"I would die rather than marry Lord Curberry," said Lillian, decisively, and with her chin in the air. "You won't be asked to do either one or the other, my dear," replied Dan, in his calmest tone. "We shall marry, right enough, whatever opposition Sir John may make. As to Lord Curberry," he hesitated. "Well?" asked Mrs. Bolstreath, impatiently. "I intend to see him when I return to town."
"I think it will be as well. Better have a complete understanding with him so that he will not worry Lillian any more."
"He won't," answered Dan, grimly, "and now I shall have to get away. I see Mrs. Pelgrin has had the trap brought round. Take care of Lillian." Lillian kissed her lover and followed him to the door of the sitting-room with a gay laugh. "Lillian can look after herself," she said lightly, "I am not afraid of Mrs. Jarsell or of anyone else. But you take care, Dan. I fear much more for you than for myself."
"I'm all right!" Dan, with an Englishman's dislike for an emotional scene, kissed the girl again and slipped out of the door. They saw him drive away in the gloom of the evening, and then settled to make themselves comfortable. Neither Lillian nor Mrs. Bolstreath would admit as much, but both felt rather downcast at Dan's sudden departure. Luckily, as he had been so cool and composed, they did not connect it with any fresh development likely to give trouble. In some vague way Mrs. Bolstreath guessed that Dan had spiked the guns of the enemy under which they were encamped, and, her certainty of safety, being infectious, Lillian also felt quite at her ease. Meanwhile, Dan reached the Beswick station in the ramshackle trap and was lucky enough to catch the in-going train to Thawley, just as it started to glide past the platform. The fortunate connection enabled him to board the seven-twenty express to London, where he hoped to arrive shortly before eleven that same evening. Knowing that Laurance's work kept him up late at night, he wired from Thawley, asking him to come to St. Pancras Station. Important as was Freddy's time, Dan knew that he would respond to the call at once, knowing that large issues would be the outcome of the present situation. Therefore, as the train dropped south, Halliday felt quite comfortable, as he had done all he could to arrange matters for the moment. Indeed, so assured did he feel that he had taken all possible precautions, that he did not even trouble to think over the matter, but fell asleep and refreshed his weary brain and body. Only when the train arrived at St. Pancras did he tumble out, sleepy still, to catch a sight of his faithful friend on the platform. "Nothing wrong?" asked Laurance, hurrying up. "Nothing wrong," responded Dan, with a yawn, "but I have much to talk to you about. Get a four-wheeler."
"A taxi you mean."
"I don't mean. I wish to travel as slowly as possible, so as to explain matters. Tell the man to drive to The Moment office. There I can drop you and go on to my rooms." Thus understanding the situation, Freddy selected a shaky old cab, drawn by a shaky old horse, and the rate at which it progressed through the brilliantly lighted streets was so slow that they were a very long time arriving at The Moment office in Fleet Street. In the damp-smelling interior of this antique conveyance, Halliday, now quite alert and clearheaded, gave his friend a full account of all that had happened, particularly emphasizing the interview with Mrs. Jarsell. "H'm," commenced Freddy, when he ended, "so she didn't give herself away?"
"No; and very wisely, too, I think. She didn't know how much I knew, and wasn't keen on giving me rope to hang her."
"But she knows you have read Penn's confession--what there is of it."
"I didn't tell her that I had anything else than the full confession, old son. She may think I have the whole document intact, or--and this I fancy is probable--she may believe that there isn't any confession in existence."
"Curberry may have written to her, telling her that he burnt the confession."