a close-fitting hat and a coney seal coat with skunk collar, stepped into the room.
Old Mr Homfray, startled at the sound, turned in his chair, and then springing to his feet faced her.
“You!” he gasped. “Why do you dare to come here? What do you want?” he asked angrily.
“To speak privately with you,” was her hard reply. “I didn’t want others to know of my visit, and thinking the window might possibly be unlatched, I tried it, and came in this way.”
“Then go out the same way!” commanded the old clergyman angrily. “How dare you come here?”
“Because I want to say something to you.”
“I don’t wish to – and won’t hear it!”
“You shall, Mr Homfray!” replied the woman, whose face was full of evil, her eyes glittering like those of a serpent. “I come to-night as messenger from a man you know – from Gordon Gray.”
“From Gordon Gray —you?” gasped the rector in surprise. “Why should he send you to me?”
“Because he thought it best not to come himself.”
“If he wishes to speak to me let him face me here,” Mr Homfray said boldly.
“Ah?” laughed the woman as though in triumph. “I seem to be an unwelcome visitor.”
“How could you be otherwise, after what has passed?” queried the old fellow.
“Well, don’t let us have any more bickering. Let’s come to business. Mr Gray wants to know whether you intend paying?”
“Not a penny – until the money is due next August.”
“But it was due last August,” the woman declared.
“That is quite untrue,” replied the rector very quietly.
“Well, the date is on the deed.”
“If it is, then the date has been altered.”
“But you have a copy.”
“No. I can’t find it. I must have mislaid it. Is there no stamp, with date?”
“It was never stamped. Mr Gray’s solicitors have already written to you three times about it, and you have not replied.”
“I have been away, taking duty in Switzerland. Besides, I understood that Gordon Gray died in New York last year, and – ”
“And you thought that by that fact you would escape your indebtedness – eh?” laughed the woman as she stood beside the table, an erect smart figure which was well known in certain disreputable night-clubs in the West End. “But Gordon Gray attended service in your church to-night, and you must have seen him in the flesh.”
“I did,” replied the old man hoarsely. “Sight of him recalled many events of the past.”
“Things that you wish to forget – eh, Mr Homfray?” she said in a hard voice. “But Gordon wants his money. If you allege fraud on the part of his solicitors you had better write to them.”
“Why does Gray send you here? You, of all women! What does he intend to do?” asked the grave old man.
“To sell the property if you can’t pay him. He has already given you several months’ grace. And besides, you’ve never answered any letters, nor have you paid any interest on the loan.”
“Because the money is not yet due,” declared the Rector of Little Farncombe. “If you knew the facts you would never make this illegal demand.”
“I know all the facts. Gordon means to sell the property if you cannot pay at once.”
Norton Homfray bit his lip. Only during the past two years had he suspected his whilom friend Gordon Gray, and that suspicion had that night been confirmed by the presence there of that vampire woman, Freda Crisp, whose dark, handsome face he had hoped never to look upon again. Gray, the son of a rich City merchant, had long been the black sheep of his family, and had, when at Oxford, been sent down from Balliol for forging a cheque to a tailor in the Broad. A few years later Homfray, who had recently taken Holy Orders, met him and, ignorant of his past, had become his bosom friend. After six years Gordon went to America, and not until fifteen years afterwards did the pair see each other, when one day they found themselves staying at the Bath Hotel in Bournemouth and resumed their close friendship.
Now old Mr Homfray was at that moment in serious difficulties, partly owing to his business instinct and his innocent generosity and trustfulness. He was a real upright and pious man who, unlike many parsons, practised what he preached. He had, in fact, stood security for an old college chum who had died suddenly from pneumonia and “let him in.”
He had been compelled to confess to Gray that he was ruined, whereupon his old friend had at once told him not to worry, and offered to lend him the sum upon his little piece of house property in the steep main street of Totnes, in Devon, from which he derived his slender income, the stipend at Little Farncombe being hardly sufficient to pay the housekeeper and the gardener at the Rectory.
But by the sudden appearance of the woman and her demands he realised that there was some sinister design afoot. That woman who stood before him he had strong cause to hate, yet hatred never entered his soul – even at that moment.
He now realised with blank amazement that her friend Gordon Gray, the man returned from the grave, was trying to swindle him, and that the date of the deed – the copy of which he had mislaid – had been altered and pre-dated a year.
“If your friend Gray dares to sell my little property – all I have – then I shall institute criminal proceedings against him,” he told the woman frankly, whereupon his unwelcome visitor opened her little brown leather handbag and from it produced a crumpled envelope, out of which she took three tattered newspaper cuttings, saying coldly:
“Perhaps you had better read these before you utter threats,” and she handed them to him.
He held his breath, and the light died from his thin countenance. He pushed them aside with trembling hands.
“You know to what they refer, Mr Homfray – to your appearance under another name!” sneered Freda Crisp. “You are the highly respected rector of this picturesque, though obscure, little parish, but if your parishioners knew the truth I fancy that they and your bishop would have something to say about it. Is it just to the public that a man such as yourself should dare to wear a surplice and have the audacity to preach sermons?”
The Rector of Little Farncombe remained silent. His face was deathly white, his hands trembled, and his eyes were staring. He had suspected that the one great secret of his life was known. But it appeared that not only was it known to the unscrupulous man who had once been his friend, but also to the woman before him, who was his bitterest enemy!
“So the pair of you have learnt my secret!” he said in a low, hard voice. “And I suppose you intend to blackmail me – eh?”
The dark-haired woman laughed.
“Gordon only wants his money back, that’s all.”
“And you have forced him to take up this hostile attitude,” he said. “You are my enemy.
