Edward Povey, however, had not reckoned upon keeping the deception up for more than a few days at the most, neither had he reckoned upon the nerve strain. Tradesmen would be calling for orders—visitors, too, might reasonably be expected. A host of new possibilities arose before the perplexed vision of Edward Povey.
He could, of course, tell all comers that Mr. Kyser had lent him the house furnished. It was merely a small place used at intervals only by its wealthy owner. What more reasonable than that he should place it at the disposal of a friend? If he were alone, the guarding of the secret would be a simple matter, but there was Charlotte to complicate matters—Charlotte, who would innocently enough, by a chance word, upset his most carefully constructed fabrications.
From the hall came, the rich muffled chimes of a steel-faced Sheraton clock. It was midnight, and Edward rose, and crossing to the massive sideboard poured himself out a liberal allowance of brandy, splashing into the glass a little soda-water from a wired seltzogene. Then he proceeded to lock up.
Before barring the front door, he passed out on to the verandah-like porch and running his fingers through his thinning hair let the cool winds of the autumn night play upon the furnace of his forehead. It was very dark and the scene was desolate in the extreme. A solitary light twinkled out here and there from some window in the little village that lay beneath him in the valley, and farther off the pale radiance in the sky denoted the position of the town of Watford. There was a thick shrubbery encircling the house, and the masses of foliage took weird shapes in the darkness, and from a clump of gaunt fir-trees came the dismal note of an owl.
Edward Povey shivered a little, and, quietly closing the door, crept to his bed.
CHAPTER IV
A LETTER FROM NEW YORK
Jasper Jarman was a self-made man, and, like many another self-made man, had a very exalted opinion of his own handiwork.
During his early career Jasper had fought a bitter battle with the world; by thirty-five he had conquered it, and now in the evening of his days he was very averse to relinquishing any of the moral spoils of his victory. To thwart Jasper Jarman was to rouse to their uttermost those fighting instincts that had given him the name of "Stone-wall Jarman" in his younger days.