are a dear girl,” she said, dreamily; “yes, a dear girl. And I loved singing; it was a great grief to me that they would not let me go upon the stage. But I haven’t sung since—since that—”
She pointed to the huddled heap of china and glass and dried, dusty flowers in one corner. Ethel [Updater’s note: Enid?] shuddered slightly as she followed the direction of the extended forefinger.
“But you must try,” she whispered. “It is for the good of the family, for the recovery of the secret. Reginald Henson is sly and cruel and clever. But we have one on our side now who is far more clever. And, unless I can get away to-night without that man knowing, the chance may be lost for ever. Come!”
Margaret commenced to sing in a soft minor. At first the chords were thin and dry, but gradually they increased in sweetness and power. The hopeless, distant look died from the singer’s eyes; there was a flush on her cheeks that rendered her years younger.
“Another one,” she said, when the song was finished, “and yet another. How wicked I have been to neglect this balm that God sent me all these years. If you only knew what the sound of my own voice means to me! Another one, Enid.”
“Yes, yes,” Enid whispered. “You are to sing till I return. You are to leave Henson to imagine that I am singing. He will never guess. Now then.”
Enid crept away into the hall, closing the door softly behind her. She made her way noiselessly from the house and across the lawn. As Henson slipped through the open window into the garden Enid darted behind a bush. Evidently Henson suspected nothing so far as she was concerned, for she could see the red glow of the cigar between his lips. The faint sweetness of distant music filled the air. So long as the song continued Henson would relax his vigilance.
He was pacing down the garden in the direction of the drive. Did the man know anything? Enid wondered. He had so diabolically cunning a brain. He seemed to find out everything, and to read others before they had made up their minds for themselves.
The cigar seemed to dance like a mocking sprite into the bushes. Usually the man avoided those bushes. If Reginald Henson was afraid of one thing it was of the dogs. And in return they hated him as he hated them.
Enid’s mind was made up. If the sound of that distant voice should only cease for a moment she was quite sure Henson would turn back. But he could hear it, and she knew that she was safe. Enid slipped past him into the bushes and gave a faint click of her lips. Something moved and whined, and two dark objects bounded towards her. She caught them together by their collars and cuffed them soundly. Then she led the way back so as to get on Henson’s tracks.
He was walking on ahead of her now, beating time softly to the music of the faintly distant song with his cigar. Enid could distinctly see the sweep of the red circle.
“Hold him, Dan,” she whispered. “Watch, Prance; watch, boy.”
There was a low growl as the hounds found the scent and dashed forward. Henson came up all standing and sweating in every pore. It was not the first time he had been held up by the dogs, and he knew by hard experience what to expect if he made a bolt for it.
Two grim muzzles were pressed against his trembling knees; he saw four rows of ivory flashing in the dim light. Then the dogs crouched at his feet, watching him with eyes as red and lurid as the point of his own cigar. Had he attempted to move, had he tried coercion, they would have fallen upon him and torn him in pieces.
“Confusion to the creatures!” he cried, passionately. “I’ll get a revolver; I’ll buy some prussic acid and poison the lot. And here I’ll have to stay till Williams locks up the stables. Wouldn’t that little Jezebel laugh at me if she could see me now? She would enjoy it better than singing songs in the drawing-room to our sainted Margaret. Steady, you brutes! I didn’t move.”
He stood there rigidly, almost afraid to take the cigar from his lips, whilst Enid sped without further need for caution down the drive. The lodge-gates were closed and the deaf porter’s house in darkness, so that Enid could unlock the wicket without fear of detection. She rattled the key on the bars and a figure slipped out of the darkness.
“Good heavens, Ruth, is it really you?” Enid cried.
“Really me, Enid. I came over on my bicycle. I am supposed to be round at some friend’s house in Brunswick Square, and one of the servants is sitting up for me. Is Reginald safe? He hasn’t yet discovered the secret of the tradesman’s book?”
“That’s all right, dear. But why are you here? Has something dreadful happened?”
“Well, I will try to tell you so in as few words as possible. I never felt so ashamed of anything in my life.”
“Don’t tell me that our scheme has failed!” “Perhaps I need not go so far as that. The first part of it came off all right, and then a very dreadful thing happened. We have got Mr. David Steel into frightful trouble. He is going to be charged with attempted murder and robbery.”
“Ruth! But tell me. I am quite in the dark.”
“It was the night when—well, you know the night. It was after Mr. Steel returned home from his visit to 219, Brunswick Square—”
“You mean 218, Ruth.”
“It doesn’t matter, because he knows pretty well all about it by this time. It would have been far better for us if we hadn’t been quite so clever. It would have been far wiser to have taken Mr. Steel entirely into our confidence. Oh, oh, Enid, if we had only left out that little sentiment over the cigar-case! Then we should have been all right.”
“Dearest girl, my time is limited. I’ve got Reginald held up for the time, but at any moment he may escape from his bondage. What about the cigar-case?”
“Well, Mr. Steel took it home with him. And when he got home he found a man nearly murdered lying in his conservatory. That man was conveyed to the Sussex County Hospital, where he still lies in an unconscious state. On the body was found a receipt for a gun-metal cigar-case set with diamonds.”
“Good gracious, Ruth, you don’t mean to say—”
“Oh, I do. I can’t quite make out how it happened, but that same case that we—that Mr. Steel has—has been positively identified as one purchased from Walen by the injured man. There is no question about it. And they have found out about Mr. Steel being short of money, and the £1,000, and everything.”
“But we know that that cigar-case from Lockhart’s in North Street was positively—”
“Yes, yes. But what has become of that? And in what strange way was the change made? I tell you that the whole thing frightens me. We thought that we had hit upon a scheme to solve the problem, and keep our friends out of danger. There was the American at Genoa who volunteered to assist us. A week later he was found dead in his bed. Then there was Christiana’s friend, who disappeared entirely. And now we try further assistance in the case of Mr. Steel, and he stands face to face with a terrible charge. And he has found us out.”
“He has found us out? What do you mean?”
“Well, he called to see me. He called at 219, of course. And directly I heard his name I was so startled that I am afraid I betrayed myself. Such a nice, kind, handsome man, Enid; so manly and good over it all. Of course he declared that he had been at 219 before, and I could only declare that he had done nothing of the kind.
