"You must not tell anybody. Alfred would be angry. Alfred has lost the money in betting on horses."
Mr. Musgrave started. The business that was conducted in Ivy Cottage was conducted in so secret a manner that Lizzie did not know its nature. She had been curious about it, and once or twice had asked the old man; but he had laughingly evaded her, and it was she who had dubbed the room in which he and Mr. Sheldrake were often closeted together for so long a time the Bluebeard's room.
"Does he bet with Mr. Sheldrake, Lizzie?"
"No--with a man named Con Staveley."
The guilty look that stole into Mr. Musgrave's face bore no meaning to Lizzie's sense. Some part of the scheme was now revealed to him. Mr. Sheldrake lent Alfred money, which he received back through Con Staveley; and he himself perhaps had been an unconscious instrument in Mr. Sheldrake's hands, and had assisted in Alfred's entanglement. But what could be Mr. Sheldrake's motive? There was nothing to be gained from Alfred, who had no money and no expectations. Knowing Mr. Sheldrake thoroughly, Mr. Musgrave knew well that there must be some deep motive at the bottom of all this. The old man had parts of the chain in his hand, but the important link was wanting. Could Lizzie supply it?
"Have Alfred and Mr. Sheldrake been friends for a very long time, Lizzie?"
"No, daddy; not twelve months, I think."
"How did they become acquainted?"
"I don't quite know, but I suspect it was through Lily."
"Through Lily!" echoed the old man, almost in a whisper.