Maud! I have done my best.”

“Well?”

“And I’ve failed to discover any clue whatever—except one—that—”

And he broke off, without finishing his sentence.

“What have you discovered? Tell me. Be frank with me.”

“I’ve not yet established whether it is a real clue, or whether a mere false surmise. When I have, I will tell you.”

“But cannot we join forces in endeavouring to solve the problem?” Max suggested, his suspicion of his friend now removed.

“That is exactly what I would wish. But how shall we begin? Where shall we commence?” asked Rolfe.

“The truth that it was not you whom I saw leaving the house in Cromwell Road adds fresh mystery to the already astounding circumstance,” Max declared. “The man who so closely resembled you was purposely made up to be mistaken for you. There was some strong motive for this. What do you suggest it could be?”

“To implicate me! But in what?”

The thought of that blood-stained bodice ever haunted Max. It was on the tip of his tongue to reveal his discovery to his friend, yet on second thoughts he resolved to at present retain his secret. He had withheld it from the police, therefore he was perfectly justified in withholding it from Charlie.

The flat denial of the latter regarding his visit to Cromwell Road caused him deep reflection. He watched his friend’s attitude, and was compelled to admit within himself that now, at any rate, he was speaking the truth.

“The only reason for the visit of the man whom I must have mistaken for yourself, Charlie,” he said, “must have been to open that safe.”

“Probably so.”

Then Max explained, in detail, the position of the safe, and how he had discovered it being open, and its contents abstracted.

“On your first visit, then, the safe was hidden?”

“Yes. But when I went in the morning it stood revealed, the door blown open by some explosive.”

“By an enemy of the Doctor’s,” remarked Charlie.

Max did not reply. The Doctor’s words regarding his friend on the last occasion they had sat together recurred to him at that moment with a queer significance. The Doctor certainly did not like Rolfe. For what reason? he wondered. Why had he taken such a sudden dislike to him?

Hitherto, they had been quite friendly, ever since the well-remembered meeting at the Villa des Fleurs, in Aix-les-Bains, and the Doctor had never, to his knowledge, objected to Maud’s association with the smart young fellow whose keen business instincts had commended him to such a man as old Sam Statham. The Doctor held no doubt, either secret knowledge of something detrimental to Rolfe, or else entertained one of those sudden and unaccountable prejudices which some men form, and which they are unable to put behind them.

“The one main point we have first to decide, Charlie,” he said at last, standing at the window and gazing thoughtfully down into the narrow London street, “is whether or not then has been foul play.”

Rolfe made no reply, a circumstance which caused him to turn and look straight into his friend’s face. He saw a change there.

His countenance was blanched; but whether by fear of the loss of the woman he loved, or by a guilty knowledge, Max knew not.

“Marion can tell us,” he answered at last. “But she refuses.”

“You, her brother, can surely obtain the truth from her?”

“Not when you, her lover, fail,” Charlie responded, his brows knit deeply.

“But a moment ago you said you had a clue?”

“I think I have one. It is only a surmise.”

“And in what direction does it trend?”

“Towards foul play,” he said hoarsely.

“Political?”

“It may be.”

“And were both victims of the plot?”

“I cannot tell. At present I’m making all the secret inquiries possible—far afield in a Continental city. It takes time, care, and patience. As soon as I obtain anything tangible, I will tell you. But first of all, Max,” he added, “I wish to have your assurance that you no longer suspect me. I am not your enemy—why should you be mine?”

“I am not, my dear fellow,” declared Barclay. “How can I be the enemy of Marion’s brother? I was only suspicious. You would have been the same in similar circumstances, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” laughed Charlie. “Yet what you’ve told me about the endeavour to implicate myself in the affair is certainly extraordinary. I don’t see any motive.”

“Except that you were known by the conspirators, whoever they are, to be Maud’s lover.”

“If so, then they intend, most probably, to bring some false charge against me. And—and—”

“And what?” asked Max in some surprise.

“Why, don’t you see?” he said hoarsely, staring straight into his friend’s face with a horrified expression as a terrible truth arose within him. “Don’t you see that you yourself, Max, would become the principal witness against me!”

Max stood wondering at the other’s sudden anticipation of disaster. What could he dread if this denial of his was the actual truth?

Again he grew suspicious.

“How can I be witness against you if you are innocent of any connection with the affair?” he queried.

“Because the Doctor’s enemies have done this, in order to shield themselves.”

“But if the Doctor is really still alive, what have you to fear?”

“Is he alive? That is the point.”

“Marion gives me to understand that both he and Maud are safe,” Max responded quickly.

The other shook his head dubiously, saying: “If she has told you that, then it is exactly contrary to what she has given me to understand.”

“What? She has expressed a suspicion of foul play?”

“Yes—more than a suspicion.”

“Well—this is certainly strange,” Max declared. “Marion has all along been trying to allay my fears.”

“Because she feared to upset you, perhaps. With me it is different. She does not mind my feelings.”

“I’m sure she does, Charlie. She’s devoted to you. And she ought to be. Few brothers would do what you have done.”

“That’s quite outside the question,” he said, quickly pacing anxiously up and down the room. “She told me distinctly the other day that her fears were of the worst.”

“Ah! if you could only induce her to tell us what Maud confessed to her. It was a confession—a serious and tragic one, I believe.”

“Yes. It was, no doubt; and if she would only speak we could, I believe, quickly get at the truth,” Rolfe said. “To me it seems incredible that the Doctor, your most intimate friend, should not have found some secret manner by which to communicate with you, and assure you of his safety.”

There was a pause. Suddenly Max turned to the speaker and exclaimed—

“Tell me, Charlie. Be perfectly frank with me. Have you, do you think, at any time recently given some cause for offence to the Doctor?”

“Why do you ask that?” inquired the other in quick surprise.

“I have reasons for asking. I’ll tell you after you’ve answered my question.”

“I don’t know,” he laughed uneasily. “Some men, and especially foreigners, are very easily offended.”

“But have you offended the Doctor?”

“Perhaps. A man never knows when he gives unintentional offence.”

“Are you aware of having done anything to offend him?”

“No, except that Maud asked me not to visit there so often, as her father did not approve of it.”

“Did she ever tell you that the Doctor had suddenly entertained a dislike of you?”

“Certainly not. I always believed that he was very friendly disposed towards me. But—well—why do you ask all this?”

“I merely ask for information.”

“Of course, but you promised to tell me the reason.”

“Well, the fact is this. On the afternoon prior to their disappearance, the Doctor expressed feelings towards you that were not exactly friendly. It seemed to me that he had formed some extraordinary prejudice. Fathers do this often towards the men who love their daughters, you know. They are sometimes apt to be over-cautious, with the result that the girl loses a very good chance of marriage,” he added. “I’ve known several similar cases.”

“Well,” said Charlie thoughtfully, “that’s quite new to me. I had flattered myself that the Doctor was very well disposed towards me. This is quite a revelation?”

“Didn’t Maud ever tell you?”

“Not a word.”

“She feared, of course, to hurt your feelings. It was quite natural. She loves you.”

“If what we fear be true, you should put your words into the past tense, Max,” was his reply in a hard voice. Barclay knew that his friend loved the sweet-faced girl with the stray, unruly wisp of hair which fell always across her white brow and gave her such a piquante appearance. And if he loved her so well, was it possible that he could have been author of, or implicated, in a foul and secret crime?

Recollection of that dress-bodice with the ugly stain still wet upon it flashed upon him. Was it not in itself circumstantial evidence that some terrible crime had been committed?

The man before him denied all knowledge of the disappearance of his well-beloved, and yet Max, with his own eyes, had seen him slinking from the house!

Had he spoken the truth, or was he an ingenious liar?

Such was the problem which Max Barclay put to himself—a question which was the whole crux of the extraordinary situation. If what Rolfe had declared was the truth, then the mystery became an enigma beyond solution.

But if, on the other hand, he was now endeavouring to shield himself from the shadow of guilt upon him, then at least one fact was rendered more hideous than the rest.

The question was one—and only one.

Had this man, brother of his own dear Marion, sworn falsely upon what he had held to be most sacred—his love for Maud?

What was the real and actual truth?